we like
drips, from one o'them old timey
faucets, got string fo' a gasket,
sometime, ye rewind, t'stop
drips.

Art f'arts aches fer ever. Ow ow ow
we know we know
now, it's intuition,

womb knowns, cultured, nurtured.
Past Pavlov, past post Xanax Peterson

we meet on this line, we know what I mean
in a word, depth of being from the beginning,

a concept inconceivable, at the time,
now, then, when the book of life
was immaterial, nothing had lived.

MMmmms mmmsnems eeeee that is
the surge, the urge to emerge
and wink.

What do you think? Is sense made
or felt existing as I learn to sense it?

One thing in reality.
What are the odds of you occuring?

Slim to none, is a stretch teleo, wanna bet?
See a point. Whence once begun,
some rivers never ceased to flow,
slow as ice, oh, so cold, stories freeze,
like a sneeze, outside,
in the wind, send
a prayer, say
bless you.

Why?
Blessings, when you learn what blessings are,
you come back and pick these up,
you make alotta money, and nobody worries
we stole it, see,
we made it all up. This is what money is,
attention to details in time, in a mind bigger
than mine.