Run for the Border

Herein there is a wonderful honor,
expressed in feedback, son.
The hearing impaired will all be spared,
and the rest will be undone.
It’s a harvesting of silence,
a blank slate of the ear.
The pages of the prayerbook
have been torn out in fear.
The documents on fire
conspire to explode.
I hear you not.
I fear you not.
This guitar is my road.

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I'm a writer living in Massachusetts.