language tames certain forces of our being.
we are the cuckold mentality
of spiritual enterprise.
we are dumfounded
and presently preoccupied.
we are talking heads
projecting shadows on walls
yet the closer to the light
the larger the shadow displayed.
combust would be
the miracle of transcendence.
speaking in tongues
would require hearing in majestics.
so when did we ever have anonymous
as personable?
when did history ever convey
the holographic truth?
it wasn't the author who failed us
but the nature of language and its linearity.
the mind-feed is point and say.
what is the full-bodied animation in that?
even a practical imagination
would have to conjure
and fabricate as for needs
for connectives as fill-ins.
we wanted vibes to assure us.
we wanted sparks
of unspeakable intimacies.
we wanted primal
before it gets translated into words.
we wanted sounds,
yet not audible,
to sing to us.
we wanted articulated immersion
to overwhelm.
so, we have language as our crossing guards
and we have age-related relationships
with words.
I would want each word
to be a happy-ending
to the say of it.
but meaning is not that body of work
in receivership.
language is paint-over the function
of feelings.
language had emotional import
before it got meaningful as override.
language is all about taste
and little about nutrition.
I would eat words
if I could digest
for feelings' benefits.
language is only a ticket to ride,
yet some other part of me,
mostly unrealized,
will be going on
that journey . . .
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