we met, before stimulus had a receptor,
before aloneness was a soft landing,
before light and dark were an arrangement of contrast,
before solid ever knew of itself
other than in a liquid state.
sound is abounding everywhere
and yet we are only an eavesdrop innocence attending.
this silence within is deafeningly loud.
we don’t know of this loud
until we have died in experientially listening.
molecular seems to be
a more natural meeting place.
the ballast of being has no center point,
is all center point.
locational is but an ego deed.
language is but a dander,
a karaoke of the mind set to sound.
the original artist lives within
but becomes popularized as a self sing-along.
what is unsaid is not unheard.
we are all the acquiesce of it . . .
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