: : : : :

ONE MUST CONSIDER oneself at the source of the sound,

around which what’s heard orbits.

 

The act of hearing the window through which a fraction

of the larger picture of one’s being can be glimpsed,

and, from that glimmer, be extrapolated.

 

You are always being given instructions.

 

You hear only what you,

yourself, are supposed to be heard. (Sick!)

 

The code is where your mind goes and what comes next.

 

One is never alone. If not by virtue of higher self, inner child,

guardian angel, personal god— then because you’re a nest within nests.

 

Senses are not mutually exclusive, nor their import.

 

There’s only one field from which all sound is drawn.

 

Vibration is sound is speech is language is body. The way

one thing moves into a state of being something else is the newness,

and all things new, despite first reactions, are good for all in the long run.

 

I can moan or scream in as many YES or NOs as your machine can.

 

No sound or song is ever finished. Things are merely born, let go.

 

The primordial croak that made this exist is the same you use

to curse or praise your closest friend. The difference is the night of time,

the seeming whim of  how long the difference takes to unfold.

 

Being intones being, the first intoner never known.

 

[TO BE CONTINUED.]