The Smell of Sound
Ive developed a bit of a fetish, dear,
The smelling of objects of a ***** kind.
"*****", the collective perspective of a selected few
Let me address the subject once more
Select more carefully the words I spew
Breakdown
Analyze
peripheralize
Re design
I could always blame the man in the moon
Bending our horizons
Breaking our straight lines
Demanding ability of our mind
It was in the earth of a rock that I smelt my first sound
perhaps I heard the smell,which ever way round
Upside down inside out
The more ways I look at it the more life shines light
The more light fragments my sight
How wonderful, the array of colours
Have they always been there I wonder as I gaze into the array
into the sweet bliss of the day
Day tripping
Time rippling
Brain dripping
Heart flipping
Tossing words and metaphors
The sweet whores of definition.
Define, re-define, move some stuff around
in itself a process so delicately designed
intricate elements of another's expression exposed on the opposite end
Juxtaposed
Yet out of love
completely unopposed
Smell this orange, smell this plant, smell this stone
Thank goodness this game is not mine alone, I've passed it on
the smell of sound freed from being bound by a single mind
We could also just smoke spliff on the side of the road
Be exposed
Remove the clothes of our built up guilt
creative confidence spilt in a display of laughter
It was indeed
a beautiful disaster
So now that you are the master once more
the master of your own disaster
The birthplace that chaos bore
The unbound potential of it all
Does the change of wind move your breath
Are you moved by the changing breath of wind?
I'm inclined to thinking, dear
Its rather intrinsic
Syncronistic
A magic trick I say
And I do say,because I'm the boss of the world
You're the boss of the world
We showed them that day
On the side of the road
smoking our fat spliff
being deliberately exposed
It all made sense though, in the end
when the nose and heart got involved
and the warmth of the shared space of love
a cloak for the bitter cold
Here in lies a buried treasure from way deep down in the earth
Unearthed in a single tear
Shedding fear
Heart vibrations cohere
In conclusion, dear, these are my perspectives
Acknowledging openly their equal opposite prospective
Let's crunch numbers to square this all off, for interest sakes, of coarse
So one and one equals eleven
the first Master Number
The illuminator, the messenger and the teacher
Who could have imagined such an extraordinary creature
Copyright © Dominique Baptie | Year Posted 2015
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