Dedicated to you.
Fair Warning: a long road ahead*

MAJOR WARNING: Anything you say can and will be used...


Excited utterances,
Acerbic witticisms,
Utter stupidities,
Elegant inanities,
Can and assuredly will be used
Evidentially, eventually,
about you in the court of poetic justice,
as inspiration, original source material,
proofs of our collaboration
with the enemy,
whom Pogo fathomed long ago,
is us

A Vermeer-vectored light ray
will reveal with luminous clarity,
all that you have spoken,
been secret-thinking,
template of colors for future sketchers,
inspiration for future poets,
far, far better than me

this dishonorable, low repute,
poetic eavesdropper, poet-as-recorder:
revels in the smoke and ash of
absurd, common sensible trash,
the trite and tragic,
the pith and prissy,
the calm and hissy,
all your lovely revelations
of human frailty and asininity, most
adorable

that you n' I are blessed
to have combinated
in a manner most
curiously original,
now recorded in my
digital memory,
proving positive the unique,
discreet charms de notre
humanity

Even your silences are
most curious fodder,  
the sighs you sigh so hard
and yet again, even harder,
unfair game, mined as
veins of golden material
for my aquatic scribblings,
as I float downriver on
currents of compulsion
to promote vicariously,
our joint disjointedness,
our grade A, prime choice,
recombinant genetic,
absurdities

Rembrandt will honor us,
we, the Comedic Elders of the City,
paint us upright avec expressions
most suitably gravitas,
but see the poetic jester,
find him underneath the table,
in manner most levitas,
out-sticking his protubered tongue,
like a common geni-***,
a la maniere de
Einsteiny

When I cross over the Styx,
limbs turned to
potash, dust and trash,
my blush transferred to earth,
to color the good earth red,
my body eradicated yet,
our body of work extant
a written record of us,
our very own
Dead See Scrolls,
shall be an amuse bouche
for our loyal satrapped
retainers

Let the scholars
dicker and obfusicate,
delve and explicate,
each turn of phrase,
write tomes on the catacombs,
where in jar and cracked vessel discarded,
these Poems and Catechisms,
the collected processes of our mutualism,
your edicts, pronouncements and verdicts
captured as
dots and dashes,
zeroes and ones,
wait most patiently
for shepard boys to find  

You err most grievously,
if you relegate this note
to the dustbin of simple ditties.

Take these words at plain face,
and look not askance
at this fair warning,
for I am but a tragic,
empty vessel for you to fill,
you are the raconteur,
me, just a  
poet *poseur extraordinaire,
street urchin, word merchant,
all my verbally, wordly goods expropriated
from the wind,  where your scattered thoughts
lie about, carelessly,
unattended

Mock me not,
for anything you say to our chagrin,
will be fully attributed
and recorded on the Web
of long-lived embarrassments

A fevered dream you might say,
rumors and excuses of
visions of drug induced haze?
a theorem most plausible,
but the redacted versions will not conceal
that all my words were Indo-rooted in
a dialect called,
collaborative

This I pen
as apology, thank you note,
written notice, subpoena served,
for as long as you emote,
my fingertips will gleefully record
with love abundant in their artful device,
your mutterings, putterings,
and in cahooting,
right here, shall be,
wrought and wrote,
treasured and kept

We hold these truths,
there is a Zebra tree on a tiny island
in Lake Wanaka on the relatively large island
called New Zealand.

Nation is not a valid variable to sort on.

So here, we sort worth on agreeing
we are equally
Natives of Earth. First yes.

More yeses follow.

Learn what you have done.
Know what you are doing.
Be good,
let the bruised flesh not rise in hot pride,

see we all are involved in evolving into ever
better,

so we think, perhaps,
others aboard my ark also think.

We are equal in this realm, each mind joined

junction branch root, not from
billions and billions of
Jahre zuvor,
წლების წინ
ts’lebis ts’in { Georgian script looks magic, eh}

Secrets in tongues died with the last word,
spoken toward unhearing ears,

… is it reality interrupting or
knocking needs gumming up the works…

--------


Field-wide signal, crisp and clear, some fell on idle minds,

that's fine  , signal how are you.

You say, responsibly, My side is winning.
No one ever asks what that means.

The field the world,
war is the only story, Walt imagined,
he was infected, Whitman,
with a known' opinion
-- some wise and well-known
-- being arisen from behind the ivied walls
- I heard this in passing,
- anonymous did not say this:
the function for the sublime is to free us from the slavery
of pleasure
- on another vector, I heard this:
the need to heal violence, forces life into idle words
used maliciously, in tests of conscience-useness.

Poverty never hears the highest minded reasons
for the states of mind attempted by the
most curious among us

--- empty of the wy. ha… I don' know I glanced away
stat tic… what's missing?
--- its like any other day, it ends with me entranced
by the play of winds with dust and smoke and water
droplets too light to fall,

I take instant HDR images as the time passes and the art
appears, as if for me alone,
I am the only mental
being seeing this,
I have proof,
I'll show you, someday, maybe…
but today,
I got took t' school, behind the gated mental institution,

geni-used magi-like instinct-gut spirit-vapor
-- rumor has it, I went mad
caused
by you or me, I can't say.

But just the other day, I was thinking, you may remember
my sunsets,
you would have noticed them
when you stole my weedeater.

--------

No school of the prophets foresaw my death,
so far as I may know,
I am by chance, bon chance,
living in lines of consequential events.
And my birth was a quirk of circumstances.

As special as any multi cellular creature,
if the statisticians are aiming at
the proper means of measuring.

There remain professors who teach man is the measure
of all things, wrong, in my opinion.

Ha. I said that. Like to Cambridge, it's image in my immaterial
realm where all things men agreed to use for ever after,

are similar in effect to the Ghostbusters Marshmallow role.

My fingerprint is less than nine points similar
to your fingerprint, no matter who you are.
We are equals in that regard,
our self is commonly unique, as we are.
Our kind.
We, the people of Earth. The native species,
Whumo Sapient Sapiens is us.
Knowers that know.
Thinkers that think we know. There is no
they
behind the curtain
knowing anything that  you may not know
as much
as you can swallow,
a bit per quantasec, after chewing fifty years.

In this medium,
it's me and you, object, subject, reject defect
if then or else
find that more perfect
union,
that knot that binds our minds in agreement,
this is that
which has no religious name, save good and plenty…

not the candy, but that's cool, I thought that, too.

We, me and you, since we think alike,
we could make up a mind and invite others

to take parts in grand epic dramas of ever
learning,
war never has arisen on a reason that reasons
rationally valanced toward life,
and that,
more abundantly…

Now, see those greedy folks,
look real
close,
see. You never see such a one, with a satisfied mind,
ever learning, never knowing everything,
happy as hell from a Sisyphean POV