Sonic then: the ears like the eyes
Swing through the todays and the centuries,
Nor can one complain of the lack of any
Melody or cacophony:
Striking a bell, striking a chord,
The thundering charge of the Golden Horde,
Susurrus of oars in the Golden Horn,
The lovely lilt, too, of Goldie Hawn,
A sea-lion's bark by the Golden Gate...
But ‘gold's too visual? So resonate.

See, Hear, now Feel-the sense of touch
Stroking so little, striking too much:
From silky skin that soothes one's fingers
To swimmer's flesh that's torn by stingrays...
Extremes? Yes, But there's also sex and love
Those two non-identicals, fused enough
Into a skin-and-psyche blend
That insistently cries ‘transcend'!

Let it simmer awhile -Mature?
There are some minds that take these newer
Insight gleams as giving perhaps
White-hot mountains for value-maps,
Whose failing volcanoes leave lava-clogged vents...
Yet, should such flow-depth somehow condense
And philosophy-lyric be seen as the aim
Some future archpoet might one day proclaim...

Till then, one can probably not do better
Than a quite superficial scatter
Of notes towards that perhaps eventual
Meld of the subliminal and the sensual.
                 

                      *****