sound machine(s)

i go to the sound machine place.
we used to put our ears to clouds
so that we wouldn't hear teeth.
i preferred the rain. you preferred 
the ocean.
we spend all night
removing oceans from our ears
just to put them back. i sleep on
the couch. i sleep in a pit of fire.
the machine has a pad 
of butter for one of 
our eyelids. i drown the cars.
a flood worth having. i watch
a tiktok where the speaker asks,
"do you think god should
apologize to us?" my answer,
"of course." i think he gets
all the sound machines & here
we are searching wherever we can
for a pinky's worth of full.
i have used shells as ears. i have
climbed on the roof of the old
apartment building to try & find
a bigger sound machine. one large enough
to snuff out all the thunder in me.
i do not talk enough about
the lack. god does not apologize.
what good would that do anyway?
we have soil & rocks. we have always
been left to our own devices. us & the birds
& the snakes. 
an outlet. recording the wind.
microphone swallowed in the attic.
i have storms enough to burry 
all of our thoughts for tonight.
we talk by the corner lamp.
you ask, "do you see me?"
i answer in a rare 
machineless dark, "i do."