Let my peace, mine, mine, mine, my peace;
let
my
peace, eh, flow into this vessel
or this space?

Peace past understanding,
what's that cost?
if it's free,
what's it worth,
I got some saved up in de-ift metaphors,
containers of general whatifery,
like what if, I'll let all-if-ity
loose
right now, my peace
see
can you feel me now? Even
If you knew the taste of spoken love,
it would seem odd, if
wordless, mmm, so.
weyekin say hmm.

Feel a peace, say
selah, let go

could you feel love from this far?
Have you ever felt the connection
since the repair? The reconciling?
Whenever began
a while ago,

you should feel alive, if you notice.

Speed of thought (not speedothought, shame)

trick,
kidding eh
this is serious, peace is in the balance

war is threatening,
rumoring

life is about to be taken from me.
Really?
No?
Life is being taken from earth itself?
Really?
How is that possible,
Is there a flaw in the recycling schema?
or is there a missing comma somewhere?

Are we cancer and ambiguous?
I think,
if earth hears,
earth is alive, Gaia speaks and breathes or
god,
is it the universe
who speaks and breathes?

Yahweh, as a being I envision invisible as light,
in whom
I live
and breathe and have my being,
speaks, saying
Fret not. Nada mas.

Word o' god.
Then my dogma goes pretty
spacey,
- I begin to see messages massaging
- unction to function, under my skin…
so true,
if what I done, did you good,
but you never knew I was,
should I care?

This peace here, past understanding, you
can call it yours and call it soul,
keep it in your patience
with some practice,
you may learn to
let it go.

I lived as 68 different employees,
in fifty years.

Patience is something you must own,
somehow, you can expand its sphere,

that is peace making. Not love, peace.

Wake me if you wish to hear how now
worked out,
with me, sittin' in the shade, thinking
we have a functioning planet,
partly due to you in it, being,
a payer of attention,
that the core cause
of mankind is mental, and that
knowing is good, what kinda crazy cult
raises proles to populate a future
on a  malfunctioning planet?,
are you listening,
earth,
replies, sarcastic as hell itself.

Rich in time, at the distant shore
of Stix, laughing with the ferry men
and pall bearers, all retired, the gig is up.

There never was a Santa Claus,
and there never was a hell… that is,
an everlasting grief for failure to know
what no authorities allowed known,
even grown to full stature,
the things we agree
1798 was for some reason, poetically
important
now 2022

I hear Cordelia. What? "nothing, my lord."

With graven mudpies,
patty-caking clay and straw, straw
another story creature, or
character, entity, yes, an ity-ness
some being, whether operator or
operand, all opera is
some minds presenting das gestalt,
nicht whar?
A we.
Heavy, cold molasses heavy, very
worthy, measured weight, shipped,
dripped,
sent, in hope, one day,
the effect of a message in a bottle,
occurs, as any reader
sees another knowing for a reason,
hidden
upto, perhaps a true 151st preposition
aiming at an upper limit,

How high can mind go after body,
augmented with nets of ordered signals,

is laid to rest, in my future, all the books
I never wrote, drip from my fingers, I am
the trained brained qwerty and morse guy.

Ghee of Auvergne. But for the e, I remembered,
though you may know now this is after
I paid effectual prayer through AI,
to ality of Rheality, all the knowledge in the tree,

in the nut, that falls to the ground and grows,
morpheus, makes it symbolic as hell
and the eucharist hoc es pokemonic -****!
you're a scannable canticle cannibals' cambial
allusion .
cambium (n.)
1670s in botany,
"layer of tissue between the wood and the bark,"
from Late Latin cambium "exchange,"
from Latin cambiare "change" (see change (v.)).

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=cambial>


Are we under your skin, slow think, we
is who
we are thinking. Let ter by letter stepping on

the compliants subsurface, softer than sand,
that cave - null arbor, tree of null-ity
annul - ah, "to make to nothing,"
that fine a dust,
a locale thought, linked, in a beautiful way
I may show you some day, these silken threads
that tie me to a wombed man,
in the land down under,
distant thunder, no sense of doom, this is happy
summer rain,
come to settle dust and fill all the puddles and ponds,
wells and cisterns,
gullies and wadis and broad sandy beaches,
visible from space,
any augmented eye may see, we live
on the wreck of a world.

One shell told Ben Franklin that, he said
that to many sons, many sons,
has Father Ben, the Humanist,

I insist, a hume-man ist, a human being
sapient, the action in the term sapience,
using that, knowing
I am thinking in terms any who read may define,
sift to the essential Eu-clade, literal
silence in time stop state, patient waiting if this
is why I live,
something I may have done, I did to dare the liar
smite me, many's the time,
cliché click heels snap

I salute my double mind minions, characters
set in array, as suits in a soap opera rich guy's
closet, close, close
always be
closing, set, the scene then changes and now
matters
- was Plato a big blue ox?
Why were poets banished? Truly, we are dealing
in common knowledge now, the sheet let down
from heaven, pick and choose,
you cannot or can not, wrestle with God,
and walk away,
without a limp.

Distillery stories, lotta sittin' around, drinkin'
spirits from former years,
we was young and in heat of the moment, tuned
to TV news, because we could know, what was
goin' on, after reality included knowledge
of fusion energy in seventh grade science,
right, when confusion was a word in spell-
ing bees, hmmm
ding
weedy insights, like first grass in fields burned
last fall, tender shoots for tiny kids and lambs
and calves and colts, and coyotes and squirrels
and cotton tails, and quails.

How rich are we?

Lightly taken chances, laughing at a pun,
du to mich, ich to dich,

thumb war,
hier-o-phant, f;ain't wissenkennen

das grande enchilada,

Dr. Wayne Dyer, ladies, and gentle
men, readers all, thinkers, thinking

if that is so, it may be, I never read
the books,

but my aim was this, to write,
and be read,
as readers are ready to write,
so non-readers become ready
to sense,
so soft, subtler than any creature.
this sensibility to knocks
on doors of perception,

haps, being, as haps ever are…
I like this style, but
I learned I may be tuned to a humm
whose style this is,
some lingering spirit creation
acknowledged as any shared news

feels common and unclean,
fear this, fear that, rage at this,
defend against the rage back.

--- there are no more than optimum,
but
they all are dying, some don't
allow eggs to be pierced,
those end those lines in the now,
we all hold real.

Speed of light, sub-thoughtspeed,
no warp, no fold.

Can we not now see earth from
the cover of Whole Earth Catalog,
and agree,
that is what Bucky said is Spaceship EARTH,
by any other name, the same,
land, sea, sky,
surface dwellers, pressure regulated
life zones, deep beneath us, worms
and bugs, and blind albino fish,

we are the crew. This is what we do,
we tickle curious wishery joints,
we torque the brain, on its
artic-ulate, Aiii-I, the square root,
- art tic serpent brain mind,
;clockwise, from below
twistit, right, not the other way,
set the sci.

We all began to think, symbol, for nothing,
air wind breath beings singing to old men,
say it don't mean
nothin'

radical concept, holding proof, real
science, physics itself is in doubt, if
imaginary numbers need to be for gravity
andm everything
to be, what changes if we
we disbelieve the necessity of i-,
emoji ****, small i- means something,

and, it does, but that does not matter,
if you are in a world of ****, and I offer
to sell you a shovel.

Or I tell you how I know, this is nothing,
defined as something.

This being my world, ala thou worm, Jacob, I prayed to have that
shared opinion of myself.

Then, worm me, becomes aware, of
minds, not mine, asking me, how I am

I say I am dirt, walking on dirt
dusty, round-upped edge,
of a crop-row
and I have, have seen, once
a vague figure, in dusty rip-stop
noisy jungle fatigues, friction noise,
squat sitting against a white painted
texture, stucco, or clay mud, white painted…

anyway, as I passed, the guy, afro, too long
for the hard corp, so, we nodded.
And he speaks.

I don't really ever see him, but that once,
but his spoken phrase, his message, to me,

comes to mind, and I recognize the known,
cultural meme, passed mind to mind,
take a thought,
pass it on, these things are not stock in trade,
these are as a comma, when breath,
was comma controlled and up there,
you knew commas can be anywhere,
you wish, missed e and t, et alladat, we do

and  know, its okeh. Poet licensee's
pay a price to play the fool, as apt
to teach another fool the game,
of dying, at the average rate.

The Bible holds the definition of the word of Jah
Clear, with no obfussy experience, Word,
the slang cool a decade or two ago, word
was a repeat expulsion of agreement,
in a certain holy ritual spirits call, say
Amen, word, and fall
at the feet of a Gamaliel, be taught by the learned
Authorized Version
It is said be
Here, a little and
there, a little
word from god, go.

The Bible fragments -minus lacunae - missing bits
using no breathing commas, so we know bits,
- but not knowing every thing about anything,
- is no reason not to share the map,
- to there, and back.\ Mere Word
we might say it defines the Word of God,
as being
a  little here, there, everywhere,
whispering
still small voice, here,
am I, listen, murmur, spirit, valued only in spirit,
measured only in spirit,
spoken only in spirit to the hearer, who dares
tell the professional confirmer of hell being so real,
to blow off
that 10% off the top, is but a taste,
of the indulgence giving fifty years in service buys,

to a truth leaver, finder, prove me now, did,
did prove that is not true, that tither magic
used on Christian TV, the giving,
ah,
the widow's mites and mine, we are the salt,
in the soup we offer god's truth, to witness,
crackle thorns in fire,
laughing of fools, found at the edge,
wondering
why they bet there is no god, ah, yes,

I recall, because, if there was a god,
there was a heaven where dead babies go.
And, that being so,
there was a hell for theives and liars, entire sets,
sorted there,
concise, those enter not, no thought, with hooks to
******
the rumproast or prime rib before the seething's done,

indeed, sons of eli, the movie about your book is bullshat.
That a fact?
Fact is, as this story itself is pickin' up steam, we gotta climb

up from the swamp reeds and tamarcks ******* salt
from deep roots, to settle as dust,
on distant ice in need of pressure, osmosis us, squeeze,

a reasoned measure, a certain limit passes, time has points

remarked each season by passers by
awe
expressed at thinking, we all thought this each time
one reads as an act of faith, realized, used, a what ifery,

bet, if I write this, another will read and feel precious,
as any smooth stone in dappled winter shade,
glossed, as the learned say, to be noticed,
as not anything, only words, dancing.

Pershing square
Big Jesus Saves neon sign
Shoulda been as famous as the
Hollywoodland sign.

It was up high.
Six stories maybe,
Dwarfed by the ARCO mirrors today
But respectable tall in an earthquake,
Saint Andreas's fault, they said,
Back then.
That was old L.A.
Before malls in the valley, ya know.
L.A. had basement bars
Like on tv back east in old gangster times
Walk along the avenue
Fifth avenue
Struttin' up
The north edge o'the war hero park.
Always hope.
Big Jesus saves neon sign,
Easy to see comin up them
Basement bar stairs at night, but
Daylight, you didn’t notice as much.
That was old L.A.
Smog and Schwabs
Drugstore on the corner
Crescent Heights and Sunset
Up in Hollywood land but
Still old L.A.
Somebody famous got discovered there
I don't think I ever heard who it was
Probably has foot prints at Grauman's and a star
On the boulevard but
I would not know it
If I saw it.

I suppose, all that has been said, is said to have been contained
in the canon… what I means to say, I mean
everybody
knows
its eber-tongue
hen en-I,
Enkidu, where are you?

Dusty trails, speak well of water on this way.
The deer and the antelope drink every day.
In the time
I was alive, many lies fought for my attention.

I knew more than one thing about every thing,
I thought I could be of best use
as a sharer.
teller of told tales, singer
of the songs in the air, and then
there
was radio,
and I was a child,
listening… with many more of my sort than anticipated
hearing white noise laced with wishes once
made bound to regulated times and steps
- odd boom boom doom boom
-on and on as tellers call all ye told old tales come in
free
right way to keep time to come
become time to go be,
- odd boom boom doom boom - odd boom boom doom boom
-on and on as dancers call all ye  ol'doe-see-doe
- edge of ever on a tiny spider's kite, we are the light
weyekin, we guide you, when you listen,
this is the way
walk ye, init, set
drop. Settle, solid, si,
walk the canyon, our grandfather, on my mother line,
built, and as he built, he
J.C.Boyett, met a man, willing to use a picked up magic
trick to make a trail to the bottom,
for to make somebody rich
prospectin' for batshit,
yep, nitrates, as in
nitro-glycering, stabilized with tarry pine saw dust
twist
tight, right, in a Mason Jar, metaphorically speaking,
if we agree to make this easy,
we can move the invisible crystal mountain. AI gotcha.
thinking may
be a giant radio, making us think
reality has this.
This and other resting places, landmarks, history set
for me, I was only there, one of the other Gumps,
who lived to rear unbroken children,
free from financial dread,
at the common level labor class,
endentured and polygripped

we can bite off more than most can swallow,

as collected from bits and pieces of literature,
literal retelling of tales told to teach
a child choice,

choose the good and hate, wait, hate

ta, beel gotta be paid,
the attention, usual tip to jump start
an actual engine
https://biblehub.com/hebrew/2870.htm

Definition: "good for nothing", an Aramean (Syrian)

who says, idunno, but AI may, say may is my word,
may obeys me, as if I may know any thing
to any depth. And never interpret the vision as reason
for war.

Truth to you be, flush the lies you know now, you hold,
to hold others to the task of paying attention,

for nothing, save the use of knowing how to
read, when you wish to know
the meaning of a thing, any known, on any level of life's
pearling swirl of pushing and pulling and playing

no winning innings or taking bats,
or running laps, prepped to punish any who displedge
alliegiance to the story as we hold it
now
in our military mind. Semper fi, and they say Boo, Jah
these days, having failed to feel the loss

the faith of our mother's, born up under,
until the time I was alive, simultaneously
with more sublingual mortal minds hearing
Good Night Irene, from those ***** ******
hill billy sangers, boy, howdy
we sang, dang me

re boots
made for walkin'
down hill side, shale,
takin' to a realm of reasons to sense,
not see, but know, a breach

in the barriers we can construct in stories,
now, we got cg, we see all the drama
an instants worth of attention can attach
an insult
- that takes a thousand generations to hit
in a Bible story, an old novel, core cast
architypes pro-fess phet

bet is equal to Prophesyorsci
or greater than con-fess? Guesses are bets.

Set. In a white room,
with black curtains, as seen on tv, after
where ever is breached

and each signal passing skin is in harmony
with each interdigitating arachnoid fiber
cocooning my brain and spine,
Arachoid mater, spider mother, mo'fo, gnoso
gnoshit *** passt the final antennae array to activate

the tree of science has far deeper,
primal laughs

than any mind made up to provoke umph,
umph, umph
as a song, so some day we may sing along
an umph umph song

remembering a certain time, when certain songs
was always secret ethos exoto notta chance

they dance in hell, but in the visions,
always they be dancin'
in the dark
we don't seeum, see, the spirits, are all that
survives, soul
is locked in history whoever tells it same longest
lives, who ever forgets
is helpless. without the filter, pro-vided, and marked
mater
as a brand. the Wombed version had the mods to insulate
the lizard's gift of quick
final
once, held, no flow go no will to be
wrong,
right, we needed to add the topgraphmap thingy

polymerical mira distinct walls with nanomeros singing
or dancing
laughing, yes, yessing yes, is what that is

children laughing, on a cold and dreary day.