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treetops pass their

basket--

light to the nodose

pit of round.

pillared trunks

sprouting into one

another.

come maximums of

height.

contoured chione

apto pnuema...

hand off touches of

wind to the ground.
*Inspired by a revelatory hike~
See me, this one says, see me, look you
in the eye, eh, thinking,

spring, the season, the greening of
the playa's ancient shore, east of me,

east of my evergreen valley, barely
any bare gray wintery bushes and trees,

flash of magnificence once manifested,
on the shoulders of the priest-kings,
infectious proud flesh pomp and
circumstance, watch the war
god-man made glorious in
storied, seen once,
not invisioned, imaged
from tiny feathers, adhering
to a topological fabricated
RED FLAG FLASH
humming bird head
feathered serpent cape,
on a bright day signaled by the hummer
- see, I have returned,
- this is like heaven to me.

the one from now, same code, same init
see me, look, see, once this was the most

vibrant, slow mode, inspiring light imaged,

portrayed, cloaking the priest-king god-rep
more lustrous than any high summer
cathedral rood crossing patterns,
in undeniable beauty and artistical luc-if-ity

windborn grammarless, musical, meanings,
mid point, saddle points between waves
that reflect from hummingbird feathers,

indicating fair weather weathered the storms,

fretted not a second on the journey, yep
when I get to Pep's porch, there'll be
sugar in the feeder, two minutes later.

After I remind a mind is a many splendored thing,
but none more splendored in prophesy than making
sacred hopes formed from the fi NAND gated mythos,

whither men and hummingbirds mind meld, tune in,
to imagine the effort required, to tilt your head,

just right, to flash my muse. Let time pass.
Suddenlies and instants are cognates.
many roads to choose
so often seeming wrong turns;
chosen more than once

but radical finds you travelling still
all along a road that chose you.
someone puts up a fight
on one of the biggest stages

has not one jot
not one care for democracy

all disguised to hide
an attempt to stay out of jail

accusing anyone and everyone
of their own misdeeds

do you think they really believe
that you believe all their *******?
Location.
Consciousness.
Being.
Self aware.
Where
are you?
Look
inside.
Where
do you
exist?
In the
brain?
Does
the brain
generate
consciousness?
Grey matter
folds.
Neuron
connections.
You?
Is the
brain a
receiver?
Tapping
into
universal
consciousness?
Minds
floating
­within.
Mining
ubiquitous
fields of
information.
Creating
personal
existence?
Information
gleaned
­based
on
receiver
complexity?
Future world
generated
by increasing
entanglement,
design?
More
to come!
her sneakers wrapped around a telephone wire

"tall stone monoliths and crumbled walls
hell is not a physical place
it is a spiritual realm

and this city of locked hearts
a prison of sorts
without barb wire," Kate tells me,

"and the high wire walkers
and the dice tossers
and the lonely ones...
all in search of the lost song."

"I want to sing songs
and dance far from this desolate stage,"
I'm telling Kate,
"I envision myself a tragic figure."

a tender smile and,
"who, Hamlet, Walter White?

we're walking down sunset avenue
occasionally passing other failed animals.
silent howling and teeth hidden in our
lost hearts
those parts too delicate to display
except in anger, rage, and want.

and my love touches in me places
I don't want to feel
and I love her like the mad hatter
loves alice.

it's summer.

we smoke a joint
and we're walking on the boardwalk.
we past the arcade
and a song is playing
and as we walk
down past the coffee shop
a different song is playing
further, another song.

"never tangled or twisted,
how do you do it?"
I asked her.

a serene smile
and Kate says,
"my life is quicksand
struggle you die
relax you float,
you survive."

her blue eyes
bright
my reluctant Cinderella laughs softly
and another song is playing
and i move closer to my heart.
I keep my poetry
                         On  the edge of my tongue            

            Like dew on the edge of a leaf
                       After the rain

                     Patiently waiting
                                with exquisite beauty
                                      
                          
                                     ­ To

                                          F

                  ­                           A

                                                L

           ­                                        L
                    Where I would like to believe
                         You'll be waiting patiently like grass

                                                                ­                            On a happy spring morning
          
                                            For me to land.
People say that
Real men don’t cry
       Then why am crying?
   I never knew
    The true meaning
      Of a poem
     Until
      You
      Appeared
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