Hyperacusis

The slow crawling light wilts
into the dark flat of asphalt.

The moon rings the dim-lit room.
The scraping. The fire.

                                             Dust
in the deep flesh of ear.

Strike a match, watch the flame—
the scraping, the fire, ring
in unison,

                    the brain’s bent
                                                  fugue.

Yoked mica, deafened glint—
scrape and fire, the moon ringing
the dim-lit room.

                               A louse in the crevice
of brain—
                     wrinkle-scape
in knuckles flexed
                                    lashed, etched,
around the steel—
                                     the affliction
of squalor—a pummeling
                                              —skull

and brain
smelted in a starless dark.

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“Hyperacusis is a sensitivity to sound. When inventing the poem, I was interested in how sounds in urban environments—machinery, street light, and noise pollution in general—influence my understanding of sonics. This poem is merely an interpretation of that particular meditation.” 
—Santee Frazier