There were twelve sons and six daughters,
first curios learn, we live in the day
of fact checking our mind storms
when old brains reconnect using morphic
resonance once
and again acknowledged, as answers instants
in prayer, willing to say, okeh,
if the creeks don't rise,
we'll plant a garden, when the frog pond drys up.

An Ouranos cycle, is a weather in a world of winds,
no wu wu spiritual side exposed, I supposed

you might, using your may right, make something
of this
besides wars and portioning the gene pool.

Golden rule at the molecular scale,
tiny touch of power, surge across this cloud

containing my April collection bonnets,
and pillows you may dream on,
come what may, that man
who can plan a garden,
that man is good, to have in the pool,
feeling worthy of honor for his learning,

under less than optimum boomer parenting,
too painful to confess, my inner Boer,
warring for a reason to exist, if not as gods

how then
now when we all are authors of our faiths,
we all believe we know we learned some
hard but worth it, ever after, once, done

breath, breathe ing, sigh signing done,
another one bites the dust,
this is us and our mites we are breathing,

all of us, everywhere, all of the time,
no filters in this realm spacetimemind forming
effective material adjustment to the genome,

sowing seeds of kindness, not trampling
grapes of wrath, so aptly universal,

po po pitiful us, with our time spent thus,
dashing off
amunition am unit ion, ized dust in a sneeze.

We are free to unbelieve any lies, ever told.