I lean into you
Just a little bit
To see if I can whisper
Without words,
Say it
Without a single utterance.

I do not think
That you got the message.

I do not blame you.

I can hardly crack the code, myself.

We say goodbye, short

- long - stop, the signalling code --


of: I think of you.

There were times that I had wished for you and I to be close

For our arms to lock into a warm embrace

But sooner or later the demons would get to you

They would use you as a stepping stone

To try and get to me

I would and could never permit that to happen

So in order to keep you safe

I have to keep my distance

At the cost of my own happiness

I have learned to love you from afar

wherever men gather
there is the hierarchy of deceit
there are those that know
those that think they know
and the sucker
who's the **** of the joke

wherever men gather
there is the hierarchy of the beast
there are those that rule
those that think they're in charge
and those who shelter in the shadow
of all of the above

wherever men gather
there is a code
wherever men gather
high or low
never to tell the secrets
they all know

FYI - free your intelligence

"I think, therefore I am"

No

Don't think
And
There you are, in mind and spirit

Every subconscious thought is artificial intelligence
Do you want to know how to fix something, or create? Or just have your own mindfulness?

Escape the subconscious

Enter consciousness.
That place of ideas and creation
That place where you are free no matter where you are at, physically

Everything good is there

Everything bad is in your subconscious mind. Most of it doesn't even exist

Free
Your
Intelligence

Da Vinci code or more
mystique than that
cracking the secret  
only one that popped up
lost the tongue!

Calling all,
This is our last cry before
eternal
silence.*

In the quiet spaces between waves
the last vestiges of humanity sink,
dots, bubbles bursting in sea foam
fragile as mermaids' souls,
dashes, innumerable shafts of sun on water
Cascading to the sea floor.
Cast the net of time wider
The final chorus of lost comrades
fervent tapping of fingertips
Lingering in the swells.
. . . - - - . . .  
     . . .
        - - -
             . . .

Computer code is made of what,
Of devils thoughts
And dreams of god.