1st draft
The emptiness of sound
where the cavern’s inside
fumes a womb of unseen
but still pregnant darkness.
Looks backward on vision
Past the parted lips afloat
ready to form from inside
result the dirty pink tongue
makes as director captain.
Of flesh wave’s steerage
with provisions of spirit
said resonate as grace
of language heard
word spoken as sound
in the exhaled airflush
unseen utterance.
A breath for meaning
of a sake which ears
music of syncopate
hearing into turning
ideas into vibrato.
A conscious feeling
and for this choice
listening is born
to encompass
The Mystic Rhythm.
(c) RJDuberg, 6/17/2004
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