and I do speak of the extroverted symphony
that plays ongoing
OUTHERE
in the world.
I do believe space
adapts to our mental being
adapts well
to our being
mental.
fighting the direction in motion
blows flows though my veins
fighting every idea of brave
that is my stay in this paralysis
(every brother being fighting to fight
to remain wicked to fight every
prayer of soul that we may stay
on earth that we may linger
in the fields of glory that we may
notion to humanity whole of
this most primitive spiritual thing.)
I hear voices of old in
the other room
but I wonder,
are they soft voices against
thin walls
or are they hard voices booming against
a field of space?
