every title,
in fact, every announcement in words,
is grounds for an untold story
or an untellable sequence of internal affairs.
storylines all have visibles
of inferences and prominent descriptives,
but isness rarely appears in the telling.
we all herd the cattle of words.
we conclude to an a-to-b,
but much like watching fireworks,
big words, big blast,
colorful imaging,
but to dust in short order.
words are only bright kites
in a windy day sky.
everything spoken has surface-protection
from mindfulness.
so, I abhor bitter and you love sweet.
so taste this and tell me what you think.
right, we only agree passively, to agree.
what words you honor,
makes you go your own way.
same here,
motivations have hidden post-its
in our feeling states.
if I don't get the vibes,
I got roads signs of conversation passing.
how fast was I listening?
I can ask myself, later.
I wanted mood, tonal,
subtle facials, touch.
words hurled from mouths
need further support.
even singing gets passé,
as lyrics fall from impact,
going memory forward.
can I have a full body massage of listening?
like a hot tub of caring language,
spoken through me
as I soak in your presence?
words are eventually
just another form of apparel.
sure we have dress codes for words.
don't kid yourself, you know what I mean.
when was the last time
I heard someone speak
and I was enthralled
with the sound of their voice?
I have no clue as to what their were saying
but the philosophy of their sounding
was deep.
it was as if silence from within spoke to me
and my listen woke up resoundingly aware.
why is the motor of speech so loud and fast
and the delivery is like a newspaper
tossed on the lawn,
in a drive by?
sure my mind reads into things.
but being alone in oneself as a listener
will do that.
when speaking to oneself,
in solemn disclosure
is what generally happens . . .
(why does meaning have to be so bossy?)
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