If I were not a poet Would it be any easier Cupping you to my mouth? Could I, for once, not Fold under you; as I do the same to tame a love From going South, or in. Back to the core of what Sound does to lips, tongue - - Ear-drum, muse -- From bigger states of being Used, then let loose. To change all of it. God is in me, has a name Auto-didactic, versed & lame Slides between columns Of ancient architecture And caricatures of legend With heroes from Forever. Whispers: plays, and lore Sings: hymns, and more than; Say mother, or doppelganger. When it moves, I feel the swallowing of ends, and the manufacturing of origins My tongue sleepwalks with - - Shamans, and reasons to be More than a few consonants, but instead long moans of - - Truth with perfect pauses of pure infinite silence.