I would never
be that part of the obesity of plump,
that does not sense,
feeling-wise
any ever-distant muted soul-filled rumbling,
no matter how indirect or roundabout
they would occur.
even the smallest of faint ripples or trembles
would get my deductive bee-line attention.
sure familiar is a form of sedentary,
and recognition is baiting me that way,
constantly with lullabies
from languages usage as cradlesongs.
but I would forever look for the serrated edge,
even through the soft collective
to find that smiling grit
of passivity’s hidden might in platitudes,
apparently boring to the core,
or feel for the faintest of any current’s nose-tip orientation,
to find the vibrational meat,
that muted subdued thunder,
that tells me,
by its lip-service of subtle movement,
where and when and how
isness might be happening.
even when three-dimensional ignite
is in stand-down
and anticipation is still sleepy-eyed,
just above somber.
I will have heart-wings unfolded
with the in-breath of spirit-updraft,
ever the inhalation of consciousness
in mind attending . . .
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