I've measured her right
Little toe. It's exactly 16mm.
When she grinds her teeth in her
Sleep, just rub her jaw gently.
She'll stop without
Waking up.

If you read to her in bed, she'll
Watch you wide eyed from
Your shoulder; study your features
As you speak.
She'll stop you if you lose her
Between two words she doesn't
Quite understand.
She'll thank you for explaining.
She's worth it.

She's allergic to sugar, dairy, gluten
And eggs. I'll mail you a hundred
Recipes I've created for her.
Tell you all the tricks
So I know she'll eat.
You get used to the hassle.
She's worth it.

She's crazy about cartoons.
Let her watch them; seeing her
Laugh beats the game
Hundredfolds.
She'll love you for letting her
Read for hours and tell you about
The story.
She'll be so beautiful
When concentrating.
Give her space. Yours included.
She's worth it.

Let her grow.
Let her learn in her own time.
Let her be who she is.

She was weaker before me.
Now she's strong enough
To stand up and do the right thing,  
Though both our hearts broke
In the process.

If she goes, let her.
Help her out, send her off
With blessings.
Say to yourself I'd rather see her
Happy without me than
Unhappy here. You'll
Mean it.

You'll cry your eyes out
And scream at the skies. Then
Thank God for every minute
You spent as her man.
They were worth it.

May I rest in your calmness
                                       Bathe in your peace
Replenish in your happiness
               Find home through your gateway

          Find ME

                     In the stillness

Breathe in

          Gratitude

                 And
  
                       Exhale
  
                                 Joy

©Tina Thompson

Truth be told, I was skeptical.
Was this worth the cowry shell equivalent?
My mind was a dry skin covered foot caught on a fleece blanket.
My tongue, lined with the taste of that earthy bile.
Distant isles between Alaska and Ayahuasca,
but it all comes rushing back. Jungle visions.
-
I
        take
                    ten
               ­              sickly      
                                          steps
                ­                                     toward
                                                          ­         the
                                                             ­              teetering  
                                                     ­                                      ethereal
                                                        ­                                                  edge.
-
She's once again lined with that finespun glow.
I'm once again letting the little things go.
She's letting me know for the very first time.
I'm struggling to find words for the very last rhyme.
-
                                        Trudging
       ­     tip-toed
through
                                           ­                       the
                  nonlinear
      narr­ative;
                                       elegantly
                                                       ­     elephantine.
-
Lick your wounds, traveler.
Set your eyes to the pale star's gleam.
Dogma unraveller
with an elementary scheme.
We are nature's instruments.
We are watchers in the night.
Softened slightly by the dissonance
of the dearly departed Wight.
-
He's slipping in and out.
Orbium linguam avium.
Labra lege: hic sunt dracones.
Let us dine on cremated elves.
-
     m sw ll   w  ng sw rds   nd st rs.
R zn hdzooldrmt hdliwh zmw hgzih.
I a         a  o   i          o      a         a  .
I am swallowing swords and stars.
-
.ecnatsbus em evig dna eniltuo ym nekraD
.savnac eruza siht otno seye s'ti tsac dluow nuS eht hsiw I
?suhpysiS fo redluob eht I mA
.noitcerid gnorw eht ni gnilbmut no peek I
-
We're sailing on the calmest of waters,
but there is not a drop to drink.
Bad news for the boy who only rejects omens.
I will not hang a dead bird around my neck.
Retrace the lace and my hazy days of habit,
then let me know your honest opinion.
Exhibit an execution by exsiccation of the most exuberant exiles.
Or am I the only one who's thirsty?
-
                                                      ­                      Who here is the ghost?
I know **** well it's not me.
                                                             ­                            Who said that?
I know I did.
                                                            ­                                        Didn't I?
Couldn't be.                                                              ­            
                                                    ­                                                    Am I?No.                                  
                         ­           Hopper, this isn't sinking in.
I am not a liar.
-
0111011101100101

011000010111001001100101

01101111011­100100110011101100001011011100110100101100011

011011010110000101­1000110110100001101001011011100110010101110011
-
I was supposed to be writing something down.
Some kind of secret; some kind of rune.
Can you help me find our primal core?
Your carnal truths are mine to keep.
Weren't you supposed to be going somewhere?
The flea burrow, no, The Doubling House.
For in those halls of mold and paper walls
your memories were uneagerly forged.
It's time to shed your summer skin
and begin to eat with your hands.

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

If it's Opposite Day,
wouldn't it not be Opposite Day?

∑  nPk,   ∝ ≫ x! π f (x) ∞ x ≡ φ 3√a N(μ,σ2) <:)


In English:
The sum of the probabilities that your poem will trend is proportional, but greater than the factorial of the constant pi, when the function of x is leminscate (infinity), and when the value of the x variable is identical to the golden ratio constant, or when the cubed root of the normal distribution of love.

Finally,
finally
finds
you well.

It is the word you supply,
when asked
100 times a day

How are you?

How ya doing?

Answer:

Well,
I am well.

for my life, my poetry,
me, all of us,
are trending,
now that I have found,
found and solved,
the formula for
my-piece of the
Normal Distribution
of love