Upon the shores of plenitude

"Hear no more", he said. "Hear no more".
And as far as he was walking the flood of noise came to a dim of light. An empty box full of motionless. Silent waves approach him as subtle as a distant shore. And in the end. The end of all his steps. He could not manage himself to hear anything. There was a black vow of silence inside his soft machine. The ears were sealed by propelling desire. By an instant blink of his brain. And then. Only then. He could live along. Peacefully.

Afterwards he placed all the words together on the way to a poem. Words he didn't noticed before. Now they were just in front of his eyes, dripping as a flag.

The Lobule, the Scalpha, the Tragus. The Helix and the Anti-Helix. The Concha and the Anti-Tragus. And finally, mute as a dead flower, the Fossa Triangularis.