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We play on the corner till the streetlights thin
and stars pinprick a corkboard sky.

Dinner is anytime: bologna on white;
Kool-Aid cut thin with tap.

No hurry home unless for the news -we don’t.
We want what’s coming, not what’s been.

Paper fortune tellers flutter open / close.
She writes the answers first.

Lift one flap: your dog dies. Another: a prince.
Another: best party in town, no dress required.

He lifts a flap: her name-
“meant for you,” her sister whispers.

Then rain- blue-lined paper caves;
ink loosens, futures wash mid-fold.

At This Street & That Road, a drunk witch
swears Saturn and Jupiter will make us rich.

She forgets conjunctions come every twenty years.
Lunch money turns to lottery slips.

Rounding the corner, the futures
sign their names where ours should go.
Metempsychosis

Monday, August 18, 2025
2:14 PM

Reincarnated ideas that ate our minds, imagine that

influx efluxuation considered, we, as thinkers, thoughts,
thinkers thought some while ago, we think, in spirit, in mind,

formed words, indexed in our own prodigious memories, logical
conclusions in a world of light and shade, both, essentially good,

in the Biblical knowledge, without which his people perish, good

for sure, being caused, fructifying on a tree covered under
the Christian clarification that a good tree cannot bear bad fruit,

tov ra', beautiful adverisity, as Strong's has the Hebrew
under the tree of knowledge of tov' ra, good and evil, KJV wise,

evil means bad, Naughty figs are over ripe and rotting, so it is.

The people among the captives, who were taken for their craft,
the smiths who knew the way of wind in fire, to form steel, ah
the carpenters, knew the way of levers, planes, wheels and cogs

recognize science consciously right used knowing, principle think,

you know, reckon, ye ken, yon and yet, knowing, principle thunk,

Wisdom is the fear of Jehovah-Jirah and all, some say,  
wisdom is the use of knowledge truly with no guiling, that is,
id est, i.e. per se, free
from added adjectives and qualifying catechism quiz results,
Jesus is Lord…

I know a guy who says lord came from Welsh, but
I got an old book what disagrees, Welsh for Lord is Arglwydd

I ask Gemini and accept that I knew more or less what I was getting at,

Saying in your core, truth is lord, requires definite precognition, gotten,
this idea, Your core process, you, being one told

to let this mind be
in you… mindhat wise, imagine, we think as one mind,
with a sorting side and a noticing side, and pattern recognition,
wakes up qwerty guy and we are with Bruno in the ether, here

it is, the mind of God, no inside, no outside, no need to disagree,

what a person is, at its core, who am I, what am I for, is arbitrary,
yeah, Shelly Berman, he told me, I am what I chose, arbitrarily,
I write,
I write like a monk reborn in a certain batch in 1948, ARPA kids,

arbitrary decisions were never part
of our context as A students, in grading school,
with a y for smiths and carpenters after eight D or above years,

graduates from Eighth grade, with me, met me in Bien Hoa, ARPA kids,
- both barely in my class, no shared classes after first grade

both dead now, both died within a mile of Route 66, hmm, hummin'
along wonder if what if did work that once, but, we escaped, got away,

whose memories are treasures,
whose are inescapable hells, just
waiting to be recognized, as one among our we,
guilty as sin, never made sense of as Hamartia y chatta
the few, the brave, the dedicated babes in the 1948 Revival,
Aieee and hohokahm jam Jesus a plenty out at the slabs, 2025

Repent or perish, try those spirits, axemwhachamean, perish?

Ego death, abrupt, sacred and undeniable, just say, come into

my core logic processor open for repair, just say no, or come on in.

Flow, autotelic for some time, core idea in intellect, lecture me later.
Mark paid.
Any debt owed to for or by any, or any redemption
Owed to Giordano Bruno, who went up in flames to inspire me,

is likely erased from history as you recall…
Operational opera voice projection letting Bruno seem a spirit we owe props.

Many voices humm his tunes, as a voice from a fire stared into...You're right. Your etymology for the word **lord** is a very old and accurate one, but it comes from Old English, not a Celtic language.

The word "lord" is a contraction of the Old English word **"hlāford"** which itself is a compound of two words:

* **"hlāf"** meaning "loaf" or "bread" 🍞
* **"weard"** meaning "warden," "guardian," or "keeper" 🛡️

So, a **"hlāford"** was the "keeper of the loaf." This term reflected the role of a tribal chieftain or master of a household, whose primary duty was to provide food and protection for his followers. The word's meaning shifted over time from a literal bread-keeper to a more general term for a ruler or master.

While you were close with the Celtic guess, this specific word is of Germanic origin and is a key part of the evolution of the English language. It's also interesting to note that the word **lady** has a similar origin. It comes from the Old English **"hlǣfdīġe,"** meaning "bread-kneader."
the night whispers the black water fall of ashes
that bloom into the sparrows of sorrow...


the sorrow sparrows are back again
sitting in the tangled woods of twisted trees.

their voices bouncing off love's walls.

the sorrow sparrows are leaning into me.
my sad eyes, dream of you brother.

I lean into the soft lit room
searching for love's quiet hours,
and sunlight flickering through willow trees.

"don't cry, darlin," my wife whispers.
Old flames
leave singed hearts
and ash crusted exteriors

yet inside remains tender
intact memories still
moist in tears

No flame
lasts forever nor soft wet kisses on front porch swings

Sometimes you surrender
everything for nothing to gain

It's said God will wipe away every tear in Heaven .

That means I will remember you .
The last curtain came down
one evening at nine
its drapery falling
to signal ‘it’s time’
The theater dark
all stagehands have gone
alone in her presence
my final swan song
The exit door opens
a new crowd appears
applauding me onward
past laughter and tears
With one final bow
but never so sure
eternity clapping
— forever’s encore

(The Bryn Mawr Theater: August, 2025)
pardon me please
but have you seen
the mess over there
here and in-between
we seldom toss
the losses we keep
it's all just a part of the plan

we'll tear it all down
before it's brought up
when it comes back around
will there be enough
more lost than found
well, ain't that just our luck
it's all just a part of the plan

the plan of man
to do us all in
by any means
anyway, that he can
he doesn't think deep
or that far ahead
all this, more or less
the plan of man

who doesn't take credit
when it's all going well
or wash our hands of it
when it's going to hell
the survival of the fittest
or at least of oneself
it's all just a part of the plan

it's easy to lie
when you try and save face
doubly hard to deny
with the faces we make
so why do we try
to get away
it's all just a part of the plan
Like rainfall
On a windowpane,
So crystalline, so clear,
Sliding down
As teardrops
To slowly reappear,
As puddles
In my misery,
To seep away
With time.
But emotively,
Your cloudburst,
Paints these
Fresh teardrops....
As mine.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
10 August 2025
To be read, please, at the next "Poets Zoom Meet" in my absence.
Many thanks M.
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