I’ve come to throw
words at it.
I have thrown
brick-words at it.
I’ve flown
dove-words by it.
I’ve driven
opalescent fast
white car words by
it.
I tried super fine
print words,
A.M. radio words,
billboard words,
blimp words, sky
written profanity words,
breaking news words,
all within their own
context
of attention-grabbing
seductive environments
and got nothing.
Then I tried a
change of perception.
I tried ancient
golden words,
multiple font
bonanza words,
pheromone enhanced
words,
from mother’s lips
words,
broken birdwing
words,
heartbreaking words,
lip-sync words from
action heroes,
words from bat cave
engravings,
volcanic ash
spontaneous inscription words,
suicide note left behind words,
and nothing.
Another change of
perception came to mind.
I tried words
without specific meaning,
words with missing
letters,
sung words in
babbling languages,
unpronounceable words,
freshly invented
words,
and words the likes
of which
are not of our
species origin
with no response
forthcoming
or even vaguely
evident
from any dimension
surrounding me.
Finally, I had to,
out of exasperation
concede to another
approach.
Maybe, just maybe, I
am a part of the it
that I so
desperately claimed
was separate from
me.
Maybe in my
subjective oneness
with that so called
it,
I am to discover
that there are no
words
in the way of
oneness.
There is no
deliverance to another
outside of oneness.
There is no
deliverance,
even there is no other.
The riddle of
language precludes oneness
and preoccupies us
with audience
to our oneness of
selves.
Now, I go hum in the
rain,
make angels in the
snow,
drink water and feel
blessed
by the chorus from
tides.
Now, has me in sight
and words are a
wardrobe
to be disrobed . . .
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