when you finally listen
to the voices
inside your head

the voices
that tell you
to pick
your neighbors flowers
and eat them

the sweet voices
that earn you candy
from a kind old man
you pay ninety dollars
an hour

the glorious
drownded
voices

to which you
tied anchors,
buried in a trench,
and marked
with a cloudy grave

and yet
here they are
back again
simple and sweet
and undefiled
covered in honest blood
like a baby
fresh cut
from her mother's garden

when you finally listen,
the whole dialect
of the world
turns into an alien tongue

and then all you can do
is do
what your little head
understands

-s