To the human order

Tonal communion, bone-washed
in the midnight air cloning ether,
is the grand rhythm and voice
that moves the unwashed stone.

It is the contra point, the silence
that fills your factual movement
with all that you might call
yet another dance with brevity.

Billions of unheard sound-waves
surrounds the one inside the I
at any given glance in motion
beyond any I ordering so.

No human ear or antenna
can discern the chaotic background
to which the human order
clock's itself in disarray.




Poetry by Bob
Read 638 times
Written on 2009-06-16 at 01:46

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Kathy Lockhart
intricate thoughts create craters full of images on a miniscule orb in the vast universe of the mind.

anyway...that's how your poetry connected to this brain. : ) kathy
2009-06-16