The Smell of Sound
I've 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 on 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, whichever 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 just smoke a 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!
Now 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,
Synchronistic...
a magic trick I'd 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
as 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 course.
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!
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