In a culture founded on a story, a tale, a myth;
On earth, under many moons, since many moons ago.
How old was the moon marker long ago?
How wise the watcher who waited so long, whole days,
long past, imagining, from highest place on the broad plain
soaring on fire wind, gentle fire wind warming my will
to extend my arms and wish to fly, not flee, no fear,
nothing needs my escape,
yet, once set free, the kid grows into the old goat,
who laughs in the face of the God-fearing models molded
during the Cold War,
when manipulators
of reflection
were existentially
slipping
on Freudean Faux Pas
turned sharp and piercing, biting, gnawing - tantalizing
secrets in the city,
secrets on the wall,
secrets in the synagogue, AI ai ai, we rearrange good fortune,
lucky for you.
Today, for the brief while it may truly be today,
time stands
still as that singular small voice, calling you to attend,
forsake not the gathering together, as the manner of some is,
{As Ecklebarger said, no, you don't know him- he said:
something like "gitcher act together and put your show
on the road", that's the duty of a show man.
GOTDAM INTINERANT MONKS! Kick against the ******,
laugh at their nationally altered deep set fears,
faith of our fathers, the we
mind, made up
for selective tasks in a free society, i.e.
we think together, no doubt, deny thy double-mind flesh…
become educated, then lead on being one
in we, the people, not the other beings,
useless sons of Belial, too dumb to read and cipher, as we,
the real people who own the earth, and do our damndest
to subdue it and all its potential,
for change, in favor of the better bettors,
entertaining those whose heaven would be Vegas,
socially free, free thinking, doing the right thing we all think right.
Conserve our free ******* through human events, lean in
- what do old-school organizations tie with heart strings?
- must we conserve the knots?
- One taught by Aristotle thought not…
- allusions to common knowledge allude us, play along--
Is ai ah, okeh, awesome we ought unravel the knots,
gently, as we learned the silk weavers did,
and as we did, with our collectible spider kites…
correct me, when I go off track,
or rise riverwise on the flood,
loosed by a line from a poet, an actual messenger person,
in my coincidence instant
in prayer for another day called today, long past
now, even then,
U the set of all things and the force that made them up.
- let this mind be in you, to use, not ogle at.
Creation with intention,
not design,
not acting out a story begun properly,
with the end in mind,
going
somewhere. Among the Youtubian talking faces,
turbulence… mind trembling
in a we imagining GOD ALMIGHTY
left
clues behind.
Fret not.
- tune down the IDW, umph the free will
- listen with all the wu wu in you, think peace functioning.
We won.
Live in peace, be your own proof.
I learned I was the scapegoat, I got away. Life is not hard,
life under the conserved sacred knowledge called revealed,
is impossible,
to do right… it is a Shakenspear in the itching ear, thinking
what if, this is it
the right way?
Would there be these moments, extending axion or oms or Ohms
humming wires
and, two chalk walls away, sisters, 8 and 11, singing, actual
choral opera de-Disneyified, with some themes from Stanger Things.
- and I on my imaginary strand
Softly land on my cloud, all the room you may imagine,
at the moment, you look around
and see, this is my future, too. Fractally, one rung up. Maybe.
Wick:Poems, sparked this, little old way of told tales taking wing on string
strung though holes in alienated minds, sitting on the shore of any current opinion as to what good one might do... going public with subtle truth, a soft touch dulls an evil *****... and laughter works like ****.