"that which is longed for"
Earth hears thunder constantly, nothing to fear,
stop telling your children
to respect old lies,
confabulations,
at their level best, we all do it, lie,
and create horror stories, from horror,
said to be unbelievable,
you know, we say, I know, I know, you know
you don't, I might,
- wanna vet?
that is the game, nothing is on the line, nihilism
facing a faction from
idealism, enacting roles un imaginable only 8 years ago,
-do or die, real life
being more than mud by now, some how

unimagined, or uniimagined as well, unit me to unit you.
Awe, a we, a form informed nonconformist common sense.
---- listen, thunder in my hills
clicks in time, rolling thunder review reviewed,
I was not there
at the time,
I was nowhereman, the subconscious super me,
the lone watchmen,

what of the night?
When, we wonder, where we are is at a common
altitude, familiar currents caress my home valley,
Long Valley Mountain guards my southern flank,
while some seven or eight sets, rising on thirds,
Stonewall in the Lagunas, holds the north

big-endian, little-endian, some body laid this, egg,
- the bubble of all we both think, look both ways
U-turns are not penance.
32.8 north ~ 116. something west. Close enough.

The rest is…
bound to occur, hmm, who shall know, whom
from comes the call to ring the bell.

{a ring, like the round, brought to you, by Pabst,
Blue ribbon beer, just beer, nothing fancy,
then it gets some props. Due respect,
on the MTV ad background, what's that old man drinkin'/

That recipe, evolved to this by 2022, you see.

Say true, sweet tea, base about 2 cups,
one heaping spoon full of white sugar
from some process mastered by machines,
maintained by mechanics, now called engineers.

To the pre-iced tea, add a level teaspoon,
the little ones in the drawer, not the measuring kind,
keep a little mystery, dose y do flavor essences,
sweet and sour, salty dry,
Everclear, spoonful, from the jug,
floating six digitally measured ounces, avour de pois,

avoirdupois  - gooods by weight, spelchek cares less
ounces of volunteer kush from some odd hermaphroditist,
Dry as ash, steeped in a full whatever a  big bottle is,
these days, more than a liter, less than a gallon,
big bottle, six digitally exactly times 28 grams, ounces,

- soaked since last may, or so… what was
O, yeah, earlier,
I discovered time travel the pattern, same yesterday,
today
forever. People think about being stuck,
in a realm where evil disputes one's right to one's

frame of reference, is this still poetry, or outlaw prose?
Or the works, opera,
chorus and all/

Trix are for kids, we got the message, it was for us.
Final, code is from 1998,
Grandpa, this may not run but in Alzheimer too late,
outahere, state, yes. All the promises.

Pull the plug. And reboot, with the 2022 dupe.