Dave Bonta's short poem begins with a bold claim: a voice inside the speaker's head matters more than music. That voice gives an instruction, and the poem's title points to it. The instruction is to "go under," and the poem answers by piling up images of what going under might look like.
Light slips into a hole. A heart disappears into a book. Enemies fall asleep. Each image is a kind of surrender or disappearance, but none feels violent. Going under seems closer to being absorbed, as when you lose yourself in reading, or to a quiet kind of rest. The last image, "enemies to sleep," is the strangest, since it suggests conflict dissolving rather than being won.
The mood is hushed and dreamlike. The short lines and wide gaps let each image sit alone for a moment. The speaker doesn't sound alarmed by the voice. Judging by the tone, they seem to listen to it calmly, even with some trust, as though going under were a way of finding peace.