…webbed
by silence, this loud creature, this innocent monster: at pure sound, maybe
soundness, of mind, matter and mischief sound: by faces, or thought filled
dreams, or mental realities: to sense something alive, our living something,
where deep enough to tremble: or shiver our minds, found by existence, realized
in our mirrored associate: at bundles of lights, at myriad intensities, faced
by something provocative: something by symbols, something alert enough, while
parts are missing: such partial reality, such forced converse, at something
that struggles lights….
…at
primitive music, something about sound, as it’s formed into language: that
first person, or always alive, those linguistic legacies: to identify mirrors,
to peek and run, to return making sense of those ponds: sudden realization,
while poking faces, to relish in pure mystification: those ancient shamans,
those possessing fire, or this thing with movement: our harvests, our winters,
our animals with fierceness: our mothers with children, our playful harmony,
our hunts, our music: as living souls, unbeknownst to life, while motion
appears extraordinary….
…features
are ubiquitous, this pillaged humanity, where some are further evolved: our soul-sounds, our lyrical
sentences, our hymns and séances: to become charisma, to manage a tribe, to
hunt with accuracies: as galloping fire, to possess something instinctual, to
dance with insistence: those birds watching, our feathers to winds, our
features to irritation: to cultivate stillness, where rivers flow language,
where mud has its purpose: our slant on reality, our needs for obedience, and
this sentient, enforcing, and angry disposition: such primitive instincts,
while so savage our heart-pressure, while encouraged to pillage, demand, and
conquer….
…ours
speaks civilization, as calm, deliberate souls, or humans desiring a bowl of
training: our linguistic trials, our social impediments, and our desires for
center stage: this deep agitant, our watchful audience, as music slips through
saxophones: those times for advancements, or those chimes by withdrawals, at
something so internal it nibbles our instincts: our seeds with water, our
coconuts with fish, our kingdom with utensils: to imagine our parts, analyzing
and making sense, by something considered remarkable: at gut and soul, at something
linguistic, or souls primitive speaking about logic: our localized brains, our
sightless beliefs, at dirt and flame….
…we
sense silence, we return to silence, and silence is either fair or unfair: this
inner island, this mountainous terrain, or colorful butterflies: at firefly conventions,
somewhere a cave in humanity, where tigers are observant: such reality, such
bravery, such needs for innovation: to drift through silence, lunging at
fruits, while demanding more silence: as casual souls, at an un-casual event,
where silence has become something human: those blades of grass, those highly
held lemurs, our nights visited by an orangutan: this silent world, this
semi-silent reading, or those silent nudges: at reassurance, at spacial
reality, where something silent has responded: our alien souls, our fretted
acquisition, or lakes running into our sensories….
…something
to sentience, something to silence, accompanied by silent hymns: this portrait
in valleys, this sky-meadow, our deep intrusion: to study silence, to write a
treatise on silence, to encourage, Om:
this silent symphony, so loud with silence, while some are elevating in
silence: this relic charm, those inventive lights, at waves formed through
silence…to retreat into loudness, our car radios, or those soul-imposed
undercurrents….
