Eine Kleine Nachtmusik ( as Performed by the Pennsylvania 432C Symphony Orchestra )

In the small hours
        (Though they are slowly getting greater
        as my circadian rhythm pushes toward
        total inversion of day and night)
as I wait frantically for sleep
and exhaustion to finally overwhelm
my nervous paranoid being,
I begin to hear
the symphony of small sounds.

The instruments rise slowly.
The electric hum and whine
of cooling fans on routers, towers, and CPUs
builds a steady drone
as my ears shift focus
from pitch to pitch.
My heart
        (That poor clock which keeps time
        the way a cracked vase keeps water)
beats the dull metronome tempo.
The furnace groans and blows
giving bass and form
to this little night music.
Two hard drives
play the dueling pizzicato melody
of a tired computer’s private dreams.

I, the distinguished guest,
for whom every concert is held—
often delayed—
close my eyes
and let this symphony envelope me
in the warm white blanket of noise.
There is the presence of an absence.
It has become such harmony
that I cannot distinguish the instruments
as they build toward the crescendo,
of joyous nothing.

2 Responses to “”

  1. Well, your artistic talent seems to just seep from your pores…

    Your poetry is just as intriguing as your art.

  2. the_eek says:

    You managed to perfectly capture something so common and overlooked. I feel this every night.