sitting with my private self
within a private room
i see Mys'try walking on air
and i scream in silence
as the dark light passes

is mine a call or summons
a panic-plea, a desp'rate sign?
who knows as my mouth shuts
about the soundless wonder
hollowing my throat

mute, i'm thrown into the dungeon
of lone communion, where the
hunger for words is something
more than for food or fluff
passed around as super-substantial

this is no carnival, nor circus
where clowns induce laughter
by falling on their heads

this is blind sanity, incomparable
madness made sane by seeing
the touch of the Invisible holding
ones attention beyond the skies
for the viewing of visions
revealed to the patient-waiters