handfuls of air

One night I descend down, down,

past many levels of mind,

through twisting corridors of carpeted walls

into a black expanse insulated against

any noise, like a comfortable tomb.

I enter, footsteps muffled, walls

somewhere out there in the black

broken only by a glowing stage

where there is movement.

After a time, I reach it and see

animatronic figurines on rails, looping

in and out of pre-programmed scenes

for no one. How long have they been going?

Their cheery glow casts long across the carpet

where I sit cross-legged like a child and watch.

Their mouths move but only silence emerges,

and the clicking and clacking of wood

and whirring of gears. What can't I hear?