Sam Rasmussen

Quiet Now

A reclusive brain offends none while the golden ratio occurs   all around you   are silhouetted trees thinking is that a statement or a question   Because things get confusing without punctuation The same way nothing feels right without closure—closer—the birds are singing now earlier than usual   Glistening beings birds may be the last innocent thing we have left    All inside out again, listening to the concussive music ramble on   Telling stories rarely understood but often insightful    Packs of cigarettes strewn all over the floors—reminders of stress, yellow teeth, or just being bored early in the morning