The sellers out weigh the buyers, thus the worth
of each  attention instance, is measured
in fractions of sense
possibly conveyed, through
eyeball focus points and linger length,
click
must
be measured twice, to insure proper cutting,
concise division of soul and spirit
demand
compliance --
everybody knows, Leonard Cohen said so.

Maydjathank,
couldabin a bribe, a gift in secret.
Couldabin mo'habiting ways of winds,

cold
comes aslidin' down the mountain,
as the sun shines into shadowed cañons
in the east,
forcing night's coldest winds to
hide here
with us until this vale
as well
is warmed and life returns
to cold reptilian things.

Are we so far from feng shui
essentially?
Have we forgotten hot and cold,
both good,
but lukewarm, we can
bite into and chew
and swallow,
welcome
warming wind spewed in dawn
and dusk from the ******
mouth of beauty
singing al-
together,
signal a
way wu wu wei,

Here comes the sun, its alright…
- the voice of Edward R. Murrow
- ahem ificator, clear soto voce

(in Chinese thought) feng shui is a matter
of fact, a way things work,
a system of laws
considered
to govern spatial arrangement
and orientation in relation
to the flow of energy (qi),
and whose favorable
or unfavorable effects
are taken into account
when siting and designing buildings.
From <https://uci.officeapps.live.com/OfficeInsights/web/views/insights.immersive.html>

You knew.

So, you knew. So
what if you never thought it today?
What if I made you recall a Hong Kong sized hole,
in your morning ritual, some missing
rightness that banishes the fetish
of cold and dark being evil,
lifts the thought
of warm and light being perfect,
faces the fact
of hot and bright being tolerable, for a season,
each day

shift time and harvest, seeds are forgotten…

summer is the time we grow,
after all as before the
fall, when leaves and nuts,
fall, torn from limbs by winds running from
the coming cold,
as our world spirals into ever as if on course
captained by a commander,
steered by dead reckoning,
with Sirius our center,

we ain't dead, it's day again. Time to write
a reason war would not stand under,
weave a story,
form a shelter for the after noon, ah Succoth,
a tradition.
Do you recall the building of a booth,
with your daddy, in your youth?

Were there brush arbor revivals that ended
in the burning of all the branches
that bore the fruit we take to
make todays of all tomorrows.?

Such branches as bore fruit last season,
pruned and gathered to
burn in the fall, the
bonfires of humanity, given as thanks,
or taken as task.

Was that the idea?
Celebrate knowing how things work, when
we know and obey things like feng shui,

the idea that there are reasons for motions,
in winds and rains and sands…

shift, sands, change the signal ssssss in winds we hear
under the hummmm of
bees? no, amber, humming
amber rubbing matters
of considerate worth. Electric hmmmmm.

Measuring man, measure the worth of attention.
Ask if knowing is worth the effort to effect
a decision to cut
the pattern with no jig to hold the pattern true.

Eh, no iambic pentameter to distract
attention from words as agents
of effect, taste, feel, wish
desire,
come beginning to middle,
come to an end, a pointed time

smell imaginary strawberries, know, you know,
call the cause a terpene and use it in shampoo,
taste
no sweetness but see, mind's eye, remember, see

tiny wild strawberries that don't look like
that smell, you might miss them,
if there were no old stories of
such things being found
by children wandering alone along rabbit trails,
grown ups have forgotten.

LA Central Market, seldom seen at dawn
or any time of day by any but the servant bots
embodied in contented men who know
fruits and veggies all serve tastes,

Tastes are tested, ripe or green, too ripe or
ready in three days, sitting in a paper bag,
on the kitchen window ledge above
the fountain of flowing water,
hot and cold, on demand.

Is this not my promised land, for today?