Opening seen,
bright lips curved, precisely,
see the smile fitted over teeth naturally gapped,
doubtless an adaptation acceptable,
nothing that sticks out as odd,
and ugly,
but the smiler wonders, is this me?
Mirror, mirror, tell me true…

Do you see who I was, or who I wish I were?

Were, says the wolf lurking in the shade.
The mirror says you see who I wish I were,
if I were you.

See, see me, says the mirror from this side,
follow your selves, one after another,
down the hall of all in all.

Always falling forward,
don't forget, to put your best foot forward.
There is a place to put your foot,
your guide reminds you, see,
that you do,
prevent the disease - sneeze please.

- I once put my foot in my mouth
- I kicked myself in the head
- It has made all the difference.

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

Quick, quicken the pace, my heart
is racing an imaginary Jehu, so fat I laugh
that such imagines slaying me.

Big wins, ring out around the casino,
as the atomic kid walks by,
I was the kid,
sold on condition of survival,
don't be like Jerry, be like Dean,
live drunk,
enter the maze, yeah, this is that story,
another twice told tale, you remember
as a child
thinking, this must make sense sometime.

- 1963, Mrs.Burnett, suggested Hersey,
- both, The Child Buyer and Hiroshima.

I'm sure
it does, per
haps not in your time, I'm saying some time,
future from now,
as we agree, in truth alone, all things occur
as may occur whither only truth remains.

The arena of truth.
Let me entertain you. Do wheels spin
in your mind on a window in time?
Can you stop the game and claim I won?

Would you leap for joy, and kiss me,
for winning,
if I died happy and right,
right now?

Ah, I owe, so I may not go, though may is
my word to use at will, I am that old
and thus free of heresy, by definition.

May your path cross mine in joyous meditation,
fat dancing Buda  

Spelchek has joined the guide union,
it is her pronoun, but for me, to me
she is just like a wombed man

barefoot, soft walk on soft sand
wombed man, belly-wise
gestation, see soon seed
blooms, after drought super blooms
wide world blossoms rise in sacred
meaning made plain,

living waters, from your own cistern.
Let them be only thine own,
and not another's with thee,

did you ever have the opportune
instant one mind must have to be
remade in a flash,
past
a mirror where the hero yo, hom'
m'gotta defeatist -- it's me,
standin'
up to my neck in the needy prayers.
Gnoshit.

Here, take my hand, in my reality,
we step lightly,
thus the barefoot pregnant guise
Spelchek uses as her seductress
persona,

she whispers, rebbi, come and see.
- she has a country girl grin
- Dance in Buda
Buda
Texas, ah

Here we be, once more,
exactly where you never were
before, but think of it
a duet, an artificial interlude in drama
developing, as the tension,
is insistent, this is that
meaning full connection
Christmas represents.

Right… you lost me.
She winks, says wanna bet?

One step, as wished, free. From point A. taken.
Being improbable, at best, a mindless being,
is not impossible, now, two lines in.
Being as how,

I am, in the midst of all that is, thinking
I am not the cause of more than the touch
I am hoping to feel, fed back
as matters may prove plausible, living truth.

Even, the touch is imaginable,
and once imagined
feels the same, after the act.

We exist, readers, both you and I reading once
each word, the first time, in we-state, as
primal exposure to life,
sensing knowns
awake, new, in total newness, nothing is
as expected, as nothing was expected,
sense
itself is new
to you, and I only hoped
you could exist
and I could find you waiting to ask
if I found the art of being
beautiful.

I smile and you know, this maybe point b.

Were it my duty to con vince a fool  I would try
To understand my own reason before answering
Lest I be like the fool met in his folly.

Experience vicariously pre carious edge standing

I know chaos never resolves into synchronized living systems.
Never has. Never will. Still
You can think differently.

Find a way any thing can be
And being, come to,
eventually, be a part of you that works.
A chloroplast
Or some thing, mechanical, inside a cell inside of you.

Chance, bon chance, sunbeams captured in greens ground
To ruminated mush in bovine bellies find their way in
Packets of protein to

----
One of the things that loved enemies do is provoke you
To good works, to right use of the talent found
beneath the rock that crushed you
Like a bug.

Some thing did say, in my mind
don't make this another tequila day,

I laughed and sang along
as I poured the Peligro and sang my own ****** song.

Take a tiny taste of the future,
from a keep it rural POV.

As my Gerry-rigged life, extends
as in, what soldiers did
to try to stay alive, after spare parts were pastense,
a nod to Northern Euro knackraft of olden days.

If you have the knack 'ritused to makin' broke bits
function in a state of _
unspeakable, but you'd best believe,
it makes the lights turn on,
that
is a gift, a knacker's gift, truth t'tell,
and put an apple on the crown of your own
first born

test the legendary ai-mmm through handlelesss
axes, was that not the tale told to children
comprehend the arrow flying on a line,
hunter children,
aware of the fish story aspect of tinker
told tales of olden times damnations.
-- {now, calculate the curve}
Aye, and our old ways work, we make you think
double minded, eh, like two cpus in 86040 days,
two clocks, eh, first, lizard level from
now to any cloud connected when,

take in a Saturday mattinee,
see it again on Sunday and wonder at the change
A POV, who you were, you are no more,
rich or poor,
this is the theatre of the mind, and mere words
rule the plain truth, smooth,
deep soft belly breath
breathed to smooth-as-silk, down to the amber
touch,
touch me now, why doncha try, we might
make matters matter more or less
a while, gentle touch,
peace passing understood rules of engagement

Transcaucusus, carriers of this old tale, Pontic
Greeks, ah, so

the book of life is not a story,
you are. And you do end up reading it.

Moses eyes, you imagined that right,
clear as any Hubbard riddle ever entered in the fray.

Old things pass away, all things are new,
on earth as it is in heaven, when some certain
people
begin to believe the wisdom under the idea,
our
public declaration across all time, then to now,
our father, passengers of earth, travailing
groaning to manifest, the will of all
truth be done truth's way,
on earth, as it is in ever after we begin
telling the truth to us
regarding the home of the free,
our shared lies that allow non-profit CEOS
Abu Dhabi level luxury,
and reward the tellers of war as fullfillment tales.

Clash of the fathers, with mothers doing nothing
I trow not, but too far, me, too, I've come

to entangle carnalmind value for cannonfodder
or breedsow worthiness,
with life,
and that,
more abundant. On the battlefielllld, after all
the only emnity is the carnal mind, on God's side.

It is still Wednesday, but I posted that at HelloPoetry,
because I learned that the Brave Browser accumulates
BAT
weee tiny itty bitty Basic Atttention Tokens,
for time I spend reading there,
to be inspired to write here,
life is a spiral not a circle.
Yet, this month, I earned forty two cents,
for my  two cents at HP.
holy funny money and legal ****,
lock me up/ I'm in the imagined better place.

This Wednesday
From Tuesday, just now.

Lines ago, I said, Yesterday, {Email from VA}
Subject: Afghanistan, let's talk.
-- no warning --
The awareness of a name for a feeling,
makes it a syndrome, if you think of complexes
as being made wadded up maps to the mean
the mean that makes ends
meet points
unbelievable, if you trust my construed wager
anchored at my person cpu gravitated center
to the completed equation
and
Dirac's unsatisfactory answer.
- so-vest, my ruskie battle buddy,
True rest, under compaction forms trust.
This never ends mentally, live with it now,
or bet I'm lie, wind of death joy of the unjust

And your god is unwilling to prove me wrong.

- wait, wasn't we being a we,
- consensus, we, not just
- me and you, but the we idea

join us we are muse-fed senses poets claim
when we approach the tongue no man can tame.

We have a place to play with minds intent on
finding why wizards were ever imagined evil, by a child.

I never once imagined a Wizard -a true ward of Wisdom,
so-vest - invest a guess, where the story arose
evil wizard, familiar spirit

there are these, saints, some use as a term for the type.
Nothing missing, nothing broken,
starry sky above me, living books within me…

Rabbi, where do you live,
come and see my library, it fits in the palm of my hand,
you can take it home with you,

oh, yes, we agreed/ I think
this is now in between, whenever there is
one and one there exists the state inbetween being
all in all things separated inbetween each is inbetween all.

And the walls come a tumblin' down.
Siloam, not Jericho,

something there is that does not like a wall.
The idea is mortal poetic guessing, true in some sense,
yet cellular life testifies something,
in here, loves a wall,
on spaceship earth, our only home,
that we all mortally know, knowing
neither mortal Jesus or any mortal Mo-
hamadascherian veil weaver,
ever saw an Apollo-loco --
much less
Earth from an Apollo mission,
one image worth
many mucho words, millions, billions,
ha, se, the gist of justice is weight,
what balances-- se, no se --
your pro gnosis,
personal attention paid to life tokens,
be brave, take a guess.
What is your attention worth, if long trippy rants
never lead to useful conclusions,
from time to time.