Breathed in my fair share of atmosphere
let go many a slight onto the wind.

Where limitation is known, destiny appears to be clear.

You felt warm about everyone because of the warm vibes in your heart.

You are the past perfect picture
I took before the war
The frillitary of the dead follows:
hiding your grief up your sleeves.
I am gaunt with worry
like  waking the dead with love,
kissing them before they were gone.

Dammed good facts,
today is a surely measurable day.
Set in the common course of human events
from the bottom,
where the world at this altitude,
is wintering, while
from the top we feel the sun, straight on
hot
as Mohave at solstice,

such as I, as we, seeing we live in order
to live
in order to help

eh, hey, hear us near us say, we know

weyekin, ye ken, visionary wisdom wedom

poet singer sayer pre-sent, and representing
words
living in timespace at time's own pace, passing

Dark cold winter, time for inwalled-usness use,
we become the whole room,
sometimes, all eyes on I, the one, in the middle
- there
- being the connection, anhamartia-tic,
coherence
here and there, a web conforms to koinonical
image entonations, owls of common sorts,
and squeeking black lizards, settle in the shade,
to night we go,

onward, to mark the time, watching all the old
knowing proven,
as the sun rises and sets, facts
as measures confirm, solid-ifity convey, say
so it is, con-fide-used knowing, faith,
as we say.

We are the people who know this mystery,
we live in life, as bits of all that ever was,
by now, all that is weighted

significant from first landmarks set in times past.

some, not my we, some see life as a struggle, see
from a salmon's POV, the sense of efforting
is joy,- efforting rejoicing +
this is right, this is how I form the people,
offsprung from war wage slaves,
who **** us,
to hide the stars at night.

Humans in the future shall love water flowing
functionality,
and starry story tellings
un seen in cities since the great white way
attracted the sharks into the tank.

Except for our understanding, nothing needs to change.

there are songs
in the anger
of the waves
upon the rocks
and the tearing
of the wind
through the long grass
in the plotting
of the clouds
gathering low
in the sky
and
in the droplets
whispering
upon the page