Yesterday was horrifically quiet and he didn’t like it:
The noisy stillness constantly booming in his ears
Made him think he was being forced down.
He had felt like a pea and the world was
A child’s thumb pushing him into the
Mashed potato of suffocating silence.
He yearns for that silence.
Let the door bell ring until it falls off the wall.
He doesn’t want to see who’s standing there.
It could be the angels three and he would not open the door.
Ignore him and his words, he doesn’t
Give one dry shit today.
He’s become used to the stillness now,
The glory of non communication is his new friend.
It almost feels like a woollen blanket,
Cosy and warm, like a womb and if you
Snatch it from him he will snap your fingers like lolly sticks.
He was the Abbot of Absurdity;
No he’s a Trappist monk.