What Else Is Soul But A Listener?

Words [are] More Beautiful Than A Found Fall Leaf.

The Word Itself Has Another Color. It’s Not A Word With Any Resonance, Although The E Was Once Pronounced. There Is Only The Bump Now Between B And L, The Relief At The End, The Whew. It Hasn’t The Sly Turn Which Crimson Takes Halfway Through, Yellow’s Deceptive Jelly, Or The Rolled-down Sound In Brown. It Hasn’t Violet’s Rapid Sexual Shudder Or Like A Rough Road The Irregularity Of Ultramarine, The Low Puddle In Mauve Like A Pancake Covered In Cream, The Disapproving Purse To Pink, The Assertive Brevity Of Red, The Whine Of Green.

I Don't Know Myself, What To Do, Where To Go... I Lie In The Crack Of A Book For My Comfort... It's What The World Offers... Please Leave Me Alone To Dream As I Fancy.

What Else Is Soul But A Listener?

The True Alchemists Do Not Change Lead Into Gold; They Change The World Into Words.