i really hate the sound of breathing

i want one of those bicycles,
you know, the bubblegum-pink retro ones with fat wheels
that you only find at excellent garage sales.

i would get the loudest horn i could find
and attach it to my handlebars
and drive to some coastal city where there are lots of people,

where there would be enough noise on the streets
that i couldn’t hear the sounds of people breathing,
and i would stop wondering who they were,
and why they breathe like that,
inhaling and sighing like the rush of waves
sleeping inside their chests.

i could just ride,
and there would be no doors
in the place where the water drowned out the sounds of footsteps
so that they were just a patter-patter-patter
instead of a dull sound outside my bedroom.

there would be no heavy footfalls, back and forth and echoing,
no sounds of shallow breathing, in and out and infuriating.

there would be only me and waves of a thousand anybodies,
drifting along bridges and slightly afloat in cool humidity.


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