The manies of this world merge
into I-You-They-Us-It.
Throw your kisses to the crowd.
Crowd your kisses in a dirge
to self, and make it fit.
I sit here, watching,
listening to the mingle of many instrumental voices,
musical, harmonizing among the faded rafters,
spinning over silken stage.
We are the stage.
We are the rafters.
We are.
Music: Merge to One.
People: an endless None.
Feel the empty, the stage's faces
The soul that walking, blots unwritten pages.
Can I know you, little child of a billioned world?
If the world were two,
could I see you better?
But the world is one.
I have never been along the dusky alleyways of so many lost children.
The universe expanse is full
of brothers, sisters.
Broken, laughing, crying,
mending,
breaking anew each day.
I have never known the mysteries of the universe.
Never pet the kitten that licks at trickling milk cupped in your ticklish palm.
I have only seen the face that guides it.
Never seen the faded picture in your pocket.
Little children, pour your life into the music.
Sink your soul; soliloquize translucent sounds.
Stumble maybe, halting steps are endless: slow.
Numerosity is killing small-mindedness.
Numerosity is killing
Numerosity is.