Enlisting minds tuned to noise,
one good spell,
post participation in the everlasting war;
a peaceful valley, where waiting is only waiting.

Settled, true rest, compressed and shaken down
watching warnings evolve,
in human super bloom.

Eight billion minds
of the main kind,
collective conscience,
under ever afterward solemn
compulsion
to tell the truth. Whole,
no reason to bring to confession,
I must test, to prove to you,
if I
I did hear the knock, as it were, a bell, ting,
ding, I opened the door and made no invitation,
as when a farmer lets out water, whoosh
this leaky old cistern was full to overflow,
and
the rat that hid in the old dry well, drown'd.

Resulting in silence,
due to the truth in any story being authorized,
authority approved.
triple A.

Sowing as the legendary Johnny Appleseed,
with cautionary
pioneer role,
we can take the land, that was the story told…
none of this is learned in secret.
- done did done, done did done, done
do you
know the way to San Jose?
Did you know, in 1968?
----------------

The pilgrimage to all the drops, each 50 league step,

madding memory of yapping pups herding first bought sheep
over the cliff,
into the sea,
thinking that will be the end
of me, as a shepherd…

No, I never cried wolf.
I never took up the hunt for wolves,
I knew it was my own fault
as a shepherd innocent, novice with only books,
who bought a friendly dog, with too much to learn,
and no safe place to train,
brain to worth,
what is good
to know, what is good to go, chase into the sea,
like the spirits from the Gadarene,

and what evil comes when knowing
of good grows too slow
to catch a gnat with no effort.

Watchman! What of the night?
Who is asking, comes a reply,
why do you know nothing
at this hour,
it is dark and quiet, but for living noises,
courting crickets and owlish judgements

bat beeps and squeals, but those, we feel I think, more than hear.

Lost lines, resisted in the night,
conscious resistance in the night,

not sleeping, so
not dreaming,
certain this
is real.

Now it is day, and I call the thieves,
again, all ye, all ye outs, inscape
the outer darkness, pitch me your plot,
show me what you got,

series of forties. Days and Nights,
rain and fasting, days and years,

forty steps and forty miles
forty winks and forty minutes,

ten fingers clapping four hands.

all nonsense compared
to the work of forty thieves.
We had something adding up,
before surrendering to sleep.

The universe was taking shape,
it made all the sense in the world,

for a while.

Time set, 9:17 and the first direct
sunlight pierces the oak and dapples my room,

as I have no complaints,
I have no room to boast
of tuffing my way past losing

anything, from where I sit this morning,
life on this pilgrimage, if we agree,
pilgrimage is
not religion, not new age of water
and fire working in tandem to make us

serve the dams and serve the fires,
drive the engines and prune the trees,
shear the sheep and **** the calves,
and milk the cows,
grind the grains and knead the dough,

think in tiny sticky sensory arrays pointing
soft from sharp and hard, feeling fit
loose or tight,
these bonds,

this time, … my frosty morning,
not cold enough for a fire,
I’ll use that consumption knack,
thus loosing
another half-dozen Keurig cups,
for the seals and whales who are

building an unsinkable plastic refuge
for the polar bears to use,
after the Northwest Passage is open year round.

9:31…

Beyond the palisade,
out yonder,
over yonder, where the line is drawn
on the wall of our valley,
where each high water winter left a line,

bearing witness, to the saying,
" surely we live on the wreck of a world"

and surely it was no work of our own,
especially,
now, pinch a little thought, any point
that feels
just right, a child laughing - random that.
Stretch it out.
If this happens to be forty lines long,
abstracted, pulled into your time from mine,
that’s fine at 9:42, I have two minutes to make it so.
Or let it go. And go see what is so funny
at the breakfast table.

Free time, take enough
to last 'til we agree

here, in the first five minutes, taken to extreme
waiting
is such sweet suffering,
we fail to apprehend what is rotting wrong away.

Patience esotero, pleas, esoterical

but no, no, no man may know…

I insist. And am ignored/
quick,
so quick to tic, the constant pushing
spring,
the battery, which is called that,
I don't know why

and I care a little, response, aitia, I care
fret
so much I look it up, AI says, trust me,
I know
assault and battery we suffer for a season,
we resist,
we build a battery of stones only Incas ever
had know how to let such be
moved up this mountain we have told to move,
and when it refused, as seems, it did,
if refusal in confusion
made more sense.
Rivers bent.
Slow to plenary oxbows.
We came to sit and watch.
Wait and see, simultaneously,
we may know
a donut whole inversity...
more again than ever knewt before…

waiting is, you grok, and wonder was this
like this once, before

we know  we are  one mind, certain
in our selves, it happens all the time.

In the stream of knowns showing nodes,
bumps on the newest twigs sprouting,
where the pruning hooks took off
old seasons fruited branches.

I am an happy old man, my grand children,
and my grandchildren, bridge the whole
process of time, my time being the only
time being
experienced
with the original cast rolling our wishes
together for the time we are
involved with shaping your future,

using magic, plain old know-how,
tricks tied in bundles of kindness,

sorted and stacked for sharing,
when the time is right.

福

Incredible, all agree. This cannot be real, so surreal,

right realer than real, impossibly real, yet we may
imagine, praying in a temple designed,
worthy of praise in a spirit a tempting to speak,

do you hear me,
sing, do you here a formulaic bubble
shatter
snowglobularly.

at the riddle...

Ezekial 17- the  chapparal around me
I feel laughing,

We have had a wet October, the elven forest
and all its winter resting creatures,
feels laughing happy today,

as I mind fly over the old trail,
marked clearly, once you see the sign,

The Trail Less Travelled By -

you can see it, from Google Earth eyes,
if you know where to look,
but you can't feel this from there.
My forest, in these environs, is
called elven, due to lowly stature,
- no majestic trees here
my forest is wild, no trails not leading
to water, eventually, if you head downhill;
My forest,

if you will, allows us to see it extends
to Arizona, across the watered desert,
strange
there is no horizo, no line marking mine.

But desert coyotes come here to harvest
sweet-sour fruit
of little, red manzanita
loaded with  wee tiny apples,
which coyotes eat, but barely chew.

- maybe we could package these//

It may be like that delicacy coffee,
roasted after being goat shat.

Salience, jumps out, some pundit says it,
Salience, literally leaps from the

either thin air, or signals in or through, yeah
science, tune in,
think it may as well be thin air,
- morphic resonance- if you think
- so it is,
drop out, turn on,
think lightly never too late to recall
the after all,
when ever was begun to reach today,
just now,
with me and you meandering diametrically,
through in tensioning attention span stretching,
measurable worth of value
for value, and a pinch, to grow on…

old ways to make the difference jump
with out being a parsimonious pedants *****.