Tuning

I think there's music deep inside

My radio's crackling and occasional scattered

Word fragments because between the phonemes

Every once in a while I think I hear

A note or two.

'Course many radios are better than mine and

Reception's not the greatest at

This low elevation and high latitude, still

I think I can catch a little

This or that.

Could be a

Scintilla of one of

The Strausses, the waltz guy or the monster

Tone poem guy in that scene with the jawbone of

A bossy, bully ape. Those hominids whooped

Those bad apes--whooped 'em good so we could touch

Whose buried lunar monolith? Alien planet seeders'? Or maybe even Yours?

And then there was static or worse, piercing, painful tone

Kind of unfamiliar music I guess, maybe higher consciousness

We were not ready

For, but then when would we (could we) be for it or

You? That is, if it didn't hurt a bit at first until we learned it?

To tune into it if you know what

I mean. For here talk is cheap, talk is

Static [,] / [] hides the truth, for

Surely if "All Time is eternally present" to

You, then you get it that I long to hear

Your voice, Your music, and that is

Why I believe if

My clumsy fingers could

Find the exact point on

This tiny knob it might well be

Your music which I think might match the music inside

Me, which is surely the voice of

You, the voice of

You singing to Me, singing to

We, the atoms of Your

Feet if

I could just

Tune In. Might'nt it?

I mean, You've created

All this and we've

Filled it in with static and

Noise and Snap Crackle Pop of

Foolish gossip and meaningless verbiage, when the pure

Sound, Light, and Love are the essence

of You,

Sound, Light, and Love in

Action, and you know I know someone who's exactly that

The Sound, Light, and Love of You in

Action--is that the key to You or is it

Passion? Tell me, I beseech

You who are the "deepest inside," a

'Stillness,' "Deep within all... the Self of life," Help me, I pray, to

Tune In.