Sculpted faces,
aging drama queens,

all the world's stages, this
is after those, these depths
of despair, where no pieces fit,

Kintsugi, fractured flash bulb scene,

an instamatic moment, a Kodak memory.

Idle word redemption day. {optional title}

Clocking time.
Timing coincidence,

confident tempus fugit…

ever learning, never certain,
each lessoning examined

conscience temptation, fug-edaboudit,
esse,
This is the day,
laid out
in front
of time's arrow

to be shot thro-
ugh-**ing A,  okeh, shot…out
ra' rough, footballer mind
an instance
in prayer… patiently ghine

-----------

He, if he were you,

ignoring nothing, finding quiet

time, alone,
in an empty house;

he would think, being as you
were he, I think,

rare, quiet, not noiseless, listen
the humms, the wind rattling
leaves in Live Oaks,
needles in Pines,

birds whose peeps are
playing
with my ears,
tuning mine
to his who hears

quiet time slipping by,
acknowledging most
deafening noise

is all
in the mind.

--------------

Wally Amos, are you still famous?

Me, too. Locally.

Famous for fine grandchildren,
Parent-Teacher Conference
confirmed, year after year,
fine
grandchildren given access
to books, and self education,

And wicked fast internet/
tutorials for anything

solvers of Rubic's cubes,
setters of gathering magic what's

and ifs, and but then, so that's
better, he thinks, this tinker

touching each across time,
think yourself useful to us all. Amen.

----------------------




Laughing, thinking of shouting,
at the floor, I am
so intense
because

I am alive
in my own future,
the world's a mess, unless,
I laugh,
and take the good.

It is a sunny November day,
after the promised latter rain,
laughter functions, leaving lines

where old faces wrinkle happily,
fitting character traits common
to old scout squinty perspicacity.

-------------------

Bored, in ever after, eh?

¿Made no plans
    to pursue, when you had time?

Well, as a filler word,
or is it
a feeler a
wordwiggle rough
through a ra'thought,
be may, may be, maybe so,
declaratively so said, indeed, thinking
beauty be,
what if now,
is the same time,
any instance taken
seriously curious wise,

from the initial point perceived, taken, held
to hold this thought, or hold that thought
as self evidently true,
having being
in minds
let be found like live words,
in spirit form, as breaths, taken

held, to rethink against knowing again
what was meant,
so long ago,
when all words got scrambled,
some lost all sense,
such be idle, now,
set to activate
on recognition, off, set
which is no longer the case, you know
common conscious
ness is the use, men-tal chabad
of knowledge actioning knowns
under the God
pledged and sworn
to try to tell the truth,
the whole truth y nada mas,
aliegiantly, in the spirit of Liberty…
inspired emperically in poetry
IF, Gunga Din
allah
Tha… just so, says
fear was the problem,
not knowledge
of wonder and adversity,
so opposed
for honor,
as translated good vs evil,
to death, staining beguilement,
from aha, got it, reason
to woe, original curse, sin
during developmental stages
interesting times first tier burns
of what our story says we mustabin,
in the dark ages, previous to the internet.

[[== jest, so ==]]-

eftsoons
obsolete or archaic way
of saying "soon afterward,"

ongean magical once more,
with feeling.

aware of some
things, aware
HERE am I
there you are

near and far and nothing
in between, why
should I care, beware…

It's me,
in this world, it's me,
making up my mind, to live on,
to live on
to leave behind me, for you -

a way to go,
if you really wish to follow, if
you truly hold the hope of ever
being better than right
now,
now. Right, not wrong, right now.
You know.
You think you know, right now,

with no miracles, no little things
to see, with no joy felt shared,
with no sorrow shown in tears,
with no feet a dancin'

up on tippy toes, just a spinnin'
in time,
like a planet or a star, loopin' life
in time,
from somewhere inside, center
of heavy
of hard
of dark and cold… dark and cold…

singer… singer singing wordlessly,
la las and mmmhmmms, so so so

lighten up,
lighten up my will to be worthy,
lighten up my will to be care free,

lighten up my will to be loved, by

strangers who imagine I have
loosed some good in some shape,
loosed some good held out of sight,

strange as not cognized, coknown,
to me and you, the other end of these

lines left to prove, a second
thought… if you make joy, peace remains
enjoyable,
no mass converts to energy,
my taken peace, my inspiration never
expires, each time I miss, I miss nothing
I hit
on another decision
to make.

I laugh, and let out long rambles, through
brambles familiar
to creatures built low
to the ground
at the human
being being being more than…

Partaker of the programming.
Snipping
Re-ligamental knots, religious at-here-
ence sense so common to all here,
re-
filtered feeling manufactured, here
in living words translatable, peaceable,

easy
to use while defusing the confusion,
and allowing angelic angst ambitious umph,

committed, chance fret naught,
take the shot, think thirty aught six, BANG

Big,
nothing like the game, recoil
that's what's missing… recoil,
kick,
to remind you what Newton knew.

Not Issac, Fred Newton, from Weedpatch, Ca,
a few miles this side of Bakersfield…

He, comes up around Thanksgiving,
in the spirit now, since he's dead,

he looks at me and grins, so big.

For me to live, that  turkey must die.
old fisher of men, he knew, he'd say
a man's remembered, for the shot,

no turkey ever is,
that's something
to be thankful for.

For she had not accepted defeat,
nor surrendered to the wanderlust of it all,
trapped in the thick fog of her fear—
a labyrinth of shadows where her voice
dissolved into silence.

Metamorphosing, she carved a hollow,
a space to call home.
Fueled by chemicals measured in increments,
their sterile precision slicing through
the feral ache of her longing.
A hiding place she had conjured
as a child, weaving it from ashes and remorse,
where moths flitted to their amber deaths,
the bulb’s hiss a quiet menace,
its danger humming through the stillness.

Courage tasted metallic, sharp
on her tongue, mingling with the salt
of blood smeared on her fingertips.
Another night sprawled open—
her hair tumbling like restless waves,
her thoughts clutching at themselves,
an ouroboros of lamentation.

Sorrow, a seed lodged deep in her womb,
sprouted thorns that pierced her silence.
Shadows stretched their forgotten forms,
etched in the plot of her life—
a scratch, a swirl, a jagged dance
splattered across canvas,
each brushstroke a hymn to her unraveling.

The ghosts pressed in,
whispering their fractured violence.
No one listened. No one heard.
She knelt, crushed petals
beneath the weight of the world.
“Put the broken pieces back,”
she begged,
“reshape the sharp edges
of my disappointments.”

At the brink of dawn,
the angels sang to her—
their voices a river of grief and duende,
swelling, sweeping,
washing her raw and clean.

He was her anam cara,
the raindrops kissed on her raven's beak,
moonstones refracting fractured light.
He was the breath
that held time still,
slipping into her chest,
her heart a wistful drumbeat.

One who self assuredly
lieves be a self governing code,

watch where you are going,
trust
the practiced habituation,

rising
to the upright pose,
standing
on my own two feet,
stepping
into my own time alive

with Justin Johnson mellow blues,

mellow mental slow dance,
walkin'
by the windows,
looking
through my own reflection,

at whats appealing
to me, please
see something you want and need
and can afford,
you hear

the window dresser
thinking
to himself,
see my artful display,
and imagine owning the desirable

baubles
on display, but, not today,
too long ago
to care, yet

fishing
for forgotten goods,
thinking today could be the day,
when all involving my ever after
happens
to ever
after mean what me and you
think ever and after
at once do mean

can we signal senses
we think we share,
no question,
I suppose,
the answer is yes, we share
the very air we breathe,
with music in it.

But, but, beware,
the back beat,
telling me I have wasted all my days,

I glance back,
and see my shadow,
so I laugh, inside, seeing my progress
into the light
of ever after all I lost…

asking strangers
for a few minutes
we can someday share, sure and certain,
it was as real as anything,
at the moment

our selves are
not ourselves, not
another pair
of people facing after all,

we form a bubble
to be in, only we two,

could be
we must imagine some sense
we feel we must squeeze
from sense
as common as
the air we share.

That's life.

Yes, those, these days,
the survivors
of these days,

we saw things our fathers
never imagined mortals could see

subcategorical weforms, evolved.

Some… subcategorical weforms
informed the world's conservative
branches
on the tree
of life… some
informed the latest cultivars… some
branched more citrusy, sour notes
become letters loosed
as knots
on ancient init-iation rites, keys
for the priesthood
of qwerty people.


the exalted authority
of incense burners,
and chanters
to the eerie flutes
of bone,

the high church liturgy
of order preservation,

Jongleurs, called forth,
as organizing engineers
of interfacing windows,

all, could leave, let be

the universe-ifying re-
ality, as realizable,
awesome
as a we
really
as a we, if
we agree, aggress
progressively, re
garding who can
know which lies

are legal,
because the Bible depicts
Yah himself loosing a lieing spirit, yes,

long justified
in all Bible authorized churches.

Evidence, that one may lie,
to protect the innocent or
to revive the mystery…
to be revealed…

As has hapt… evidently
we got away with it, that they say,

this we, we involved
in evolving,
as we think and reason, balance,

ratiocination, really, weights
and measures, balance useful

against cost
to become useful

what does it cost
to worship life? Value, at scale?
What price has been put on grace?

Knock, knock yokes.
Open deception,
become broke
beguiled, but convinced,
there is a trick
to making life,

some secret, kept
so some souls enslaved
by fear fed them as a child,

become guards, predicted to be
needed after prisons went commercial.

Train up a child
in the way it should go,
when it is old it will not depart
from the greatness made believed.

Witness those bred
to play football, the attitude,
is always ready, for some football…

mind relaxing Aztec version,
heart and soul, all in, big time!


The hero sees the end, his own
steaming heart on the altar.