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Poem
Each of us is a special case of music and noise on the ground
So listen, sit down and listen to His rhythmic laughter, scholar.
You are just a hertz of His, a cell, a particle of His sound.
He is somebody's mystic voice, regular stubborn beat, a tone.
He's knocking from within, from inside you, here, under the collar
Or here, in your throat, or while you're crouching under your collar-bone.
It takes a little studying to become His conductor, staff.
You'll be His cord, antenna, network, radiowave of your own
That the blue planet twenty four seven would be full with His laugh.

You'll be penetrated, rinsed through that you forget to feel as self,
You become smooth as a chestnut, so there's no way to simplify,
So that you're empty as a square at night - noone to enslave but self - 
So that you're like an old balcony with ash, peeling and dry leaves.
You were walking with hissing, you were desert sand, outcast but why?
You'll wake up as beloved son - clean, naked, different, one-piece.
You are all in cold blue shine and in haze of an arch-shaped blooming
You will take a train to the city, wallet held tight in your hand
You will realize that you're a foreign speaker in your own land, 
Realize huskiness, throat rust while greeting people, thoughts booming.
That one dimple close to the lip tells me more than anything else.
Hi, brother-in-secret, yes in you I see our Father who tends 

To shine. Hi, brother. One who's independent, he's a white wizard.
We are not letters in God's scribblings, we are paper clips, lizards
at His zoo. We're not the optics we are just a glass frame, we're wax 
For His seal. Age's thinking you beat out right to mentor to play sax.
We are dynamics rather not the sounds, let death not frighten you,
[If you've mastered art of breakup, then death is doable too
Be sure in food and water, don not try to make all happy, please]
Loud speakers: the cleaner the more audible is the laugh of His.

We are His hues, tints, His detail, a highlight on red or on gold
If we work on being clean, He'll be with us 'til the end, we're told
And even after. There's no nation more amusing that the one
Calling Him on schedule, voting for a leader in their moors - Done! - 
Awaiting miracle instructions, walking the Hajj, blessing wells, 
Placing singers accoring to voice and initiating hells.

Listen closely, listen to Him laugh.
Laugh virally and at Himself.
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