the use of words

I use words

more than the tightrope of their meaning,

lip-tosses forced by the discharge of air

through the yoga of pronunciation,

sound escapes from the prisoner of the throat,

the thrash of what was thought

now debris launched outwardly,

as if over the cliff-edge

of a dumpster of hearing gathered.

now others search the mayhem for finds,

precious glitters that fascinate their minds.

speech is like a seed fight, back and forth,

working conversation 

as if for the same garden's results.

I look for the pitch-pipes

hidden in the tones that are offered in each toss.

I want tones that came from the heart

and not so much solely launched from the mind.

I want for the meaning after the meltdown, 

after understanding has walked right past, 

not caring for the after-breath that lingers as feel.

I want that warmth,

even though it is not thermal anymore.

speech played the instrument

beyond what sound it produced.

passion exists beyond the sound made evident,

as soul spun in an intricate fabric.

spiders make webs while speech makes weaves.

I eat texture and don't have to chew.

nutrition is this vibrational diet.

some would say hearing it,

my senses are about absorption instead.

I don't get into the river of this to swim.

I go there to be the river 

and live in the ever-flow going forward.

words are only the in mystery of rain drops.

they tell of a before,

they give from a now

and present as a wisdom, 

not to just understand

but to absorb into a beingness,

that is,

earnestness with clutter

yet unkept . . .