Traps

It's a trap to map 
the places that are 
not totally places.
These places are 
spaces, times, and
climbs, mountains 
with bridges and
ridges and pigeons,
each letting the air
know that spans are
cans of thermal reality,
cushions on the rocky
hillside that dull the
sound of too many
boulders pushed out
into nothingness at
the same time, caused
by not a thing that can
be named. Names are
also traps, convenient
conveniences, like 
instant coffee, too 
cheaply made for 
the good of the
order. I want to
learn to accept that
music is built from 
sounds that have all
ready resonated in the
ears that have been
listening since the 
beginning of our
times.