99 percent of the day
I have no idea of what to say
They all expect a response
To comprehend their complex wants
They set their claim
In ways found tame
But as soon as socially allowed
They suddenly become so proud
Of things they claimed untame

I watch them when I’m at the club
The sudden shift of their conscious sub
Their fundamentals seem to change
Their ways seem to rearrange
As soon as they go through that door
The Princess becomes a massive *****
A man with thoughts impure and perverted
Becomes one with those thoughts extroverted
As these people become untame

Not a second thought is spent
On wondering where it all went
The self-respect you used to hold
Before you entered this loud abode
What happened to personal space
That’s so important to our race
I too am a perverted *****
But I don’t pretend to be more
I accept that I am untame

when no man pursues
the truth,

the idea which contains all true ideas, aha

ideas are ideas, roses roses, names names
all true
evil ideas are in the set of true ideas as
sure as pi is in the set of true numbers,

i think

When the wicked rule the people mourn,
I think

How are all ideas equalible?
How is any idea equalible quant wise re
(long turbulent selah, lts)
questing
help, this is a talking point.
(lts)
okeh. for the future, I see.

we can make these faster with ideas pouring
into words flowing from gentled
untame-ible tongues,
----- untame-able is not
----- untame-ible, this may be an object
----- ifier lesson

-tension that re
l-eases
silent
darts, bullets(silent kind), missles, hymns'n'such
pointy grippy handles for cud
chawn story points upon
which any true story
idea must stand.
in spiritarian.
addinph
unitem

spirit and image of your father.
ohmygawd
Ambush
Clam slam shut, swoohoosh
pop

The infer
(implication layer upon layer,
thicker and thicker
naquering laquering query, could be dem pearl-ly gates,
early version o' Feynman's reversible tristatic NAND gates,
which work on ideas harnessed...)

see, there's the rub. one wee tetrahedral
trypointy foursidy sort of pearl maker
with words made
conversation

verses
versus insane unsane saners saved
by grace unmazing ungnostic
mumbling glosalialy
knot knox nor any o'them
puritans detected the
leaven in the game,
the periment
let out the
box,

"a republic, if you can keep it." unsaid went,
we cast all our cares to the gyre giver
guiding the great gulf river of pro
sperity providing us
our perspicacity.

Would that one might see one day,
the outcome of our American
experiment in leaven
in forming idle words mit ganz alte wahrheit

in dem Erste Zepto Planck Sec

just now. The idea that won was thought.
Good think you think.
We shall see.
Call your truth true.
Stand under knowing good and evil,
both, how and why, then chose,

knowing, my side won.

Every night I die in an airplane
Beads of sweat fall like rain
Every night I die in a plane crash
I wake up feeling like plain trash
Because every night my plane dives into the ocean
I can't believe the virtual reality of the motion
All my friends and family are there
I watch them drown
Leaving me marooned at sea
The river Styx of my dreams
I wake up marooned at bed
Swimming in a sea of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
And my adrenaline nightmares keep me scared
Because if I fall asleep
It's a nosedive I reap

Every night I die in an airplane
Why is this image so ingrained?
Every night I die in a plane crash
Pressure crushes me to plain ash
Because every night my plane flies into a mountain
The passenger's blood fills my eyes like fountains
All my friends and family are there
I watch them burn
Leaving me stranded in the hills of hell
Until I understand the pills too well
I wake up stranded in bed
Buried in an avalanche of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
And my reality has begun to tear
When I keep dying in my dreams
My mentality rips at the seams

Every night I die in an airplane
Why must my mind be so untame?
Every night I die in a plane crash
And my life becomes a plain flash
Because every night my plane flips upside down
As my useless body is tossed round and round
All my friends and family are there
I watch them get mangled
Leaving me to die at high speeds
With corpses that profusely bleed
I wake up dying in bed
Flipped face down in a pool of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
I begin to wonder if they even care
Because I watch them die every night
It makes me love them more
Because I watch them die every night
My life becomes a chore
But there's nothing for death to reclaim
When I'd just cross over to another plane

-something real. Something strong and sturdy, believable.  I want to write words that are heavy with lightness and dark with their brightness, to draw on a page a life so unbelievably real, so inconceivably mine
in creation

I want to write
-not just love. Not a ***** with a couple of drink-mangled bugs. I want to write about that feeling of blood churning and the warmth of emotion not physical feeling, to put into words the unwordable joy of being in the presence of
not just anyone

Anyone. Like the not-platonic-non-romantic affection that Rudy would not fail to hint at, that so-wanted kiss that Liesel gave, it wasn't so much the action as the meaning behind it. Like that itch on Death's ear when Liesel he came near, not to take her yet, but to steal her story, to live through it. To feel the words dance in his void, non-niceness, the infinite meanings and the power of phonic combinations.
They allow even Death to live.
I want to write like Zusak, like Rowling, like me.

I want to write
-the philosophies. The thoughts and wishes and wonders of a minority. I want to write about those opinions of those whose voices are too small and their souls beautifully lit up but unseen, their ideologies so unmistakably right but also naive and innocent, to stage their feelings from transition to transition
their words to the wise

I want to write
-characters so flawed. Each with an inner splendor most radiant, but with their fields of starless black and heads that wander from this to that. I want to write lives and people so different, with not-so-good lives and not-so-normal features. People who, though lacking thereof, cliche the right things and believe
in the wrong

The wrong. Their thoughts and meanings about life and beyond, undesirable and judged but that is the human mentality, such as Hazel Grace felt about her casualties and Alaska Young wondered about the labyrinth's unending game. So standard at first, but then Gandalf came and Bilbo learned the differences  between Hobbit and the untame. The reasons and purposes of life's grand living, through the eyes of those whose faces are shunned.
Hermione wasn't just a bibliosiac.
I want to write like Green, like Tolkien, like me.

Alas, the clock, a stained moon, it darkens, and the prejudice of people as well as the pride, unfortunately Austen couldn't lessen so much. Stereotypes triumphantly sit on the throne with their Mary-Sue maids catering from head to toe. I can't barge in, object to the crowning, because today I admit it: my writing is dying.

I've seen the world and explored sacred places.
I've opened all my senses.
Seen its beauty and overwhelming glory.
These rose colored lenses.
I've read every book and heard every story.
Spared no expenses.

You might think I'd be happy and content.
Tonight I've realized.
There is one thing missing from my life.
One thing I'll never find with my hands nor buy with my sweat.
One thing impossible to manufacture or imitate.

I've found it before.
Dwelled in it for a moment.
I can't stay forever. But knowing you exist.
I'll be back for more.

It's everything I've adored.
Without i grow untame and bored.
It's what our connection is built on.
It's where our shared spirit was born.

You've shown me your raw nature.
It's pure form.
Your capacity to nurture.
Entwined spirits, our rough edges now smoothed and worn.

My shell you've broken to free me.
A welcomed moment of destruction.
We've tread through the shallow waters of superficiality.
Certainly we've made our introduction.

The soil beneath my feet shifts.
A stumble turned roll.
Down this mountain so steep.
Take me into you. And together
we'll roll in the deep.

I

Head, shoulders, bees, and hands.
Stings and wings apart,
From the anatomy of art
Despite the stills and shakes.
Two of twos for many stands.

Though at the fore reside the restless digits
Every thought, they spark and fidget.
The point is impolite, but that widget-
My leg knuckles buckle thinking of the quakes,
It tore through my index like new nectar glands…

II

One for rest the other for tests
And one s for the possibilitie
None are hidden from the complete set
of peering palms

right like the leaves,
left like the breeze.
Like the future
Told with tea.

Where these wrinkles will write their say
While these prints will match their way
Whistling while working; these knuckles will play
Whether it be told or felt- make it chalantly
Waiting with a tale for two in every day

III

I set them
With just enough pressure
To hold a frog for fun
Or to annoy a lame nun
Squeal
Down, the cuticles cry

Chuckle cackle fiddle,
Ruckus rackets and riddles
Are really a lot of fun you should try it.
Simply pry the favored tendon
Over that big red button
Yes yes, the American kanji of dissonance!

Excuse the madness, I refuse the discord.
Sounds do not have to be met with pain,
And fear can avoid disdain...
It’s an odd thing that jesters are paid for.

There is an education…
But there is no degree.
I also, cannot waive its fee.
What I paid was from within me.

IV

I had known a good friend fellow
Who once let out a grand belch bellow
About his crimes of cheese and wine

Toward a beauty so sweet and discreet
Her spinning feet fleeting from new feats
Whereabouts to doubt, still flies more than fine

I said to him “your sense is jagged
and your breath is haggard-”
so he interrupted with one of brine…

The failure is in my nature’s course!
Then my dammed machinations make it worse,
It seems as though who I intended to be

And who I wanted you to see,
Are wholly revealed as two separate scenes.
I must leave your metals unmatched sheen.

Well…As I trust you heard before,
Your bust appears to be a dusty lore
I say, you can’t expect her eyes to wait for rust!

A firm grasp on the glass.
She clasps a diamond overhead.
I pointed out with a wave.
A slam,
     Then rotating prints on his glass.
The hopeless *****,
     At the cheek she turned.
Whilst I drew on a napkin the-
Legendary Ten-Pronged Opposition Foundry.

Of course, those lights would close..
Excuse me, one other blueprint is exposed.
Canvas of humility, lines drawn like, self-drawn pens.

Perhaps three could wring something useful from this science

V

Her plans! her plans!
They dance, they dance!
As my matrix unravels,
The hiding holes disband,
Its light skips through the land.
This heat, though discreet,
Will shoulder like a man!
Torching every grain of sand
In to a castle of glass
Where the magic is as-
Crafts…of her own hands.

This is where she sings, here
Ask for where, and no song is there
The Tale is strained into strands
She sings there,
Now, she sings there


VI

Imagine, the swinging trees
And busy birds between fronds
Of these leaves, of mine, you see?
To ensnare and percuss
With your singing wrist
Yet you persist,
to pant and seethe
in these gauntlets and greaves…

A moronic oxidative process it is,
To be here and be there both.
Now that I see more strings
I would rather design dreams
Than to meddle a mess
Out of the mettle you chose to test.

VII

Why would one bother,
Vex the metal man’s nerves
Of alloy he dare not name

Mecca’s bolts smother
The work his death deserves
So he limps slow shocked by shame.

Reliquary shammed,
In sardonic preserves
Dark like the grace in his dame

Her bolts monogrammed
By her lack of wild game
Blinded by white in her cold

Her arms gently fold
His rebirth now retold
His machinery, untame

These split heart horns rammed
Dancing, a light the lame.
Dreams may anchor another

Inspire the lover,
You musical mother
I know it,
Your arts heal hearts after any worked hurt.

VIII

Until vissictudes
Crash down,
I lay my back on grazed meadows
With only the sky to cast shadows
Spinning clouds
Of those crafts
In their hands.

sunken eyes and an untame mind.
eyes grow pale with the sun,
the universe turns black all at once.
free fall into oblivion, lick the edge
and feel the pain. i can't stop the rain from
sinking down my face. this love is all
i had, now i just spin around in place,
wishing to be alone. it's just a phase, so
i say, but everything is dull. the wind
pulls through my throat speaking
words i've never known. my eyes won't
close, the brain says no. can't stop thinking.
the sun is devouring my irises, blinded
by the deafening silences. what's happening?
where's my mind? i can't keep passing by
with i'm fine.

the world outside is a treacherous place,
where evil lurks in every race.
doubt threatens to **** the deepest belief,
and the pain of loss comes with no relief.
there is no refuge below or above,
with the exception of the refuge of love.
love is capable of amazing powers;
love with stay with you until late hours.
true love’s flame will never grow cold,
it keeps burning hot even when it grows old.
in the case of two lovers, starcrossed and secret,
they’re, sadly, oppressed and told they can’t keep it.
some don’t know what happens to a covered flame:
the flame becomes hotter, just as lovers grow untame.
but love stays with you through all the struggle;
love with not leave you in the times of trouble;
love makes dull life’s hardships, it numbs the pain;
love doesn’t care what you’ve done, even the insane;
love will not leave you, whether in the dark or the light;
love sticks with you through the day, it’s beside you at night.

Battered back
what has been
what has affected like the wind defining the shapes of rocks
Silly laws
saying you can't even feel them
my back will never go back to the other color
will never even try to counter something angry
because it has steeled like an earth
unaware of the core and volcanoes in Challenger Deep, miles past bottoms of the ocean
unaware volcanic fire in the heavist water makes it way from the bottom
unaware the terrain is never flat
your back is the most violent answer
counters things like everything is silent
but god knows and does not get angry
he kneels, more than Buddha ever could
Buddha never stood very short
sitting very tall
knees with two corners and just repeating so much.
God sees and with his shoulders drops his ears and his back
no tension of countering
but large as an elephant he shows he also has untame terrain
but done by his feet of his heart
since he does not have sad Hell inside
and then it does not seem so bad
he is this way, especially where people don't treat him like he opens flat
I am this way, eyes such lids of living sport.
We are diagnoled with burning rocks
why the most melted *** of every signal of soul and doubt?
eyes printed in like footprints of a crazy lion
this way
the night creaking with the strength of us
how much we have elephanted the day closely because we are so expensive
we just heat and motion the ground and it gets bigger
because beings cannot be slow or dull
because there is no one but spirits crisscrossing time
no one like day
there is no one little as day
we are all kneeling like true kings at the big things
there is no one as near as day
we are all in the mail flipping around up in the solar system
and all the way down, the whole thing
with every sway scooping like there's air already in every rock

Dang he is cray cray ,
On my mind by the  grey day.
he is a smile. I've waited a while...
He is untame aiming for lame,
more for the mean then for the green....
     ***** a ***** and a gold digga.
iz name austin ganey he give me a paney .
runnin from hugs nd cravin for drugs.
ill be tha dart & aim for yuhr heart
crazy lazzyy bee miii  babyy ;P

You're so soft
so smooth
your skin is like moonlight
and it pulls my heart like a moth to flame

how it hurts, only being able to reach
how it cuts me to pieces to long for you
your body is honey and clouds
and puts me in pain

you're so sweet
but your curves and creases could never be mine
your gentle lips kissing down my chest
the loving pain of nails against my back
we could never be untame

Your hot breath, your panting
your moans are my music
your hips are my rhythm
the love in your eyes is my sugar

Your spirit has the smell of earth,
kissed by first rain,
effervescent with scent of promise,
Your spirit has the smell of the sea shore,
the breeze, sweet with the salty spray of power.
Your spirit has the smell of the mountain side, grassy meadow wild with fragrance of untame flowers
Your spirit has the smell of a monastery, mystic camphor serene thoughts of living.
Your spirit has the smell of the battle,
blood, gore, flesh and fight
Your spirit has the smell of a maiden
out from her scented bath,
sensual, drip dripping
Your spirit has the smell of forest,
wild sweaty, hot and humid.
Your spirit has the scent so honest,
of love pure tho rugged and rough

Out in the wild?
I feel the ignorance,
When exhausts scream,
An animal dies again,
A bear protects its cub,
And a wolf its puppy,
But even they mourn,
For a human baby,
So lost from its mother,
And destroyed by its father,
It counts itself among
The stars.
Now next time you say,
The dog must go,
The lion will ****,
And the indians will stone,
I will show you to realize,
Humans are the most untame,
The mother nature will get.

I like chocolate malt.
My life is at a halt.
I know who is at fault.
It's always the same who I blame.
She is lame.
Her sanity untame.
Her self shame.
You know her name.
You know her face.
It's an image you can't erase.
She put me & my child's life to waste.
She has selfish taste.
I wish her gone without a trace.
She slows down the pace.
She is always on my case.
Her feet are always bare.
She never brushes her hair.
She always judges & stares.
She never cares.
Turmoil daily she dares.
She's the world's biggest slob.
She does'nt have a thing to rob.
The only clothes she wears has holes, stains, & tears.
She never has any food.
In my business she always intrudes.
She is jealous, miserable, & rude.

Bring back the wolves, nature's balance has gone astray
The ancient flowing water is carving a new way

Reds and Roes are rampant, stripping blade, stalk and leaf
Diversity is dwindling, the knife is in its sheath

Bring back the wolves, not those that shoot for "sport"
Untame mother nature with her sharpest retort

Separated
Alone in the dark
Hope?
A dying flame
Sanity and reality
Falling apart
Nightmares
Wild, untame
I'm just a player
In life's sick game

Breaking
Sinking
Finally floating
Floating with the pain
Swimming through fear
Drinking in tears
Consumed with notions
Of impossible possibilities
Never to be imagined again

The darkness is the key
To doors of insanity
Light?
The broken lock

We were together, physically- my fingers leaving grimy trails in the lines of your body. You may have been that mountain we were laying on, with your strength and your valleys and our grounded unity. But there was a sickness, the earth thriving and the people dying. You shielded me from that force which claimed them all. In your frustration and anxiety you left to find a cure. I can feel your restless soul while you are gone. But the force has stopped. Only a few of us remain, and in four hundred years we have seen the earth overgrown- the return of prehistoric size. But we cannot rest, we cannot die. You are still gone, and I roam the life swamps in search of you. I finally find you. Your hands guide my feet on the earth and you are found. Rising from the muck. You have been moving, these four hundred years, through the earth, untame. You are peace and I can die again. We all can.

she lays on the bed
in front of me.
bare skin all over.
i lift my shirt off
at the foot off her bed.

how little faith the night
has in me,
putting money on my exhaustion.

we pull the covers over us, my
face in her neck.
scratch, bite, pull, push.
my hair goes from unkept to untame
like a lion's mane in the dry heat
of the sun.

and like a lion, i feast on her
body.
the curves below and above her hips.
her shoulders,
the nape of her neck.
minutes turn to hours
and her breathing in my ear
reminds me of our pulses.

the most holy moment of my life
remakes itself almost every day
and night
and spills over into the morning
all over itself.

no patience.
but i keep it to a dull roar.

at the last moment, we find
ourselves breathless
and still wanting more.

Curtious Curiosity,
Coaxing me in,
Calling my name
Like a chivalrous hymn. 

What is to blame
For what drives me insane 
And calls me like fame
To unwind and untame. 

Breathe in and breathe out
Get rid of all your doubts
Now find what life
Is truly about. 
Smile bright, never doubt.

I want Neptune
to come out
of the Gulf
reining
pale
untame
charioted waves
I want his imprint
on the brined wash
and
I want to ask him questions.
Do mermaids dance?
(for example)
Are hippocamps?
(for another)
Are starfish fallen celestials, antic?
Is drowning frantic?

I want the vasty deep to erupt
into answers, synaptic explosions
connections
connecting
to
me
I seek myself in saltwater
Creation's alphabet soup
to swallow me
to disconnect the disconnection of me.

Come Neptune. Come from my primal self
into my Self and connect me to me
and me to you and us to them.
Push your wild beasts from the sea
and come into me.


c. Roberta Compton Rainwater 2014

I used to wonder
Where I was going wrong
That I left the path
To hear the bluebird's song

I think I heard it
My mother scream my name
Yet it was but a whisper
To the forest most untame

It seems I'm lost
But I don't feel lost at all
I prefer to watch clouds
Than watch humanity fall.

how to escape this thoughtful innocence
holding me behind bars of rightful insolence.
they say, "train your mind, lose sense of time,"
while i say, "why train the untame, isn't losing sense the wild's game?"
questions. answers. repeated. just dapper.
never enough you say? yes i feel that way,
often enough as if the work isn't done here,
so why stray far if the achievement is near?
sometimes roads bend and wind for days
only to cover the straight distance a foot away.
this, we call life, and we enjoy the strife,
for overcoming it brings jubilation
while the journey creates hesitation.
hold back and time passes your eyes,
jump in and time let's you fly.
what to do... what to do...
answers. questions. reiterated. human nature.

To my mother,

I could never be like you
I'm too untame and wild
Stubborn and selfish
Ever since I was a child

I'm foolish
I can't hide my anger
I can't hide my distaste
I don't care about slander

I don't plan ahead
I'm harsh and rude
I can't hold my tongue
Bitter and crude

I run away from my troubles
I find it hard to forgive
Even the smallest things
I can't forget as long as I live

Mother, I'm impatient
Rude and arrogant
My faith wavers and falters
I'm anything but eloquent

Mother I have your eyes
And your nose
I don't have your patience
And heart of gold

We disagree on many things
Mother, we don't get along
But know that I love you
With you is where I belong

You make my heart soft
My faith strong
You're my mum
Remain with me lifelong

Closing her eyes
all she can feel is pain
Living in a broken life
nothing left to gain
They couldn't possibly understand
they just question if she is sane
All she wants is to be cared for
not money nor fame
The way they treat her
such as an animal untame
For she did not want to be this way
and herself she will blame
For the things they say to her
she will never be the same
Shred is her skin and heart
no longer this world want remain

declarations of independents
Ribbons of whole heartache leap from the open page of turning tithes. I am sent here in soluable frequency to spire darkness with a spear of light, hoisted high above my sunny head I am turn down the noise and offer you silence with a vengeance to feel. i am unity in overcoming I am selling you hope i am hurried and shushed out I am sore from the shrapnel of life's dark hauntings i AM poised to reflect. I am the shape of something unseen and the likes of me have never been defined. I am Gods own, I am no ones tether or toy. I am hurdles behind, before, and in front I am celebrations of love left to stand in the sun I am not free. I am running for the door with demons to slay I am slippery to grips untame and I believe I am something and someone good and true, and as I wind down this windfall, now who are you?

Have you ever stared at a flame
as she dances in a fireplace?
So chaotic, careless, and untame,
but her hips sway with pure grace?

Do you feel her raw powerful heat
filling the small room around you
as her rhythm syncs to your heartbeat
and your eyes glaze over from the view?

Watch her until she roars and grows
destroying what lay in her path
before she quietly dims and slows
leaving only ashes in the aftermath.

Each flicker and each spark
kiss inside the smoke filled brick.
She illuminates what hides in the dark
as she travels from stick to stick.

She can cauterize and sterilize
and she can even mend things.
Or she can light up your eyes
by burning palaces built for kings.

Did you hear the stars whisper that I love you?
I talked to the moon and he insisted I was insane
Although there are moments when I truly wonder am I?
Here I am looking up at the sky for my answers
Attempting to run but I always return
Running back to you looking up at the moon
Tell me you love me everyday at noon
Lets not repeat a thing but love so much it makes us shy
I want to discover you all over again
I’ll dive inside of you and swim like you’re the sea
Lets go into a cave and feel one another in the dark
Unfamiliar fingers exploring my untame heart
Escape into our world let our passions be free
Together just you and me

buried breath winter air
frozen heart averted stare
growing things take sudden sleep
parts of me you take to keep
my pieces counted in your palm
all seed badly gone

**** the life of stable calm
no doubt too good to be wrong
i want untame, nature’s worst
make me feel until it hurts

I and you,
You and me
Tangled, tousled
Thrown off sheets

Unraveled, unwrapped,
untame.
Understand?
Uncontrolled, under me
under spell,
and under hand.

Don't lie to me,
but lie for sleep
let morning pass,
and leave us be.

there is something pristine and sacred
about a lack of time, an instant, a moment
that makes the crude passage look shabby
in a particular second you look happier and fuller
and the cinematic reveal overshadows what it is
that lacks background music. and maybe
the reason why the world seems so lackluster
is because we fail to acknowledge that even the roughshod
worn-down edges of time's brutal, eroded field
are more beautiful and sacred than a moment
for time takes all and bends it and makes it wild-
the very thing that can take what is tame and untame it
(though the very act of change is control and
control seems to tame, it does not, it flows,)
it works its will but it works with
for it is nothing outside of matter and space
and a moment only looks, only glances at the majesty of existence
a moment is there and then it is gone, lost forever,
only to be watched from a distant lighthouse
vaguely trying to find the way home through the fog
but time is, has been, and will be the entirety
of all we know- it is endless, confusing, less perfect
than we thought it was- and that is more glorious
than anything we can possibly understand.

Magic upon my hands, all pink and blue,
Getting drunk on illusion swirls and shadows,
Sparkles of future into you,
Before they leave, will you follow ?

Fall for my tricks, let my demons go wild,
May these words intoxicate you with a spell,
Jump off a cliff, walk thousand miles,
May they help you reach through my hell.

Golden blood drips from your twisted finger,
A charm of love that melted in your throat,
Bursting galaxies underwater,
And your voice suddenly taints with oat.

Fall for my mask, let my demons untame,
May these words intoxicate you with a spell,
Dive in the stream, run to the flames,
May they scatter your broken shell.

sweet sugar, sugar,
enslaver of untame
able-ibility
Artsy Inquisitive
curious seekers of more than you think you knew,
queue up, ya'll, the crow jest called,
then
this is the stream we walked
into the canyon
to find,
in the shade...

Rest with me near,
in your ear, lying tongue of folly formed boy,
heartfelt,
wishing please please me like I think,

oops, therefore I am, according to the rules,
Mosaic,
Cartesian and Euclidean realities
hold me true, so to you,
holder of self-evident truth by birth,
a mind under authority, as old military-minded,
allegiance oath bound men of honor
are,
at this juncture:
grunt-gutgenug, shield-wall, stone-throw-truer
beings such as I, the author
of this moment we share.

This
on a day of some sort of visit at ion ation,
action, touch and
stick,
stretch for ever, as far as we can tell.

Entangled, tied, un-tied, re-tied, entangle means
religamented relegislated regularity of folds,
religion, for short,
twisted into knots which serve
as springs,
for launching
meaning as well met forms of happen stances, poses
occurring by purest of fortuitous concurrence of Sagan events,

suppose, it is you called to position a self you can be

in each of the postures of the fool.

Foolishness is bound to the heart of the child.

Except, out grip-take-grasp, a being of our kind, ye

become as a little, insignificant, child,
a bit
of a bubble of being, getting ***** to the core,
ye cannot see this realm,
seen through
biome-balancing the future,
Prophesee,
he shall be called holy, hermit, hidden-knower,
digester of soiled persuasive sweets,
discovered in worlds under armoires upright folk
never recall, the taste of pepperment cobwebs
with mud pies, and mammamilch, kein moomilch
from the bovine ilk,
save butter.

Butter and honey shall he eat, 'til he know to choose
the good and leave the evil go on by
each day, in its sufficiency.