Headphones

Here I'm standing in the elevator, at the cash register, on the train.

And I'm wearing headphones.

The guitar roars; the drums pierce the membrane of the sky until it sunders, but

Only I can hear it.

The music fills me up,

Focuses me

And gives me something to do.

I have a touch screen for a temperament

And songs rather than emotions.

Who wants to be human

When the world can consist of only beats and lyrics?

Now I'm strolling down the sidewalk, pacing back and forth, shivering in the rain.

I'm still wearing headphones.

Wrapped in song, I forget myself until she looks at me; the volume drops so

Only I can hear it.

My thoughts begin to thrum,

Taking on a tempo and a rhythm.

If not for these speaker levees, they'd burst out,

Flood the vicinity

And tell everyone how I'm feeling.

Who cares about one man

When his spirit can be so neatly packaged

Behind plastic plugs and a pounding piano?

There you are, approaching me, and in the chaos of the crowd we brush elbows.

You're wearing headphones, too.

The bass batters down your eardrums and the glass wall of space between us until

Even I can hear it.

You must be crazy

To hammer the sense out of

Your brain like that,

To let a genre so distant from you as me

To hear the color of your soul.

Who needs to speak

When thoughts are spilling out of her ears?

Could you please lower your volume?