IMAGINE Yoko Ono.
Invite the unknown, the
-as yet-
undead.

Listen, quietly, to the
sound of your life turning.
Turning in its grave.
Shhh!

Listen to a heartbeat.
Listen to your heartbeat.
Listen,
as a feather
crashes loudly on asbestos.
Listen, with curious, accepting ears.
Como un toro escuchando su muerte.
Vale.
Listen. Escucha.
Shhh.

Somewhere, somehow, with great finality, a pin drops.
Somewhere, somehow, as a result, we all go deaf.