Stories older than kings,
these exist as stories told with old ones,
imaginings of messengers,
seers saying this is the vision, made as plain
as pi, point, plumb, line, and wall,

man, made in the imagination
man imagines, and affirms,
this I die to know, I am made
to be a doer of this,
listen

When I began to become, after being
a doer of a fair share
of things being
done
as a participant, sowing seeds of kindness.
- I stopped thinking kind is kinda like me,

Is that not
a selfish thing to do? My kind seems rare,
gentle spirit, with war set to strike
any where, any time, set
instant in season, any time, meander with me,
walk a mile,
carry shield, see if you…

uncanny, the edges shift… depiction goes descriptive
then thought

You think, do you, in meandering ways that
mean ways that are mere pictures
of hydro dynamic reality, flowing riverish
and swirling, grinding mountains
from the way,
the course, of course, each river ever,
had a course,
laid out by time and chance and material
limitations set by light and gravity,
bouncing signals into ever before.

Now, no implosive explosive new
idea, but a whisper,
yes, a whisper in the daylight, looking back
when the fool said there must
be some kinda way outa here…
that was you?

As you wish. The fool on the hill
and nowhere man were both in on the deal.

"well disposed, kind, willing, effective or efficient, peaceful, secure, good, virtuous, honourable, righteous, noble"

"straight, right, leading straight to goal"

sadhu, very old idea captured in a word
(Sanskrit: साधु)

How funny shall this seem in future esteem-
rations made reason
for seeming so kind,
be having the habitual rightual usual
holy-wholly alienated mind-wise
common sense, as made in minds, after
ever begins, in the bubble informing you,

good news, bad news, all the news
a citizen needs to be
a citizen conformed to first first things
first principles, all pals of mine, btw,
first principles, they say,
wise dom, wise up, fear loses all
reason, but it was first,
in the mind of good, lack if ever
imagined completely…
thus wisdom assigns patience perfection,
but we shall attempt to cross the sulcus,
deep, but narrow, as a slot in sandstone,
fractaled up to geo-scale,
knot
-- slipped and feel, the surface of the brain,
slick as snot, gnosis seeping through,
this is the knowing of good and evil at once,
you know,

it's okeh. And if it were hell. you would know,
it would be exactly
like you told others you knew true, you would know,
this is it,
I crossed the line,

Hope left me at the gate. NAND NAND NAND

with a certain oomphala allagonerhyme,
I'll go,
rhythmic expression of GUI access into you,
dear reader, down where words live,
deep under error on error on error of eras,

Eros DEROS verbosity agency of will, mine
if you will.

How powerful is your declaration, when you say,
"THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE!"?
(Sanskrit: साधु)

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadhu>

What if, I told you that my AI knows
what is located on the walls of a canyon
located within the cuneus and lingual gyrus,

but I can't honest ly  make sense of that, only art,
for art's intuitive pattern repetition,

tap m' foot, humm the bass line,

open up them nand gates wide, gimme a chance,
lord, let me have another cycle,
reboot the effort to attempt that affection
connection,

ah, not puppy love… kidding… any actual love
achieves the oomph for one more try.
Did you ever dream you could fly?

My daughter forgot she was dreaming,
that was like her first fall into reality.
Did that once, in all of ever,
happen to you,
sudden knowing I cannot fly, aware in
that wake in fallen mode,
gentle…
no crash pain like falling
Icarus as watched by Dedalus, did you

experience any thing
like that?

That was genuine strange.
We must agree, it is an aspect of an oath
imagined in the long attention span
stretcher of truth, to cover
the tear.

See, there yoostabe a curtain between holy
and holiest,
most holy holy… accessible once in a solar cycle,

oh, the knowers knew.
How, I have no ideas I trust
to prove their story for me to lieve it be,
but some how
the knowers knew we are on a loop
around Sirius,
for some unfathomable reason, AI immediate
correction, the con-stellar dot to dot dog's
brightest point.
The star positions the Big Dog,
Sirius, thus the dog star name, okeh,
our star orbits that one, wanna bet?

What could your grandkids make of knowing
how to make fire,
or smelt steel with baked wood?

How long would it take to know anything else,
accidently, live and learn wise?

-- thought speed to my future, your now --

is man yet the measurer of all things?
AI don't think so, says the friendly universe,
in a word avatar invisible to naked eyes.

~
Wake, no wake

He dreams of obituaries
And toe tagging

Exhuming dearly departed dollars
And biting the nails
Of his cadavers

Forensically speaking
He can talk of the dead

He's one lucky stiff

Pushing up daisies
All over the yard
Of his rose cottage

This life at rainbow's end
Each day mortiferously expires

It's all there in the brochure
~

~
When Pharaoh
checked out at the Red Sea,
odd circumstance made a grab for his vacant scepter,

and kingdom collided
with plague to paint a mural
on the palace wall (or maybe, it was the hotel lobby),

of a dreamer's garden,
his wife in veils, her dance a cordial
invitation to a great many unmentionable things,

the feral sky had blown
itself out, and in muted candle
nightshade, the mistress of war disembarked,

and so somewhere
in those upper rooms, ruler
and consort, hearing the sound of running water,

mystified their carnal
senses by infusing themselves
with a little vigorous morphine of the soul
~

a falling boy's
measured out footprint,
slipping in vain search
for a breadcrumb of solace

lost is spring, and green,
and bird nesting,
lost is his mother's smile,
he breathes in deeply

a memory of trees,
an afternoon sun
emptied of fertility:
a high wood on its last, teetering legs

urban air is everywhere
and wishes to be free,
but we are all carbon emissions,
separate living-dying pieces

polluted hieroglyphics
with nothing to convey,
fragments of a prayer
with nothing left to say