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.