more words and metaphors before pressing send

the mystery lives in the leaf and the branch and the tree
it lives despite, before, beyond, between
the paradoxes and the cliches and the metaphors

and the words the words thwe rods

the words are the enemies of mystery
ill-conceived, of uncertain origin
unseemly bastards of ideated syntaxified semantinance
strange sounds of flesh and mucous and saliva and blood

the mystery is in the voice, but not in the words
it is in the mucous that disgusts you
the flesh that you abhor
the blood, the nerves and the saliva that lubricates
and strains and squeezes out from chords
life in life on life with life
transports beings in and out
of movement and action and strife

but the sounds that emanate from the flesh
are only the exhaust of the mystery
the words that coalesce into coded meanings
are the mere flotsam and jetsam
of the mystery
they cannot be reconstituted
back into the mystery
the mystery is before, beyond, between the floating signs
the junk sounds, the mere pollutants
clogging up the air

the mystery is in the time

the time between, beyond, among, before and after
the sense and the idea and the word
the lips, the flesh, the skin, the bones, the spit
that from the mystery emit the word
the time that carries
through mysterious air
a mysterious resonance of spirit
devoid of meaning beyond the mystery
which can never have meaning
as we think mystery should

the mystery is without meaning
the mystery cannot be
anything more or other than what it is
and what is will never know what it is

and that big explosion
that giant explosion
was that a beginning or an end?