I always put something on, playing in the background
To give some order to orderless days,
Ground my ear-drums, tether me more tightly.
Something to focus, something to hold on to,
Atoms of air lined up like soldiers,
Marching neatly into the head, subconsciously.
Subcutaneous learning, tacit seminars in the kitchen,
Tidy brainwave-entrainment in the bath;
Marshal those air-waves, move them, now work!
Beat those sound waves into submission;
It doesn't matter how,
Any old recording will do.
Then pack your ears with tissue, when you're through.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think you're on to something here, good thoughts!