When even laying down
a constant onslaught of sounds
force your consciousness, against its will, to rise
to the level of interpreting what is being heard.
Amidst the bar music, traffic, horns, drunk revelry
fights and the bridge and tunnel squeals
of the uninvited,
one prays for a specific type of silence
a sacred respite
without even the high pitched tone of white noise's
a true silence
inky infinite and black black
empty and devoid
such that even one's inner dialogue is
by the cacophony of soundless
on the edge of oblivion and consciousness.