Checkers

Ah, what am I, and what did I become
When, listening, I heard what I should not?
Have I been sudden-struck both blind and dumb
Or turned, sans alcohol, into a sot,
That this sole sense of ear now reigns supreme,
Eats into me with care, and tears apart
Itself, as all that's left. I cannot dream:
Imagination takes its only start
From auditory words, and not from thoughts.
Thus aurally compacted, I may be
A single cross within a row of naughts
Or solitary island in the sea:
Less than I was before I overheard
That terrible and misbegotten word.