she may be,
off in the distance.

that thin line
where heaven tickles earth.

off and Beyond
like

the Setting Sun
how far

she will never tell me
and the place giving reason
to step many

taken
more each day to take in
just one direction
upon her name it is
I follow her Stone Road

all of the worst
in me
all I see today
the secret,
the fantasies
I don't want to own them
why am I this way
will I ever change,  
oh to be
normal,...  ME,...

This,..  My way,  my nature
Birthed to this,
My lineage,  this legacy,
Given,..  Named,..  
Long ago,  our lines given
Titles, trades,  qualities,  dispositions
Earned, bestowed, deserved,  taken
It was a day of beginnings,  
A day of firsts, lines created
It was a day of words
It says the day of naming.
Only are names given but that once
After that day,  one is born into
The name,  the legacy then passed
From generation to the next,
fathers and sons
My line: Fehlmann...
A man missing, or lost and searching?
Hiding?  Different?  A little off?  
Perhaps indefinable?  
Unreachable, exploring,  so misleading,
Misunderstood,  built different,  special
Untouchable, wandering,  leading?  
I can't help but wonder,  why?  Those words?
Was my distant relative present?
What a puzzling choice of words to be given?  Or,  earned?

I guess the madman
have calculated urges
disturbing angles
and unknown destination
exponential compromises
are words unsaid.
leaving leads to a labyrinth
full of unwanted things there
are the sounds you hear
of your own heart beating
that then seems to echo out
and fall to pieces
imposing places of
contemplation seeking direction
and comforting
they're all of the skills
They are barred
with in Wheeling, Broken,
and imperfect scars
scars that speak
in voices without tongues
They fluently create the lies
currency of  and for
causing discomfort as designed
glinches come at random
places that there is concern
that the illusions tell now,  cherished
and innocent versions all dressed up
False faces of who we are
feeding risky randomness
auditions held for the part of grown up obsession over
the past happy to give
flawless proof of lives In motion
not punching like creatures
Vultures circling over poisoned enclosures
those explorers so eagerly lost
create what happens
and I recognize the patterns
and the direction entices them
the misunderstood
They,  the lacking
the admiration leaching from the dependent
alien reasons for force
human consumption
we want so we approach
imagining admiration
as the fake see clearly
This comes along empty and fruitless weeping on road
they twist and turn to our destination listen for proof
Find strangeness from the terrified smiling as reflex is often fun to witness
Life is a marketing bonanza
Fretted upon by the aged
and confusing the greater purpose
It is unflattering
The images are set on dancing
in dream- like exuberance
But for our Commercial grade lifestyles worn out just as the next latest arrived motion that spurs ordinary
traditions are lessees and should lead
follow behind today showing.
direction and dramatic pauses
decisions create ruined morals
floating on an endless breeze
they are carried past the gate
seemingly entitled
as if born there and welcome
Off is the practiced flaws
missing is the counter balance
confrontation unspoken is kin to action anger is without conscience
mistakes have been made.
deception is practiced,  perfect.

Thirty-seven trips now,  
Around the Sun...
Still,..  I am found wanting.
True in form and practice,
To my line,  my heritage...
The Lost,  or,  the Missing,..
The Ones Lacking,..  Or Off.
The day of naming did too find us.
Difficult,  hard to be certain of,
My line was to be rated and unwelcomed.
Undefined yet equally undiminished,
Our ways far too confusing,
Unconforming,  unlike my shoes
To this,  Her stone road.
Stretching out and on
To meet with the earth and the sky.
The birthing grounds of tomorrows,
And that realm of possibilities
made maybe's.
In one direction
do his strides consume
distance measured in footstep
After unwavering footstep.
The man called Lost,
His line the misplaced,  unwell
Insane,  or simply the missing.
Follows the road as roads promise,
Direction,  reasons to push on,
Whispering rewards,  her smile,  her acceptance.
This man known as wanting,  fits the definition
For only rarely is this the way of his name...
This is the road,  it's stones
Fit face to face onward,  
Endless,  and as uncountable
Are they,  as are his questions
What if he cannot be found?
Forever out of place,  unknown,..
Lost to her beautiful eyes,
  or the radiant waves
Each of her smiles creates?  
Could this road lead this man,
From nowhere,  of nothing
To an end just as unwelcome?

This man that answers to the far off,
That knows the distant,  the different...
She owes this road,  placed each stone...
The toll must be hers,  alone
And a test that one must satisfy,
To earn the trust,  to claim such reward
As to be known,  to be welcomed,  to be loved
To be found perfect,
And to be wanted,  for being different.

your blood representation, of a familiar design,
maybe equally as essential, as the clever use of smoke and hidden mirrors,
mislead you through the way it works comedy action catches you in awe.
and as the last act unfolds,
Its the ending you are really looking for.

it is a familiar face, and with time with his changed.  you shade in expressions, clearly portrayed.
you see right away, I laugh a lot, maybe, cry a little
maybe, why concentrate and I stare office space
into some distant deep thought see I'm a deep thinker
off in some ways but better in others
Im , but I won't hide my flaws they're what make me meme
as long as I've been here I've been reading and AG and I've been imperfect
and I couldn't ask for anything more