in a rather more living language
form frames function, I think we,
should we agree,
may make waves or points proving
science is good.

Clipped from: http://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/the-unbearable-wholeness-of-beings

If you try to describe the living processes of the cell
in a rather more
living language
than is typically found
in the literature of molecular biology —
if you resort to a language
reflecting the artfulness and grace,
the well-coordinated rhythms,
and the striking choreography
of phenomena such as
gene expression,
signaling cascades, and
mitotic cell division —
you will almost
certainly
hear mutterings
about your flirtation with
“spooky, mysterious, nonphysical forces.”
You can expect to hear yourself labeled a “mystic” or —
there is hardly any viler epithet within biology today — a “vitalist.”

You were just a breath I held and never let go,
but rather bled out as they severed

my jugular and let you spill;
warm, beautiful, visceral.

Endless. Everywhere.
Stains on the carpet they hid

with some dull rug, and in the air
that smells like death but

better than your cheap cologne
they doused me in to burn the body.

They threw the ashes to the wind
and they watched me

get torn apart
one last time.

She presses flowers
into a leather book:

lavender and lily,
a rose from an ex lover,

a carnation she tore from the ground
roots and all.

Delicate in their death,
she harvests them –

the gentle and the vivid –
to watch them wilt.

The fun is in the dying
as they shrink into

themselves and hide
their colours. She'll keep

them forever, a memoir
written with their carcasses.

A weizaskid ax me what I mean,

I say, you know,
what I mean.

You always wishtto go my way stretched out,
expanded,
as a bubble to be in, all ways, as in nine
more than you imagine,
I guarantee.

-- war was a bad idea.
-- corrected it at the finger print of intention
woven into the complexity

code-wize and wiring wize and interpretation
wize domain of all the tells,
signals heart and brain call true,
the health of my countenance, word spikes true
needed to play the game honestly,

sharp, intentionally, prickly oblesky thingy do
symbols seen in places related to DC
ideo game eatery franchisees
owned in a golden archetype,
rock candy mountain
- pop -
poke a point into a slit anticipating just
a wave,

we made a ripple if you smile, non one else need
gno unless
you imagine they al- stretcheit- all read
y'know
y known now is deeper than eve imagined
when she saw she knew everything about nothing,

tricked, ******, been guiled, guilty, you know,

this would really help Atum get his kuriosity collection
performing useful
suggestions for more good than we knew.

We, in Eve's Ish-aww mind, mitomom of us all, we
the survivors of the most recent
common gene pool reduction event.

We share the plan that forms the batteries we
use,
and reuse and restore and replace,

at a maddening pace, thus the commonsense
allocation of most awareness to
soul or spirit, consci used autopoeisish awwtyahll know
-- the y must be evil beings who have power to fuggup ever
and you know this

how?
We can imagine no reason to just allow war to ify as a proud
child takes credit for burps and farts
- we won, cut the **** about being offended, be good
- or die a miserable loser being 1950's mean.

-- eh - where's the dichotomy, is the y's no reason to form a duality of
opposing forces,
honest'godas I write, it thunders over Long Valley Mountain.

I realize you must have read this far and I am home again.

Standing under the viaduct at Exit 45, I-8 East.

And it feels like 2020-real happened.
And it is cooler than it was
And
I wonder if meandering old men mean peace
in the valley and my idea of the long
valley,
you know, the one you think you gotta walk,
even if you don't wish to,
even if you wishtnot to,

you transverse it from one end to the other,
one direction flow, like 1-d DNA,
unmazing engineering on par with the intention
displayed in the hook of heart field and mind fields,

genius, knock-knock jokes are a natural, deploy them

who is there, let them ask?
Thunder in the mountains in August.
This is totally good mohkus, my friends.

At this point. All is well enough all we can pay sharp
focused, non default scatter brain meandering old
white head, my my my myelinated
brain allows a thought to age,
as bourbon in charred oak,

the longer the systems have been on ever after
time when time shall,
not will, I see, shall
I say, be no more. Null set was imagined for this moment
to arrive. Selah.

Oh how you stare in your infancy
at corners in the room
and how my heart complies with every ahh and ooo
And never did i know if i could love you
but from the moment you were born
I certainly do
and how sorrowful you were on that very first day
and how pain filled the sound of everything you say
When life was brand new, you on earth side
When you came forth and i could no longer hide
all of your beauty the hiccups that you had
when you where with in me but sometimes i feel sad
that now you are hear, live your own life
like when we were one i could hide you from all strife.
And now you will age just like I and your dad
and now you will anger some days you will feel bad
And i wish that i could save you
from all of this world
but our love was your creator
and here you are hurled

and the least we can do is be here for  you
and try our very best to create more for you
a life thats worth living more than we had
Always we are giving, keep you from being sad.

Everybody has coincidences
The psychiatrist said
It's no big deal.  Means nothing.

Maybe. I don't argue.
I take the medicine.
But the 37s.  Not bluffing.

And the names. I gambled.
            Souped up '72.
              Something.