When we grow older will we forget each other?

A question that has buzzed around in my head
beating on my insides
but I am a Capricorn
so I turn around
and avoid that door of thoughts.
and yet those thoughts linger
every time I see you dancing to your own rhythm
and singing your own songs
being who you want to be
and not taking **** from anyone
Those thoughts I hide away
creep out and sink its teeth into
my mind.
~
I never told you how much
I envy you.
your passion is beyond anything I was capable of
and even though it was enough for only one
you still shared with me
and even though you think you are more dependent on me
than I, on you
I would not be the same without you
I would not be who I am today
without you
and even though we can talk about anything and everything
I still cannot show you or tell you the honor I feel
and the love I have that we created
a thing that we call
being best friends.
~
I remember the beginning
starting with an acquaintanceship
in the 6th grade
two stupid kids trying to live a life of homework
and social anxieties
we had this energy together
a connection
that even now I can't explain
and from that acquaintanceship
bloomed a beautiful rose
of a friendship
and from there with the help of six years
a few tears and bruises,
laughs, swears and punches,
compliments and insults,
sleepovers, pillow fights
sneaking out and stories,
and way to many insides jokes,
movie-a-thons, magic tricks,
boys and girls and family,
ripped clothes and naked kids,
bare feet, sun dresses,
cell phones and tree branches,
over exaggerations and airplanes,
travels and sitting on the couch,
stupid questions and stupid answers,
life long lessons and underwear,
Those countless kids, those countless creeps,
drinking, smoking and being sober
and some much more
our friendship became something I never thought I could have
a best friend.
not a normal friend but
a sister I never had.
a person I could always count on.
unlike the countless others in my life.
a person I could/will trust forever.
unlike anyone I know.
someone I can tell my life too
without a second though.
someone I can sing with
knowing I am safe.
someone I can dance with
without feeling weird.
and someone I can do anything and everything with.
and then some.
and with that
I am extremely happy,
extremely lucky and
completely satisfied
that I spent six years of my life with the name of
your best friend.
I love you
and I aways will.


And no.
I would never, ever forget you.
Not in a million years.

It began as an indirect interest
Transformed into a simple acquaintanceship
Quietly building
A little unsure, both hopeful
He watched my favorite movies with me
I wish I could've invented a new word for cuddling; Our bodies fit like puzzle pieces that day
It left me feeling shaky and scared as hell when we finally parted
The first kiss was my favorite part
Not knowing what was going to happen next
I would've sat through thousands of his games
I always said I didn't want to
but I would've helped carry his equipment anywhere, anytime
His left eyebrow always challenged me
Your unshaven jaw always managed to find the perfect place against my cheek
I've never spent that much time on the phone
I can't imagine trying to laugh as quietly as possible in the latest hours of the night with anyone else
I can't describe it
That feeling when everything in the world is just right, because of one person?
That's not what this was
Because it was rarely ever right
This isn't a love poem
Puzzle pieces can't make up for endless arguments
Being ignored all night
Getting adjusted to the fact that "hockey friends" means that he's with his ex-girlfriend
Seeing hand-written letters from her still in his room when I finally gave everything
He was so in the wrong, so why was I being interrogated?
Controlling is not the word I’d use,
I was always given a choice
But what was I supposed to do
When he didn’t like anything I did but all I wanted was to be with him
"I don’t want you to go to that party
"I trust you, I just don’t trust them
"I’ll talk to you after this movie I’m at with all my female friends
"I don’t like how many guy friends you have
"Do you think he’s cute?
"Do you talk to other boys?
"Do you think about other boys?
"Promise?
"Tell me that you promise
"Are you lying?
"Tell me that you’re not lying
"You should tell me all the guys you were into before me
"I don’t like when you talk about your exes
"If you don’t want to argue then just hang up the phone
"Why do you always hang up on me?
"Why are you always mad about nothing?
"Why do you always start arguments?
Everything starts out innocent
But it’s not long before things began their descent
Getting to know people is exciting
Until you start fighting
Liking someone can be the best feeling in the world
But it’s never long before everything becomes unfurled
I’ve always heard that a good relationship takes compromise and hard work
I heard that in a good relationship you have to apologize for what you’ve done wrong
But eventually I was apologizing for everything and it didn’t even take long
So how long do you have to know someone before all the good in your relationship peaks?
How long do you have to know someone before they make a lasting impression?

Your bedroom is a carefully preserved time capsule,
a tribute to a fondly remembered time long past.
Though I have visited this small square room less than
feels right since our once tight-knit group dissolved, it is
kept as pristine as a display about a foregone era in a dark
and cluttered museum.  The walls still stand wearily in that
same stubborn shade between periwinkle and robin's egg,
the only difference is one unfamiliar poster-the rest have
hung steadfast in the same positions since you moved into this
bedroom from the one next door many years prior.  In the
corner across from your bed, rests the desk you have
used to hold some of your most valued items for as long as
we have traversed the undulating cycle between friendship
and acquaintanceship, including the now-empty terrarium that
bravely contained a wooly tarantula.  Your closet, still noticeably
bare, informs me, through a smattering of neon yellow t-shirts,
that you are still employed for the same landscaper. As we pass a
meticulously re-rolled cigar between us, two old and distant
friends, my vision drifts towards the dresser under the plain
windows, which overlook your claustrophobic backyard.  It is,
surely, an Ikea affair, for though it has the coloring of mahogany,
the wood has the unmistakable sheen of faux; but what compels me
to gaze at this dresser is not its questionable quality but the years
of graffiti scrawled across its drawers and walls in the sort of thick
black marker that might give one lightheadedness if uncapped for
too long.  I realize, suddenly, that this dresser is our monolith.

I express to you my incredulity that you have kept this dresser,
of all things, for so long, as a wry grin splits my mouth in halves.
Too many memories, you say, a melancholy tone suddenly echoing
through the small bedroom.  My grin fades, and I look closely,
recalling in a bright flash a multitude of intoxicant-fueled evenings-
you were always in that black pleather computer chair, while
always I sat on the bed, squished between or beside the
on-again-off-again couple.  The exact words inscribed upon this
Ikea monolith, I realize, are no longer of importance, for they
are largely insensitive, pejorative, and crude.  These words are
the spirit of a fading adolescence wasted in suburban bedrooms
and backyards, or in city basements and roofs, spawned by
countless cases of the cheapest beers available, by handles of
off-brand *****, by bags of substances in every shape and
size imaginable.  I am staring at a proclamation of a girl's
promiscuity on this very monolith when you exclaim that you
would give anything to have a time machine, to go back to those
days, that they were the happiest days of your life.  Though
outwardly I smile and offer a noncommittal expression of
sentimentality, inwardly I frown, struck by a wave of pity.  

Halfway between twenty and thirty, I am no longer the shy,
hasty, or withdrawn teenager who spent hours cooped up in
a stagnant bedroom, ****** and bored. I can suddenly perceive
exactly how little you, my old friend, have changed, and I am
ashamed of my inability to say so.  But that couple imploded
years ago in a neon display, temporarily destroying all that
surrounded them; all of the satellites that orbited our group
have moved out of our gravitational field, some going off
to college, some getting good jobs, some moving to big
cities, some starting bands.  Graduations or birthdays
might bring us together for a few hours of drunken
reminiscence, we all know, somewhere, that we have
grown apart, while you hide in this bedroom,
a lonely hermit.

This room is not a time capsule;
it is a tomb, and the Ikea monolith might as well be your
headstone.

Remnants of firecrackers litter parkgrass, splitting seams once encasing them;
exposed twine ribs attached, stretched out beneath shade like sunken reliquiae
dashed against the earth, as freedom is, withered paper husks abound.
What explosions in the sky were heard
above the quietus of patient submission?
Tracing the dotted white clouds to our horizon with thread and colored cloth,
held breath until nighttime, expelling then
-- as wind does each languishing puff of smoke--
from our lungs, sordid smells of Summer; vanquishing the past.
Isolating each other, like memories on kodak prints
we separately cling to that sleek filmy acquaintanceship of proximity and hue
-- disavowed pariahs and hearts lit anew.
Fused inside one sallow skull-box, which doubled once for holding shoes, we linger.
Ideas, impulses and infringements on the eye, until-- once--
bound, unbroken, encased and unspoken,
our ribs unwind with dew-- after,
unstitching seams outlined from heaven and inundating visions with brightness
we descend.
Violent fumes of childhood intercede amidst our shaking fuses lit.
--and BANG!

Tomorrow came,
And it kept on raining.

I thought I saw the soft edges of the clouds part
I thought I saw the sun pushing its way to the surface of the sky.
That day it seemed like we had moved forward.
We had pushed past—
We really could be storybook friends,
Hand in hand,
Forever.

Then tomorrow came
And the sun retreated.
The small slice of sunshine reverted back behind the clouds.
Dark,
Unforgiving,
And undercover.

It kept on raining.

The sun came out
With wispy clouds
That tickled at its face.
I wasn’t ignored
I wasn’t acknowledged.
We went from close
To comfortable
To something less
Than acquaintanceship.

The sun battled to keep its face shining,
But the clouds outnumbered the sun;
They turned dark and maroon,
They screamed through thunder
And thrashed through lightning.

The sun gave in
Beaten and defeated.
And the days just kept on raining.

a relic from my dating days

I’ve been Generation X’ed;
I got the message by text.
A last minute change
and my day was rearranged.

The zombies cross the street,
staring at their phones.
They cannot tolerate a human voice,
and yet, cannot be alone.

It’s not a “relationship,”
despite the  frequent  f**king.
It’s just a casual acquaintanceship,
full of frantic commitment-ducking.

Ambivalence and  indecision
aren’t what I call attractive.
In fact, they summon my derision.
So, I must be proactive.

It’s not that you aren’t ****--
you’re just too Generation X-y.

He’d only just raised the dustbin lid
When he saw the woman’s head,
And what had impressed him most was that
It felt as heavy as lead,
It looked on up with its open eyes
With a stare that couldn’t see,
Which made him fumble the lid and cry,
‘It certainly wasn’t me!’

He thought of the woman the head had been
Before they’d parted ways,
An older woman, but shorter now
Than he’d seen in former days,
He was on a nodding acquaintanceship
With the husband known as Jim,
And thought of him as a friendly bloke
But they’d still be hanging him.

He’d been on the ******* round for years
So he knew most everyone,
But never a severed head before
Had been found on the ******* run,
He hadn’t an axe to grind with Jim
It was just Jim’s lousy luck,
A man should allow for one mistake
So he tipped the head in the truck.

Then Jim came out and he waved at him
And he smiled, ‘Good morning, Joe.’
While Joe smiled back, and he gave a grin
And said, ‘How’s the missis, Flo?’
‘She’s gone a little bit flighty, Joe,
Gone off for a spell,’ he said,
‘That tongue of hers, it was getting worse,
I’ll swear she was off her head.’

‘Well, ain’t that just like a woman,’ said
The man with the empty bin,
‘I see you’re light on your *******, are
There other bits to put in?’
‘Plenty of time, I’ll see to it
For the next time you come back,
I haven’t had time to sort it out
But I’ll bring it out in a sack.’

The following week he got two legs
And the feet were fairly strong,
And after he dumped them in the truck
He drove two doors along,
The bin outside held another head
Of a girl he knew as Tweet,
‘It seems to be catching on, ‘ he thought,
As he drove along the street.

He didn’t think to report it
It was no concern to him,
He only collected the ******* that
They placed in a standard bin,
There wasn’t a line in the regulations,
Not one that he’d read,
Of what to do when a bin was due
And it only held a head.

That street was becoming notorious
For the wives that went away,
Off for a spell to Dingley Dell
For a well earned holiday,
And Joe has quite a collection now
That lines his mantelpiece,
While Jane, his beau, says they’ve got to go,
Or she may well call the police.

David Lewis Paget

They anticipate she writes
when insult their cat o' nine tails
and an officer with a retort
but yesteryear she tucks away her blues  
and she's an inspiration with Jedediah
for a casual acquaintanceship inherently  
or irreverently entwine anyway
as any foibles of hers are bare
with clement she need to see there
far and away ever a man alive again.

dirt and dust
encircling a sea
painted ******* and wooden masks
stand out
and instantly fade
as the slow march around the eight
fills the sunny weekend –
fifteen stages from spoken word to belly dancing
dubsteppers mingle with dead heads
and the mushrooms flow
like wine –
It’s been seven years since the hippies
proved to me capitalism is the greatest sin
and yet I find myself drawn back
pulled by familial remembrances
and the overwhelming feeling
of being welcomed home –
This year marks the beginning, again
third times the charm…
of my acquaintanceship and relation too
the Oregon Country Fair
and when I close my eyes
and tell myself the truth,
I am excited and happy
to be going back home. –

You don't have to do that
Spare me the Monday evening cordialities
Have you even considered the fact
That I am always looking away
As you walk up the stairs?

You don't have to do that
Catch my attention with your smile
Ask how I am doing
As if my answer might sway your next move:
A "see you later" in mid-stride
How symbolic

You don't have to do that
Because I don't need any favors
"I always acknowledge you"
As though it is some sort of obligation
And I should be thankful for your kindness

You don't have to do that
Because I do not care for
Routine hellos and overused smiles
Stained with the implication
Of a shallow rapport

You don't have to do that
Better yet
You have my permission to walk right past me
Every Monday evening
Because I am not interested
In acquaintanceship

You don't have to do that
Because in the same way it is hard to unsee
It is hard to unfeel
And I don't know how much longer
I can tell you I am "well"
Without wishing or waiting to explode

You don't have to do that
Because your eyes
Carry the prose I shared
Written by of a part of me
With which I am still unfamiliar

You don't have to do that
Because I am unable to pretend
The reciprocity of our passions
Is merely common
And irrelevant

You don't have to do that
Because it is impossible to deny that
We have chemistry
We have chemistry

But please
You don't have to do that
Because
Believe me
Had I known the sparks
Would result in wildfire
I would have extinguished them immediately

I am working to put out the flames
But it is awfully hard
While you are fanning the embers

(alternately titled GENESIS RESPLENDENT)

The ability of corporeal (once arboreal) beings to adduce, contemplate and exhaust gray inner knobby matter oft times finds this clothed apish chap entertaining gamesome insight. How did this, that or another thought spring forth per mine consciousness? This conjecture might be a shrunken modus operandi how life began, which query mankind scrunched brow throughout **** Sapiens history did contemplate.

---------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------
This veritable stranger sends what he hopes you consider to be

a most pleasant unexpected note

allowing further discourse (communication) a boot

ourselves, and maybe fledgling acquaintanceship

will positively resonate akin to a magic flute,


whereby digital life jackets donned in virtual trump petsmart boat

perhaps if weather inclement, an additional slick trojan raincoat

to help stay dry until destination reached

perhaps landing upon a north Carolina island


resembling hill Billy goat, whence springs germ of sum re: idea

takes root exhibiting potential va lance lives strong

when juiced sta stp away from ma super ***** violating

tender tinder and tumblr ova vulnerable shoot.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

To search for source that gives rise enabling **** sapiens to think

this ace of spades heart felt (albeit diamond in the rough poet)

digs shallow sometimes force fool lee with light club

to emulate spelunker easing into ***** of Gaia,


or shine laser focus into chasm teetering on the brink

hunting down gamesome elusive dodging idea sunkist,

dogged catlike whimsy doth elusively, and we silly out pace

yet hi yam ready with whorled wide net to capture alive


agile rat scorpion fink unseen quiet as mouse notion

gives this hardy laurel a *** vine run for his money

quite a chase - bank king analogously viz monkey and weasel

scurrying thru microcosmic burrow of cerebral size manhattan

sky scrapers at a blink quarry arising whim of mine


vanishes without a trace quick as mental cogs & wheels

generated riveting link, perch ants connected

to previous pondering within cranial place, or appear

as some random non-sequitur conscious kink

distracting ability to latch onto awesome fleeting mind space


inducing minor frustration at lack of ability

dag nab bit (albeit painlessly) steely zinc

shimmering insight cognizant

ability likened to ode Grecian urn vase frieze

depicting close capture thought process cold playing life


spans shorter than a wink via third eye blind

of this comfortably numb, yellow brick walled

beatle browed face, whereat he espies verdant

pastoral themes that billow and flow

- - - - - - - - - - - - -
across terra firma hallowed ground

sanctimonious from immaculate mother Earth conception

synchronized in a symphony with terrestrial

fauna and flora which life forms abound

via natural laboratory qua nature,


especially at seasonal dawn of spring tide

where multitudinous existence can be found

carving out a figurative zoological niche

in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds galore

idyllic melodic musical sounds


artist palette of rainbow blended sights

which twin manifestations of restorative and natural calm

assuage auditory and visual sense pleasures respectively

serve as psychic balm against global threat

of life, liberty and happiness triage psalm


rampant in the form of diabolical deliberate deeds

bred in the soil of deep rooted hatred

kudzu resistance asphyxiates human camaraderie

democratic state attacked with no qualm

malicious and terroristic plot methodical map


blueprint leaves catastrophic trail of red

dire prognostications constitute doomsday scenario

no rocket scientist mentality requisite

grave misfortune writ large for all life!

A Big, Big Moment

It was a big, big moment
When I noticed
God and I were one.
I think they call it revelation;
Like an insight only better.

He or It was in my brain,
And that was mind
And it was mine,
And all I had to do
Was not to go somewhere,
Some real place,
But face the thinker in my mind
And it was done.

A down-to-earth
But heavenly
Acquaintanceship:
A quiet pleasure,
Followed by a change in days,
A change in ways,
The ways no longer aiming ‘up’
As if an ‘upwards’ was the target.

I’m not claiming it was angels;
But it wasn’t’ babble either.
It was cool.
There was no rule to follow.
Cool and yet
A big, big moment.

A Big, Big Moment 6.27.2016
Revelations Big & Small; God Book II;  to The Child Mystic II;
Arlene Corwin

signaled one hundred seconds to midnight

A couple years ago
similarly titled poem I did write,
yet looms as harbinger unless
**** sapiens can unite
one non Yiddish speaking
Ongematert wishing ye
fare thee well tonight
before betokening apocalyptic sight
'course one must go about
her/his business - right?

Rhetorical question - yet
impossible mission quite
challenging, where one
brother grimm ponders plight
Cosmofunnel favorite fan
Katina Borgersen "****"
our acquaintanceship dissolved
(think - snapped fingers) outright
regardless, whether...
perchance we ever
cross paths long daze

journey into night
met under virtual reality moonlight
ah... the mere awareness
of her existence
metaphorically found modest, mercurial
mellow male within limelight
oy vey admittedly one
rusty Ongepatshket knight
fumbling in the dark with
his unreliable sputtering jacklight
hooping aforesaid gal whose eyes alight

upon mine genuine words doth newt
**** sitter me laughable, nor impolite,
yet accept hard reality to highlight
and/or _ underscore delight
full dame online - each of us,
an infinitesimal jot of granulite
within vast cosmos given finite
minuscule time to excite
our senses trending utmost delight
during brief unique
deoxynucleic chromosomal copyright

til death do us part,
whether natural demise
or... huge mushroom
clouds radioactive blight
unimaginable nightmarish scenario
impossible mission to close third eye blind
webbed global haunting spectacle
mortal creatures linkedin to ill fate
including yours truly,
a generic, garden variety
hermetically sealed cell bit anchorite.

Uneasiness far greater
to confront atomic augury
than pernicious penury
which ceases within eyeblink
far more serious than perjury
nonetheless afflicting me
with psychological injury.

Personal finances pitted
me deep in hock
into red room zone,
shining thru the mist
story, yes I experience
quite a shell shock,
to absorb inconvenient truth
great swaths of Gaia
analogous to dead zone,

nevertheless, now finds yours
truly poorest, oldest, and nerdiest
curmudgeon goofy "kid"
on the chopping block
within Lake Wobegon
hard space and third rock
from sun as inevitable doom
inches closer as each second elapses  
insync with inaudible tick tock.

My motto comprises to exalt in this moment rather than delude myself with any grandiose illusions.

PREFACE: PREPARE TO SET ASIDE A PARTIAL ETERNITY
TO PERUSE THE CONTENTS OF THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE.

Ohm my...volt a mort...
coalescence of coaxed friendship
analogous to miarculous birth
whoa there lovely reader,
no doubt without resistance,
your smile can generate
amp pull power to light up earth
noah matter this totally tubular stranger
unknown to thee as Adam,
evokes an aura, charisma, enigma,
patina, persona...wis spurs this note
to kindle courtesy tinder warm
fine companionable individual connection
exuding sheepish mirth
per intuiting your wool e worth.

I enjoy making accessible, convincible,
evincible, gullible, intelligible,
kissable invoking comments
perhaps on account oof a cerebral dent
though many respondents rage at this gent
sans his playful wordiness leant
only genuine acquaintanceship meant,
and their valuable time spent
to decipher my gibberish,
which binary logorrhea might rent
asunder unsuspecting cyber surfer
evicted out the human league

since possessing propensity
for presenting ambitious, burdenous,
conspicuous, disadventurous, onerous,
and tremendous cerebral task
necessitating hours decrypting
blurb subsequently forcing
whatever gender appended recipient
to an anonymous he/she,  
forsaking their precious time
maybe even unwittingly affecting individual
impacting his/her employment
ending result they/them live in a tent.

This poet knows a mew lion
ranges of feline artful dodging cat skills,
(especially when cavorting among comedians
associated and linkedin with Borscht Belt - ha)
concocting incomprehensible confusing trills.

Some of these claws pickling skills include maintaining mouse sized dignity muttering cheeses crust (while under fire from Stuart little), kibitzing, nibbling on self crafted bon mots, and rubbing dead giveaway crumbs (from double entendres) using all faux paux into thy maw paw cent less whole foods masticating mouth, where commestibles enter without choppers.

Sanguine at one hundred minus thirty six, or two squared + three squared + four squared + five squared + square root of one hundred = an apt and pithy phrase to matt's matrix labyrinth best characterized as a twisted maze (along a boulevard of broken dreams) lodged deeply inside this dutiful dada shackled to an endless role of scullion, but silently gesticulated for salvation.

This spruced up fun guy (and not unduly coy -- see) pines for friendship to cure nostrum from domestic plight i.e. living like a caged rat in cell bite size state.

Just a spoonful of sugar (hummed to that classic mary poppins melody) will most definitely help this medicine go down.

Mine current existence like a modern Henry David Thoreau.

After perusing this rambling prose (from mine being psyche feeling walled in), you might judge this personal struggle more on a par with Oliver Twist.

I sincerely seek salient gallant wings (with or without dish pan hands) to take this humble human being who can (ha) bring a fairy tale ending to my Cinderfella patterned existence.

Away I want to soar no matter such fantasy a fool's paradise.

An extra ticket to paradise (actually four powerball tickets bought today – September 7th, 2023 for that reason) just needs to be made manifest, and thee could be a boon, balm, salve, and tonic plus receive preferential treatment to travel in tandem with one stranger in a strange land.

Only upon surrendering to a deep and peaceful boss ah nova heavy metal sleep, (which dream state will take place soon) does the fictional world (within the wide wedded web of this wayward thinking wanderer) take hold and serve up a brief hiatus to a life devoid of contentment.

This amateur baker would cook up a souffle or rhubarb ken pie if willingly processed from mine own personal lake woebegone awash with raw bits of flotsam and jetsam and empty boxes of powdered milk biscuits, the one with big blue stains on the outside.

San sol invictus served ancient civilizations as their com-stock load.

Like a modern day icarus this wedded warbler mulls the possibility of finding a real live likeness of what constitutes a hologram of his mythic muse, who exudes able bodied confidence donning every filament.

Keep on dreaming cyber buddy, an anonymous reader might think, telepathically communicate or even communicate via email, which idealism goads me to broadcast the following fanciful (and perhaps not so far fetched) feasible find among the frequent purveyors of this website.

The vague nebulous barely perceptible kernel of a fictional account per my own conjured up vision (as pertains to what might comprise a companionable buddy to me) could conceivable materialize into an actual arch de triumphant revelation once landing this wistful nugget of an idea into the conscious of unconscious mind of an unknown galivanting fellow writer, who just by a fluke (of the worm holes populating the universe) finds themself piqued with curiosity about me.

Not a whit of information yet exists about this dabbler of prose, who envisions himself in seventh heaven (no matter he in truth really admits to espousing an atheistic outlook on the cosmos), where fickle finger of fate (usually the middle one raised by an obstreperous onlooker) ideally finds me all in the family within human species able to articulate in a civilly (disobedient) and democratic manner emotions, ideas, sentiments and thoughts with an unpretentious air of sophistication.

Said **** sapien (meaning balsamic scented hominid) would also possess a cosmopolitan demeanor, yet clear of all any modest knotty suaveness, but also able, eager, ready and willing to allow, enable and provide quite an ability to get into an amazing tangle of literary profundity.

This older fellow seriously believes he got borne in an in apropos century and revels in another illusory consideration - aside from trying to summon forth a living gal of flesh and bone from this overactive imagination maybe an accompanying bipedal hominid within medium of time travelling.

Frequent farcical notions flit to and fro inside the biggest *** ***** triggering bonafide premature ejaculations of bonhomie. Case in point hair with not an immensely large head.

This wordsmith would feel at home if transported to the renaissance or medieval ages, or more recently that war between the north and south.

If hedging bets with yours truly being a reincarnated union soldier of yore, you no doubt already can infer, where thy political and more pertinently national federation of me as singularity amidst webbed wide world would get cast.

Okay, the original aim of (what many might hashtag as yahoo) really wishes to explore make believe world, and just maybe ***** inquisitive online browser, who although she might not be seeking male relationship just by happenstance or circumstance experiences some inexplicable necessity to reply.

In the event should lady luck liberate yours truly would be like a divine guiding star, I know best to tamp down any precipitous illusions of grandeur, but would let the natural course of familiarity usher the chap a roan of sacredness to be cherished for however short or long such a friendship might endure.

Oh yes, an ongoing (specifically offline) interaction motivates this doubting thomas fool hardy spurious posting to be ransacked with absolutely total consent in an effort to be plucked from this (utterly difficult to describe) morass of contemptuous husbandry discontent with self, yet consideration to stay faithfully married with wife (since July 25th, 1996) would be a moderately strong consideration.

So, now with a zing
or an unexpected
gold plated invitation after yodeling
hoop ye kin be a yang 2 me yin
Asia step into the digital xing
via summit da fall low wing
written *** jest byte ting
tongue in cheek unsure if phone will ring
in an effort to hear pleasant,
yet discordant musical ka -- ching
for cherished pennies, nickels, dimes,
et cetera from heaven to bring.

(alternately titled  GENESIS RESPLENDENT)

No matter the calendrical/official onset of vernal equinox takes places Tuesday, Mar 19, 2024 and transpires until Thursday, Jun 20, 2024, an intimation sensed (predicated on above average temperatures for February 21st, 2024) that season of blooming plants will override any assertion of Old Man Winter.

The ideal, general, ethereal ability of corporeal (once arboreal) beings to adduce, contemplate and exhaust gray inner knobby matter oft times finds this clothed apish chap entertaining gamesome insight. How did this, that or another thought spring forth per mine consciousness? This conjecture might be a shrunken modus operandi how life began, which query mankind scrunched brow throughout **** Sapiens history did contemplate. Origin of life ascribed to the big bang, but then the question begged what preceded that cosmic event, which question came crashing into inquisitive mind of yours truly (me) after reading  a book titled Angels and Demons by Dan Brown; He also wrote the Da Vinci Code, and The Lost Symbol among other book titles.

This veritable stranger sends
what he hopes you consider to be
a most pleasant unexpected note
to thee unknown reader
allowing further discourse
(communication) a boot...
footwear ourselves, and
maybe fledgling acquaintanceship
will positively resonate akin to a magic flute,
whereby digital life jackets
donned in virtual ******* up petsmart boat
perhaps if weather inclement,

an additional slick trojan raincoat
doned to help stay dry
until destination reached
perhaps landing upon a north Carolina island
resembling this hill Billy goat
(christened Beverly),
whence springs germ of sum re: idea
takes root exhibiting
potential valance lives strong
when juiced sta stp away
from ma cheaply tricked
supertramp violating
tender tinder and tumblr
ova vulnerable shoot.

To search for source that gives rise
enabling **** sapiens to think
this ace of spades heart felt,
(albeit diamond in the rough poet)
digs shallow sometimes
force fool lee with light club
to emulate spelunker easing
into ***** of Gaia,
or shine laser focus into chasm
teetering on the brink
hunting down gamesome

elusive dodging idea sunkist,
dogged catlike whimsy
doth elusively, and we silly out pace
yet hi yam ready with
whorled wide net to capture alive
agile rat scorpion fink unseen
quiet as mouse notion
gives this hardy laurel
a divine run for his money
quite a chase - bank king analogously
viz monkey and weasel

scurrying thru microcosmic burrow
of cerebral size manhattan
skyscrapers at a blink quarry
arising whim of mine
vanishes without a trace quick
as mental cogs & wheels
generated riveting link,
perch ants connected
to previous pondering
within cranial place, or appear
as some random
non-sequitur conscious kink

distracting ability to latch onto
awesome fleeting mind space
inducing minor frustration at lack of ability
dag nabbit (albeit painlessly) steely zinc
shimmering insight cognizant
ability likened to ode Grecian urn vase frieze
depicting close captcha
thought process cold playing life
spans shorter than a wink
via third eye of providence
of this comfortably numb,

yellow brick walled
beatle browed face,
whereat he espies verdant
pastoral themes that billow and flow
across terra firma hallowed ground
sanctimonious from immaculate
mother Earth conception
synchronized in a symphony with terrestrial
fauna and flora which life forms abound
via natural laboratory qua nature,
especially at seasonal dawn of spring tide
where multitudinous existence can be found

carving out a figurative zoological niche
in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds galore
idyllic melodic musical sounds
artist palette of rainbow blended sights,
which twin manifestations
of restorative and natural calm
assuage auditory and visual
sense and sensibility pleasures respectively
serve as psychic balm against global threat
of life, liberty and happiness triage psalm
rampant in the form

of diabolical deliberate deeds
bred in the soil of deep rooted hatred
kudzu resistance asphyxiates human camaraderie
democratic state attacked with no qualm
malicious and terroristic plot methodical map
blueprint leaves catastrophic trail of red
dire dystopian prognostications
constitute doomsday scenario
no rocket surgeon
nor brain scientist mentality requisite
grave misfortune writ large for all life!