the INLAID EAR

Your most basic process that you may still control when all other choices get taken from you, pulled off like skin or voice, is picking up the morsel, putting it in your mouth. Chew, chew, chew and swallow. You are hungry. Outside of that fact, your actions are yours. Maybe. Without that freedom, what are you? A can with two snout holes gasping for some human prayer of peace within hell. We trust our wills to be sacred, but check YouTube. Art by print maker, activist Doug Minkler. See more of his work .

Now hear how musicians transcend maya (or the illusions of self we each have). Orchestras synthesize trembling mana, and honey rises from the nascent hive. Harmony is the honey of many. To fuse in unison so as to live— then to lose oneself—that’s life’s best honey. Your strings ooze into the communal line of woven sweet. Then the whole great world hones its taste on this one music. It’s zany how the swarm of cells inside a bee’s bones, and the million details that make a home— plus all your memories dumped from boxes— don’t make a mess. A clear lyric has come— chaos looping and closing in a link, that fits into a geometric comb in the sweet, cellular, symphonic womb. Wow. Dianne Romaine HEY, RHYME FANS: Check out my experimental rhyme scheme based on " Word Golf ."

More Millionaire at http://www.maakies.com/ How can I save the pieces when more pieces keep falling off? Times like these, I’m a sea- eaten clipper in a squall. Hatten down the batches! Please, sea, see me to safe landfall. Ropes and rivets rattle, drop off to dissolve on the calm floor. Why shouldn’t this whole ship of self descend into peace? Then all my pieces could sleep where they rest, in one black bed where slow, deep monsters would keep me together, finally rid of this wearing need to sail… Yet when the ocean goes dead, I don’t look down, but ahead.