no_shit raze he sits in his driveway blasting bass-heavy music and prerecorded talk_radio with the profanity bleeped out while his dog barks at nothing, robbing me of the right to take a shit in peace. when i'm knee-deep in nature, i keep my mouth shut and my ears open. he doesn't know how to exist without drowning out the sound of the world he claims to commune with. whatever thoughts he has, they rise up out of silence like beads of blood swimming to the surface of a still pool. mine wither and die in the mess he's made of another glacial morning. the city has given him almost five thousand dollars for the production of a podcast he'll never record after paying him for a play that was never written. he brings a drum he doesn't know how to play into his back yard and hammers out an arrhythmic song devoid of words or melody. he whistles a piss-poor imitation of a bird he thinks he's having a conversation with, too arrogant to understand that the avian critic is telling him to get off the stage. three squirrels stare at him, their faces dense with disbelief. 230502 what's it to you? who go blather from