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After Death
In this place there are only tones. No bodily function yet movement From thought that flexes Non-existent muscles. There are no nouns, only verb Upon verb, Like fields and valleys, The language spoken by The dead, who have cast off all nouns Is a landscape uttered here. There are harmonics and rising pitch That discords as pain, and accords As love. In this place there is only tone. There is communion in notes with a Melody of Meaning and it is possible To touch another with the intention Of a healing song. Into this place, I unfold my wings of sound-borne light.
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