In the midst of reflection

A refraction of sound

Rages within the vacuum of her skull

The  pounding and banging of the deft tones

Of an empty trash can.

The madness of sorrow and the sudden

Broken drum of metal in her

Deaf man’s grasp.

She thrilled at the vibration.

The soul of embattlement

The pierce of wallowing tears

Streamed down

And under her skin.

The Deaf man’s grasp had tugged her down

She lay prone on the 

vent she had created 

In the banged-up trash can.

Beethoven surged on the turntable.

She was a shard of glass.

In the deaf man’s grasp

Ragging in the sea of her minds

Boundless recognition of sounds

Beating like a deaf Beethoven

Streaming life into a cacophony

Of black butterflies on a darken day.