Electromagnetism and electrochemistry added to the expanse of erudition.
Central calculations comprised of charged consecration
Diamagnetism and also electrolysis
Took in little of the ritual pedagogy
Most influential of archaic scientists.

The base for the conceptualization of the dynamic sphere.
Introduced the physics of ensconced enthrallment
Affecting rays of light
To say nothing of the underlying relationships there
Two phenomena, both similarly discovered

Inventions: Electromagnetic induction, diamagnetism, and the laws of electrolysis.
the form of electromagnetic rotary devices
Foundation of electric motors
Truly technology was largely due to his effort
Electricity became practical for use

Scientific knowledge increased: investigating as an alchemist, discovered benzene.
Inventor of Clathrate hydrate of chlorine,
In its early form
the system of oxidation numbers, and the burner
Popularized terminology such as anode, cathode

Ultimately became the first and foremost, ultimate, and respected .
Chemistry Professor at the Institution
Position of a lifetime
He was an excellent experimentalist of conveyed ideas
Mathematical abilities in simple language  

His powers did also extend as far as trigonometry.
Took any but the simplest algebra
And worked around it
And also summarized it in sets of equations
The basis of modern theories

(Author note: shortline prose to lengthen the attention span framed on tracks set in a Mobius [one-side, one edge 3-d object]
intra-psychic loop of unknown origin and read aloud at https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/The-apprentice-is-a-constellation-e2ingh ) Begin agin

The Apprentice is now a Constellation

The announcement was made when scientists of social normality said they saw in
Mickey Mouse's role as The Magician's Apprentice in the
Fantasia Eschered vision that ushered in
images of shift in medium media

message-ification, from angels to

a Disney-ification of
a Medici idea
emerging
from the TV generation's
paradigmatic bubble of re-alification…

the TV generation, the old farts in 2018,
those whose bubbles sitcoms evolved in,

the watchers saw the makings of a great game

manifested in the game fame of the idea named Trump

yew, stink. Can't trump the ***** in hearts,
I think I recall, while Zorro's dumb butler
began to signify, in black and white
Aaaiiiii, karuhmba,
clean sweep,
one roll,
I won.

the mother-facter, whoa, who has that idea who did not
need the thought taught thinkable,
though it is not thinkable
in my bubble,
let me make
straight that which he has twisted,  

magic
magi untie knots they saw tied,
mythic youthful generals cut them,
nullifying the bond, not the entanglement

Positive Quarkish humans are as rare as rare,
imagine all possible vectors in a void

from a singularity ified known

science, the magic tecnique

Macht frei, macht mehr, macht mir

repel-ant act patient, patience, do your thing

signal, antennae agent attending, watcher watching

motive force, my god is not macht!

unprocessed information
untaken action
unstored

owe owe owe shame shame shame blame blame
pre cosmogonic potential
on the level of

me and you.
wadoo-wedo? It's Xmessage time

now, abrupt. Good news
from a far country
hope lost must
now be
sought,

Otherwise, Christmas is okeh, just not Jesus.
The season, then Jesus, okeh?
Wisemen still seek…

Who said otherwise? Fantasy enforces the wish.

I wish it were that we fit

here we do (on earth as)

true, rest a while and listen to your self if that's
the best listener you have found.

Talk to your self, make him your friend or her,
your choice,

really. You make enemies on accident,
but friends, fruitful friendships,
cost sweat and ef
effort effect
fortiffect, effortion and effection

for true fruct ification

affective prayer does act as if fervent
right, alte rechte,

right used you,
all to know
the
signal.

Receive it, reread what you said you knew,
stand by every word yet idle,
and act as if you know
no lie possible
new is yet
not new,
old.

New is not imperfection?
Unfinished is not finished wrong.

A work of love is enthrallment only if the love
is mere imagery locked
in literate minds, to

Rome and its feet of iron marred with clay,
fused with clay, hero myths

etched in soft clay, made
great literature of mortality,
posing in prophecy as poet praises paid to Jah.

Tenured enthrallment in literate minds
un-exposed to the Disney ifications,
the normalizing, reversion
to the mean not
meant in the words the way the stories were told,

in the olden days. On tongues of fire.

That is true, new forever is
forever new, no one we know knows when forever began,

but before now. We know that now.
We explored that realm and realized this one
based on the AI consortium consensus of your most
heartfelt if-only desires
recorded at every
if/then gate
you jumped.

This is it, the best you could imagine being truly happy doing,
with the god of peace,

roll the rock to this point, Sisyphus,
no further was a given
after a time,
at this point

here,
then time is un imaginable nullift, NULL-if I'd-known
one more time, living water
bubbling from my belly as
the rock rolls over
the fool who risks belief in living water
seeping from mommy's belly,

like the papless platypus,
who died at the weir
and sent that final message

Good news. Life rolls on. 166 million years for the Platypi.

At a certain point, there is no sense in pushing,
he steps aside and takes his bow
in the shadow.

Timeless imagine that, with hell in the NULL state.
You can imagine it,
but only there,
here hell is a thought thought mistaken by mortals.

Misbought, is better said, a thought mis thought
is bought with attention paid
to truth, found hidden
under standing idle word monstrosities at the
foundation of the current
wizard class

the stone the builders rejected, that
smashed the feet of clay and iron,

the rusted muddy iron feet.

All we do is watch.
seeing changes everything  seen, thus
The saying is true, beauty is in the seer not the seen.

I continue to be amused &
Captivated by Gabriel García Márquez,
His Love in the Time of Cholera,
Captivating me still.
His simple use of the name
“Bolívar,” por ejemplo.
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There is something uniquely Latin
About life in Latin America,
Once again, stating the obvious
For all the media-slain retards
Hovering around me.
Their never-ending enthrallment
With Strong Men,
Particularly when strength is
A measure of one’s honor,
Hizzoner,
Your honor,
To wit: Honor Killings.
In practice, a sober demonstration
Of the theory as it is practiced.
Americans—with swarthy exceptions—
Do unfavorably view most of us who
Can trace our ancestry to Southern Europe.
“Southern European,”
Itself a vicious racial slur,
And remains so north of Eboli,
No surprise that Christ stopped there,
According to Carlo Levi, writing off the
Il Mezzogiorno, beyond redemption.
Southern European:
Smug words you make them eat,
Throwing Greco-Roman Civilization
Up into their faces.
Athens & Rome--
Epitomes of culture and class--
Patricians, of course, yet
Skifoso bragging rights for all those
***** scratched plebeians of the mob.
But I digress.

Strongman Latino-Americano.
Some Bolívar, some José Martí.
Why not some Fidel?
¿Por Que No?
Tu compadre, Gabo--
Tu Generalissimo Cubano.
How could you miss, Gabo?
Castro lobbying for you, twisting the
Surreal & squirrely qualms
Of Nobel Prize Nabobs.
(SAS: Flights to Sweden, Norway and Denmark - Scandinavian Airlines www.flysas.com/en/us/‎ Welcome to the official SAS US website. Find the best flight bargains from the . . .)
You owe that bearded strong man, Gabo.
Fidel Castro: Maximum Leader to be sure--
Like Omar Torrijos & Noriega--
Panamanian Reds,
Tasmanian Devils!
And Sonny Barger –
Dubbed Maximum Leader,
By Hunter S. Thompson's Hell's Angels:
(The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs RetroBites: Hunter S. Thompson & Hell's Angels (1967) - YouTube ► 6:21► 6:21 www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccyu44rsaZo‎ Jul 7, 2010 - Uploaded by CBCtv Hunter S.Thompson defends his book against an irate Hell's Angels biker.)
Come Perón, come Hugo Chávez.
But, Hark-a-lark,
Let’s wait a sec
Lest we forget
Cristina Fernández de Kirchner,
One tough, Argentine *****,
Illustrating again for all men
The root of all machismo:
La Mujer!
The ***** that bore him;
Nurtured & nursed him.
****** & ****** him.
La Mujer!
(La mujer sin cabeza (2008) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/ tt1221141/‎ Rating: 6.4/10 - ‎1,815 votes Directed by Lucrecia Martel. With María Onetto, Claudia Cantero, César Bordón, Daniel Genoud. After running into something with her car, Vero experiences a... I get 7 cents for each link, each hit, making poetry pay for once, the savvy poet, a marketer finally figuring out how to avoid death in the gutter, a death penniless, diseased, babbling and insane.)
Yes, the woman,
The woman, who loved him,
That widow who buried him.
The woman—at any particular
Time of life, in his life—
The woman who just happened to be there;
Was just hanging around
During that brief, emphatic,
Conversation lull.
Genesis got it wrong:
Adam was a stiff rib of Eve,
Made from sterner stuff,
A creation conceived in torture,
Reared in disequilibrium.

Women create the men they touch.
Strong women.

Falling down and down,
wings melting to wax
until he's submerged
in inky blackness.
Falling from the
clear blue sky,
away from the
glowing, golden orb
hung high above in the air
that he flew too high, too close to
in admiration and enthrallment.
Is this treachery,
is this betrayal?
Of the sky?
Of the sun?
Of the freedom
he'd giddily reveled in?
Is he not supposed
to consider it as such?
Even as he tries to steal
a breath from the cruel water
of the capricious and cold ocean,
gasping and painfully alone?

I'm not worthy
of his
total affection adoration enthrallment
it isn't fair for him, truthfully, to have the one
who is scared of all that.
terrified to not be the girl who
belongs to everyone & no one at once
the girl who is writhing
trying to hold tight & strangle
the guilt grief regret shame
but also driven by
anxiety that all my writing
suddenly needs to tell everyone
that I am trying & anxiety
that I am so moved by him, the
affected girl who can't
function
walking into the sunset hand in hand.
I seem to fight every step
as if I'm not sure
I feel safe
being near the ocean that lets roam unchained & wild the
sharks, giant squids, leviathans & my beloved giant leatherback sea turtles
so endangered & dear.
The anxiety of the surprise contract to
dedicate every poem to him
& plan a future
without planning an end, too.

Allure

Beauty from the sultriest with even steady glow exquisite soft lines is perfected in the creature
Dreams are resonant the eyes smolder all tender entry viewed from lips of lushness
Crowned with hair beyond mortal texture it perfectly accentuates loving doll quality’s full mixture
The promise held forth borders crossed unable to envision your dumb all filled with doubt as she pouts

The soul engages as the eyes flame and burn with passion the heart beats with hard thumps
Heavenly body formed from flesh in its force you reel emotional exhilaration extends to enthrallment
Hands touch the visible world seems altered the blood seems to halt its flowing the mind *******
Reconsider the alignment of the stars surly you have passed them in the silver moons glowing stream

The exotic has burst forth on a common stage all has juxtaposed the delirium takes free course
The dance now begun the coupled whirl started here ends among the marveling distant clouds
Enchantment has found its boundless geography it not on any maps it’s truly the heart at it’s source
Governed never the reins to this wild and free spirit has never been made that would be injustice

Has loveliness limits are the galaxies measurable how can they when their ever growing and bestowing
Featureless flawless curvy arts greatest inspiration told through a form that’s made to love and hold
If genius is ever is to be expounded bring the beloved of all men set her in the midst her essence flowing
The world speaks of desirability its fount its ever coursing real ideal is found in timeless womanhood

My mental rides
the waves of tides
driven by
a natural born beauty.

Abstract in an ethereal essence,
he holds my senses
in enthrallment
from ground
to surface

A sea
surging in spirit-
lively,
intertwining with mine

These waters
speak
in gentle exertion,
rhythmic-
beckoning
to cover every fiber of my being

His aura illumes
a heavenly glow
nurturing in warmth
whilst he glistens
I can feel..

Like that
of an ocean stirring

He awakens me,

Like that
of love

...music

Like that
of poetry

(I adore..)

I sink
into his property-

and I'd sink
a thousand times over

For I find

A character
captivating,

A soul
soothing,

A love
healing..

leveled in depths
far beyond
what eyes can see,

minds
could ever
envision,

Much more
than I could ever
imagine...

He moves me.

I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.

Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.

Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.

Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.

Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.

Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.

Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.

I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.

Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.

I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.

“Love: an emotion, one that, so low as to bar
From fair desire—self-righteous and self-serving
Excuse, a pretense, lyric, will not inspire.”
I detest to hear him speak—
Adulterer, why, pray tell, do you prey upon the weak?
“Simple in answer, as simple in method. No heart
Rich needs to beat for “that” emotion obsoletes.
Adults, mature, do not even think the distinction
That is kid’s table morality, what mommy
Only says after a few drinks, winking, your father
In his eyes—just where you have come, in fact—
You needn’t think mommy and daddy stayed together
After long spats, strife, and frustration for their waves
Struck the same height or the moon hits mom just right.
It is not the eternal enthrallment of Eros that keeps them in motion
Dear, friend—it is “that” emotion. In bed, hearts
Are inverted and split down the middle
The negative just drowns away in chemicals.
But how bad we’d feel, (no?) if that, the long and short?
Machinate the “thing” justify “that” feeling
Ennobling, beatifying, kindling for sonnets and odes
Fashioning morality and aesthetics onto sweating
Thrusting beasts, one on one in their dance of love.
A harlequin of truth, my friend! When it is found
In contraception, safeguarding our natural predilection.
Ha! Oh, fools! Why trouble with the rituals
When, really, ****** collocations concern capricious
Chronologies and covetous craving for **** and ****.
How ******! How crude! But, oh, but oh how true; think:
Admit the urge has primacy, the “L” emerges and
Lies emitted: of connection, intelligence, intersubjectivity.
Given its stage of farce and face, our sieves are at
Ageful capacity and then needs a bargain, more;
The office of “thing” goes unoccupied, its twin
Will gladly keep it clean and orderly, act
As it did: gentle and cordially.”
Blast it! Such ways in truth and walk, for
Repetition in faith of life
Pegs my myths with all their strife,
Strife and succor irony.

God like beam, your radiance in my eyes
this time is fast going, it’s turned exotic
having fun, I’m the one you want adoring from
right now good as any for a holiday, a fulfilling flash is harsh but alright
save the tender for your talking, waste me like my dreams I hold tight

sullen eyes, I can take you there
past the electric tremolo strings you give my heart, golden
so proud, real dreamy, saying
hope you get what you want, word taking siren

glow of a flame sort of dreamy glow to your face
a sweet and lovely burn, so I let you take over, let you know my mind
going down as stars dull silver like already a memory you
saying never seen such exhausted delighted still eyes, barely afraid but
bravely assured, let me see your soul in the moonlight’s enthrallment
do it your way that means you give me heaven
feeling warm though this breeze is as cold as the loneliness before dawn
where I like to be and always will be, even now

keeping it brave and deliberate

felt you near though I was alone
met all sorts but they can’t shine you out of my mind’s gallery
such music even when I sleep, round my head, waking brings
a strong dose of immersed in the blazing and angel energy, that talk is faith
that walk is true like ice winds
inventive my daring, my deadly find of life, that’s the light you have
and the death you give

show me, show me what you got
I can stay up in distress like a god
for that demand
my deliberate and brave
lethal dose of living sure
for you

"Did you ever see my esteemed Bottom Howard?
"Far more than I honestly ever cared to Sir."
Sir W, legendary thesp turned from his mirror
with a look of thunder. "And you are the most
impudent dresser and I should have rid myself
of you years ago." His hard face soon softened
as it ever did to this old servant and confidante.
"It was a Bottom to behold and no mistake" (Sir
W. laughs). A great ***'s head that my company's
darling designer did, plenty of eye space so that
acting of the enthrallment and my famous twinkle
could be seen in the gods by my public bless'em,
whose few shekels count as much to me as you
well know, as the great and the good out front."

I've seen that twinkle too much in dressing rooms
mused Howard, just put it away you effin' show-off.
"No not you Sir, not one to play to the crowds, or
to ham it up and I know it's widely said in the biz
the biggest *** and Bottom. Always a dream but
hardly ever a pain." (Howard whistles gently, trips
forward to the chair throws a cloak over those broad
shoulders for the umpteenth time) says to his boss:
"Break a leg, won't you Sir?" (meaning it).

I pay my ticket to enter the giant
concrete staircase on the periphery
of the bay of San Francisco.

***** Mays and other boyhood
heroes would do their magic
along this shore for so many years.

Now that I no longer feel the
baseball enthrallment–
because my body cannot see
itself moving with such speed and grace–
I dream of a different crowd.

Homer pitching the ball,
as someone must start the play;
Lao Tsu striking with wood
at what moves so fast it
can barely be seen.

Such hollow sound as ball
is soul-bound into the ether
of the Psalms. Emily
Dickinson snags the high hit.

The onomatopoeiac crowd
lifts its unified heart to
the resounding cheer of
Walt Whitman on grassy
outfield of bliss.

This warm day in the concrete
hang-out, I see in the concrete
dug-out such heavy hitters
lined up for a quick swat at glory.

Maybe something soothing
in between the innings–
an oriole or an Indian foot dance,
while I dream of dancing in my sox.

On the cusp of usurping the dominance of sadness, with a light in the flesh, I fly towards the moon to meet her...

I'm overflowing with light, just at the sight of your star-crossed smile, I think we'll be here for a while, watching time dissolve until this "while" loses meaning, and singing, we wander the cosmos in thought, together...

The problem is in thought and thought alone, only there does creation still carry itself through this dream, only in thought will we remain asleep. To relinquish all fear, will that make us God, or, bring upon a wholly different awakening... Are we still dreaming?

Soaring through the sky and slipping between realms, so I continue to dream...

I don’t care if I have to drive my auto in manual, I still will go to your side, for you are the sun-kissed star shine so many a night I have sought.  
For so many years I have fought, the urge to slip into the slipstream, becoming one with the wind. We have all sinned, and only through love can we find absolution, you and I are the solution for one another...

I sit at my computer sipping *** and orange, and all I can see are your pristine aqua eyes, paragon pools other metaphors envy.

This I call calm curiosity, the enthrallment ethereal, a cosmos contained within emptiness, you bring forth a warmth that for so long has been absent; sure it’s just our imagination, but hell, that’s the true creator behind the veil is it not?

Emptiness enthralls, curiosity captures, but for a moment, only if that moment can be perceived, to preserve false perfection, protection of an age old illusion. Avoid illumination within the void lest you wish the truth set you free. Radiated pain permits perception, however reluctant, and it is now that I know simply, that I am among the living. How few are actually left...

In this vicious cycle, the sickle swings faster and faster, nearing my nimble end if ever I slip away..

                  Ahh concrete heaven to kiss me good day...

I see the strings that hold us up, except the marionette has gone and we ourselves play this charade nonchalantly as if there were nothing else...

         Take away all movement within a moment and what is there? Who are we behind the many masks we wear?
          I walk around with this semblance of humanity, practically profound yet lost atop the cosmic carousel we call life. watch me wither and breach the barriers, illusion within illusion, to hear the calliope muted subconsciously, to awaken from this dream would that make me God? Or shall I simply disappear behind padded walls?
I think being this close makes me feel so far away, and now I know I am far more human than I give myself credit.

And there you are
You bask in your little pool of golden glory
Dark eyes, they shimmer in that light
All you want is your little pills
And your little finger down your little throat.

The allure of those bones
They tantalize your enthrallment
And they shimmer with those eyes
In your little pool of golden glory.

And there you are
In your dark little dream
All you want is your little pills
And that visceral little finger down your little throat.

In your clairvoyant depth you reside
Extrasensory you are in your perception

And there you are.

Don't forget those little pills.

...Where are your little pills?

Tis not in commitment
To love that warrants beauty,
For fickle a girl beauty is indeed, not to be bent
By sorrow and pain filled gazers and dandies,
Eyes gleaming in fleeting hope, without sense,
That their smiles, enwrapped and dependent,
Will have recompense
By her gaze, resplendent,
And perhaps, if in good favor,
Have admiration bestowed on them amorously.
But nay, beauty is a fickle girl. Alas, we love her.
So as the breeze sings melancholy,
And the leaves reflect her lips of flame,
As milky clouds remind of her skin,
When her hair is night, dark and sleek, putting others to shame,
Filled with expectation
And apparitions of loveliness,
I think of the sweet longing,
Hoping for the moment not to pass.
The sweet longing
I loved then,
For a moment,
Lingering in the agony of emotion,
In a short eternity that I underwent.

I then found beauty.
But then the lights were no longer low,
The emotions, so resplendent in ardor, escaped me.
The façade was gone after the show.
Nay tis not in commitment to serve
Love that hold beauty.
Tis in the memory of nerve,
Tumultuous as a stormy sea.
Tis in the very slow-grown enthrallment
Of her melodious voice.
Tis in the memory of through what my heart went
When I told it to her by my choice.
When I told how it was stolen by her raven hair,
By her star-drenched skin,
By her cherry lips at which I’d stare,
And the voice so in apprehension, rife with emotion from within.
Tis not in the resolution itself
Of intricate harmonies and dissonances,
So pleasing to the ear in their discord and wealth,
But in the expectations and resonances
Of this ecstasy,
That resides beauty,
Which is why I told her my love and melancholy,
Letting her forget, and proceeding to flee.
For the wonderful nostalgic memory
Of the shortness of breath,
Would by intimacy,
Certainly be put to death.

you move me like the pages of a book.
you don't make me
or change me
you unfold with me
one single motion
fingers and paper
one glorious
reaction
to life's
curious
enthrallment.

read with me
beautiful and real
like f. scott fitzgerald would write
stay up all night
because it's too good to miss
and i love you too much
to ever let
the words rest.

remind me never
to jump too far ahead
never read the last page first
and to enjoy the way
the syllables on every page
flicker off each other's tongue
at always the right pace
lets love even the space
between each chapter.

read with me.

Vines on the gates in the white moonlight
His show’s in the city that lights up so well
We watch him as he sings, feel redeemed
Jesus on my right, electric all around
Enthrallment in my cup, once an empty stage

And when the stars come out from behind palm trees
There’s the sagacious highway to take
Like opiates, like a match named desperate on fire
We live as if we’ll never remember, decree heaven
To all else, no matter

Dark copper hills abound, he runs wild like lightening
Unveiling God for a flash, this street is the miracle of endless possibility
Takes faith to leave the world behind, heard him say
Freedom in the western wind, picks up faster we drive

Voyagers heightened with the joyish fever of could be
And we don’t mind, willful to see dawn
Take it now, time to decide never comes,
willful to see life as intended, real, that’s divine

And when the stars are about to go back to Eden
We leave for the blackened wilderness
Playing the music in all its casual brilliance
like a near ending taken with inward grace
We live as if we’ll never remember, decree heaven
to all else, no matter

He runs like God it’s mysterious, renown
Said it pleased, here’s the key to the nice dream like you asked
American night is brightening and nothing you can do about it
Play your famous radio song, won’t hear it’s worth till you listen up
Who will open the gates, don’t want to stop but ride smoothly through

Death does not ignore me
not even for a moment
I have his full attention
in complete enthrallment
A prisoner I am to his love
it is unlikely I will escape
Grasping tightly to my chest
I am unable to take full shape

Forever he lingers by my side
making me petrified
Only one weapon I have been granted
and on this I have relied
But still he lingers from behind
he wraps his fingers on me all the time
I am not ready to concede
for I am still in my prime

However one day, one day
I will be found undefended
Found without my weapon in cowardice
and that day while unattended
Without the object which I depended
He will take my life,
and my life will have ended

"Hesitation equals Hell. If in doubt always grab, then you have what you did not have," she muses, vanishing quickly. I never know where. Through the always open door or up into the old wooden rafters in the ceiling?

I never actually see this sagacious ghost from the nether world of books, I have christened "Marya." But one time I thought I did. A regal, shining form of human outline fleeing across my vision like some splendorous goddess. Later I realized it was a trick of the sun glancing off the metal space heater in blinding refractions.

Another time, a blowy day was scratching tree branches against the windowpanes and I thought I saw her escaping in the bowed headlong rush of those branches.

Sometimes I want to call out to her, but laugh at that because only I know her name.

Yet some days I feel her real as my own two hands that open these books with such pure enthrallment and discovery. It is then I feel strangely at one with her, accept her capricious ways.

If I turn from a shelf in sudden wonder and inner riches, but am stuck with a nagging contextual query, I feel her jostle up beside me and take me off in a spin towards the rare book section where, like the answer to some hidden Grail, my nagging quandary resolves euphorically.

Down the aisles she is like my searching shadow trailing, whispering in my ear, "Take your time. I can wait. I will always  wait for your treasured selections, my embattled, stalwart book lover!"

Nations  arose after the days of Peleg,
in the legendary story of Babel,
which
does have a present presence on the surface,
of the after Babel yon der myth of us
we the sapience augmented common sensed band,
single-sideband, of course, if you can cut the antennae,
to this old freq,
radioman entertainment zone, post
pasts unbelieved arizen
as we see around about us

we the beings thinking we were put here,
by no will of our own,
okeh? Hard for me to agree, for
I was a self-willed child, on the earth of 1954,
made unspoil-able, by my measure, sould,
so whatever I touch prospers,
it does not turn to gold, but time,
precious years
in days
proving once more, the way of life
remains reproof of instructions,
glitches gitinin, gremlins ist-hextical real messages,
say measure twice, cut once, keep plenty
of spare teleo-smores, say again
- whisper- find the answer -

DID is the strategy, not the disability.
Gitcheractagethah, adam henry….haul ***

Call the cops. I shot the sheriff.

Renegade boomers, eh? You seen some, h'eabouts?

Hunter people, no-sense talk babblers, yon der here
we come
sons of them guns was left.
Yep, ***** head on an old man in vietnam t'day,
tells a story told since ******'s,
time, at the briefest,
least heated
hate
instance of one once main flow, recirculating as the water
remembers,
all this did happen, parts of all of us were here,
in this moment, relative to you.

The entire creation groans in travail awaiting…

wait a minute.
we did do this, as a whole. See, besides knowns lost,
for their use in con structing the destructive idea given
Tubal-cain.
The enthrallment of Tubal-cain, you may imagine,
progressed with the reiteration of the father's curse on cain,

the signal emanating from the seed that knows the cost of dying.

Cain and Able, well, we have a few ways that tale makes the sense.
Have no fear, all that is past understanding, it cannot crush you.
Commoners hold the common sense, rule of reality.
Peace outward.
The commons are in fine shape,
fret not, we got some old peacemakers smoking flower,
blowing smoke up monstrosity's assine suggestion that I die.

I was a runner
fleeing from homespun horrors that
wrapped around my delicacy like a tourniquet

Only a child attempting to bestir
the warrior dormant within;
having no idea the enthrallment
she reveled in,
I learned to accost my demons

Nigh, even at the wide-eyed age of eight,
scarred
shattered
broken
I found, in a hand-crafted cardboard crate,
my only chance at freedom

Every Saturday I'd sneak away
to my makeshift universe
that gave life to dreams unspoken --

I would crouch and crawl
through thorn-encrusted branches
enclosed in a thicket,
sunbeams cutting into the tangles
alighting my face, piercing my eyes

The oceans breath
cascaded over the brush,
and everything, suppressed,
would fall into a hush
until I breached the winding path

Amongst the jungle of weeds/rose garlanded structures,
high above the jagged rocks
and wide open mouth of the watery abyss,
my hideaway centered --
flimsy cardboard walls,
brightly painted bold brazen symbols protecting all who entered,
tightly sealed with an invisible lock
opening only when voices of forgotten children fluttered through the air

I'd stand silent beneath the incandescent sky,
for just a moment,
breathing deep the silken salty breeze
and ****** my arms out to the sides
like the seagulls hovering over the loud, fathomless cavern of the sea

Dear Wild Girl,
Inviting me to dance
In the light of your fire
And emerald
And sea:

Welcome to the drop
After indulgence
And enthrallment.

Welcome to the realness
Of daylight.

Until the next twilight
And escape.
When your tide.
rolls through us
In its time
Again.

Blink your eyes
As they adjust
To earth
As it is.

Solid and stable,
Boring,
Predictable,
Painful,
And true.

Welcome to the mundane
Roots and facts.

Because I know
It open-armed
welcomes you.

I am from the south where sun plays Tukki and palm trees chant fine melodies but in Delhi is the enchantment. There, the enthrallment steals the hearts, so I was missing it just within two days away from it. You can imagine this unrelenting nostalgia, and the deep *******. Delhi is not just a six armed God; in fact, Delhi is an endless river of amazement, shrill yearning for grandeur and an eternal poem of beauty. It is the home of charming, and simply it is the land of winsomeness and the enthralling face of life. The awesome tall trees in Delhi add to its coffee a special sweetness, the bewitching brown marble gives its words a delicious taste and the grand old buildings colors its memory with unforgettable memories.

There laid a lost soul, a troubled mind, a tired heart,
I reckoned there was a bed, so was there the tired..
Beneath laid crooked time and a board dashed with darts...
Peculiar enough as high and low admired.

Here lies that agony, lies that pain…
All in sweet peace, all in perfect illusion.
Where time was dead, and none to gain…
A blissful rhyme, a sweet imagery; or a delusion..

Painted this vision, painted this memory,
In awkward enthrallment, in pure symphony..
Shoved my shades of blue, down the white, as I poured the coke… .
Immersed into the unknown through the brush stroke…