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The clock sounds, sounds, sounds.
It's a soft wood, like a weathered plank for a playground seesaw.
Is there really deafening silence?
Does it not make a difference if you can't hear it?
Sure, you can feel it,
But can't you always?

The last marble from my ancient Newton's cradle fell
From my desk to the tile overlay floor.
Rat.  Tat, tat tat-tat-tat.
Dun is the smoke the hellfire exhales,
And indefatigable is the man at the bellows.
Let the darkest seal shut my eyes.
It's too much for a quarter of my brain to handle.
Why, then, do my eyes sting at night?

Hey, what's that green thing across the room?  If that's
The Boogeyman, I'm running to the preschool.
Little nose-pickers will eat him for me.
That exercise ball could be a good instrument;
It reverberates and resonates within itself.
I'm licking the screen door; it's metal
But doesn't taste like it.  It's fresh outside.
Rubbing my tongue against the screen makes it feel hairy.
I hope there's no bug juice on it.
Oops.