What Happens Once We Become Sound?
I do things because of thoughts,
and so thoughts take form
with roughness and rattling
the sounds of ideas, things, people…
All are brought up into vibration
and we rise with it, up and forever.
To be in the clamor and clutter of waves,
waves over streets... we transform!
There is an ocean
always here in the city, it is there
with objects crashing and colliding
And it's a melody without the consistency
of an ocean, for the ocean is
disciplined by a gazillion
droplets of saltwater over a vastness
touching all continents.
All cultures and all people
know of the ocean, no passport is needed for it
to visit anywhere and therefore
Everywhere. And everyone. It is there at the fringe
of every way of thinking, living.
When we become sound, we
become its hopeful imitator,
its unintentional admirer
with a fervency of passion,
trading movements and motors
for a completeness of being as noise!
As haphazard, disoriented melody,
within the swoosh and soul of
white froth-tipped and longitudinal
"What is sound even made out of?" asks the child
and you cannot say so you say
it is the song and the garbage
of life, of everything that moves
with the pulsing of will.
Poet's Notes: This poem was written on a typewriter, and it was created through my own stream of consciousness. I did not make any revisions to the initial, typewritten draft. The poem is entirely a contemplation of the noise that people make, and as I contemplated these ideas I created a great deal of noise by pounding on the keys of a humming, electric Smith-Corona.
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