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these words retained, their authorship lost and unresolved,
but their siren sounding ringing, ding ding dinging;
resoundingly and unresolved:

we do not always, indeed, hardly ever safe harbor the true origin and
the true meaning of  our memories, but they come returning to us with accompanied shrouded shuddering, so oft, for frequent "EX'ing:"

Excellent exhilaration, expiration,
exhalation, variant explanations,
and unsatisfactory excitations but
never any finality of finale
exiting

the memories and the meanings
return modified, encumbered by
prior visionings, and the meaning
further twisted, their import
un lessened, until some resolution
is reached required retained
and a new memory is formed,
perhaps imagined,
perhaps not,
nonetheless
the siren sounds, the mind alerted,
we commence daily, nightly
to reimagine what we once imagined...even
endings...
nml
5/10/(15)/25
Fear ensconces me
In a shroud of apprehension.
But the motion is automatic
And, I don't feel good.

So, once more down the hatch.

Here's to poor choices.
Here's to euphoria.
Here's to metaphors without
Substance.

But I never liked the visuals,
Or unity,
Of a hallucinogen or pretty poesy poetry.

I'm made for speed,
Impulsive decisions.
Jagged, high tension
Visceral subjects.

Uncoordinatedly bleeding out my soul.
Through spaced out eyes
And overconfidence.

I am
Impossible symbology,
Ill defined,
Visceral and feral.

Strung out on life,
Picking at the neurosis,
Of once more into the breech.

And, what is life.
But chemistry?
I remember clearly the day we met
Which makes it seem like only yesterday
Memories cherished, memories kept
And a promise to forever, never give them away

A timeless legacy of family and faith
Between you and me to help carry it on
Adding doses of love along the way
Knowing full well we'll never go it alone

I promise you with this lasting truth
Whatever you and I are going through
I'll hold on tight and never let loose
Being more than ready to grow old with you

It's not hard to find we're still young in mind
With brittle bones that hold tender souls
We moan and we groan like we've been in a fight
And still not yet ready to give up the ghost

It hasn't been perfect, but we have been blessed
In all of the crazy that life's thrown at us
Still standing strong, last time we checked
Attributed to the power of love

I promise you with this lasting truth
Whatever you and I are going through
I'll hold on tight and never let loose
Being more than ready to grow old with you
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                But They’ll Be Kissing Someone Else’s Boots Next Year

I saw a cleaner landscape as I traveled today:
All the TRUMP flags have mysteriously gone away
~for a she who denies it~

c'mon c'mon,
have you ever got a
grade lower than than
A-?

ever stayed out so late,
causing your parentals
angst and  aggravation?

Not go to class,
without being overcome
with an all day long
residual residoo
of big ***
flashing "guilty"
tattooed
on the inside of your
brain?

doubtful
but I'm sure you are unwilling to
confess!
(Shame! Shame! Shame!)

but here is what you are;
a good'un
with admirable qualities
that cannot be denied,
even if you tried to lied,
for you reveal yourself
in every script
you pen,
******,
you are
too
a goodie goodie


good'un...

(that nobody can deny)
~for she who knows ~
<>
The word "likeability" is spelled L-I-K-E-A-B-I-L-I-T-Y., though the inhuman spelling master of this site, deems it a misspelling mistake, condemning it to live in red, and offering up no replacement

<>
it is that time of night, which is also
a time of early day, when dark silence prevails, except for the excessive rumbling of the our old little cottage's environmental devices gut rumbling while laboring to condition our atmosphere

our atmosphere;
is my brain on fire at 2:30am,
with new conceptuals, many contradictory, racing in and about my brain all begging to
write me first, while the mental fluids are juiced, and words are finger pecked into existence with a maddening slowness

but this one,
re likeabilty has risen to the fore,
because it is the last to be born,
and seems therefore claiming precocious precious preeminence

not a quality I deem much in my owned possess, but one easy discerned in others and delicious delighting to the human souls who
recognize it instantly by the smiling comfort of its parfume

what I like about like about likeability is it's a pleasing scent,
that aerosol invades a room and
spreads like a virus of happy,
quite contagious to we old curmudgeons,
who by nature feel put upon by
our aging equipment, and the daily struggle to maintain it, and the forces to countervail it ,
are endless and not cheery by nature

So
I am enlivened and enriched,
engaged and effervescent,
when youthful patois,
direct and with little boundary,
radiates the human existential,
and light shines upon my soul,
awakening in me
an optimistic countenance!

perhaps I exaggerate,
confusing youthful energetic optimism
for a condition,
and not merely a demeanor,
but I rethink upon it,
snd decidedly decide
this for real, this is genuine,
and by its very natural nature
(a lotta nats in nature)
its openness, unguarded,
refreshes and moisturizes
our skins,
internal and external

this special quality is not universal,
or else there would be peace on earth (ain't happening),
but those who have it,
who think beyond privilege and
privacy,
but intuitively,
offer up to all
a pleasantness
rich and original,
will write an indelible script
upon the world
for the better

I like it.
3:05M
June 2
2025
Like King David in the bible, as I grow older, bones grow colder, seeking added warmth  where, how, ever, mechanical, humanoid

Start my day, with a Canadian mug, illustrated with Vincent Van Gogh's Almond Blossoms, brim 19 .oz filled of Caribbean islands blended beans an elixir biblical that soul restoreth, and yet fresh from the *** yet requires 1:30 seconds of maximum additional heating

and I drink it down in minutes few

and go back for another

I know I'm droning on, many of you have escaped looking for pithy
abbreviated angsty desperation that
tumbles out of troubled chests

well you have to just keep on wailing
what no mas?

nope

but u can always hope

sorry this poem joke is in you...
but feel free to microwave me
back
Rainy days are about as good as any,
It's a little gray and dreary,
But I love the sound of trickling drops.

She does too,

I love the rain,
When I'm with you.
I always get frustrated when I get soaked on a Friday morning, but my love reminds me how I love to dance in it.
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