By Mike O’Connell 

in various areas of our inside selves,
music plays. nanosecond clips of
all songs ever heard, surround
shushing fields of unconnected
memories, rustling always, encouraged
by the breezes powering, sustaining,
background sounds, lingering behind
uncountable moments, singing,
dancing along with stock recollections,
both available and suppressed.
music is the great emancipator
of the human spirit, the collector
of lifted souls, and the flute we follow,
down the lane.



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