Nothing

I am listening to an end
when mechanical silence slices the artist's
voice into emptiness and
the room is awash with salty
waves of nothing but the unfeeling
snip of my nail clippers 
My brain is a metastasizing 
bramble bush of indignation
This was not a matter of bad transition
into another song, no,
this was a bad transition into its own end
I felt that the oaky croon deserved better
than an unpunctuated sentence
     leaving me only with the hot deprivation of wanting 
     and crashing into nothing but eggshell expectations
before realizing
this was the first time I felt something
the entire damn time

I got to thinking in that pause before
     the female warble of the next queued up 
     body jauntily erased the quiet
that there must be some meaning in nothing then