You're a boy of clear seas and early mornings
Messy hair and smiles
Grass splintered sneakers and a laugh that makes the world shake
Storms on the water that drift into pink
Lonesome words looking for a heart
Rose petals pressed between your fingertips
And music that gushes and flows
And bounces and calls
Through the air
And the ground
And the water that sits there too
You're red velvet cupcakes with creamcheese frosting
You're fluffy white clouds that drift in the sky
You're all of the little beautiful things you find in far off lands
You're a boy of sweet dreams and cherry tomatoes
A boy of careful daisies and gentle hands
A boy of purple lighting that doesn't touch the Earth
A boy of sweet lemon tea that sits in my glass
A boy of honey and suger and mint
A boy of thyme and rhyme
A boy of silly words and careful thoughts
A boy made of marble so beautiful and perfect
AJBusse

take an itch, wait
scratch it,
did the itch ax fo d scritch or was that

you

voice in the head of the ehearer

radio, maybe so
maybe so
Frank Zappa, or
Emily Dickenson
or Suzie Creamcheese,

only her words reamain, yet
remain
mainly in my head a phrase

it seems, a phase shift
maybe so

electric trickery, I don't know

can you hear me now, is there reason?
is reason being
reasoned with?

Are we, reasoning together,
and you know not
is it me, it is

maybe so. May is thy word,
in this phase of
your moon

fuzzy light croissant logo,
Batman or is that a cross, and a rho?
Chi Rho praxis nexus Latin lying
demnation time wastin'

funny books, retelling stories
as if it's true, as if
I heard it, I told it, as I read it,
believing every word.

Classic Illustrated.

What good does that do you?
I confess,
Professor, I don't know

if, right or wrong, ification is
done by me or mere
fictional
May, the power, given a go.
I could say. May is my word, now.

May my best wish be,
the quest is,
good beyond reason,
doing that phase shift

electional trick to May,
seasonal reason
for unbridled joy.

Tending, pretending, trending
means more to AI than I.
May I make the difference?
Say I may.
May is your word now.

wondering at wonderful things, wonder
being my word,
meaning something to me as sure as
meaning anything to you, or them, the others,

those, there, beyond us, makers of stars
from matter in time, using power
by any name, called to make ready
a place for me.

Centered self-centering, spinning energy and
nought into creamy nougat
sweet and salty

but, E itself, power filled hosts of forces,

ha, some men trust in horses, now measurements,
horsepower, taken in from out,
observe the fact, fine act, great quest
made- p-ting snowball earth phase,

preparation of this place,
for us, not us alone, but us involved,
folded into the batter before the baking.

Co-ignition.
Sudden, at scale,
Massive, at scale as well. Immaterially.

Light first. Nay,
think, others thought this through

I flatter myself that I have discovered---

waste O2.

-- in the span of mind time, autotrophic
timespace where does e come from

phototroph
chemotroph

whence comes stuff, heterotrophs

chemoautotrophs, absolutely
in-credible, how does any mind wonder?

-----------

Stamp my little boy foot and swear,
I shall prove death has no sting.

I shall think
of our sun, source
of life
in our bubble
of being.

It is imagined, by professional learners of such,
that the inter-stellar medium
holds cloud like structures,
in my day we called them nebulae, today
we may surmise, I suppose, promise
together surreal, point to miser's misery,

Midas, Phrygian king, washed clean of his curse.
Baptism at work, in the story of reasons for war.

Was the death to be immediate, or must we wait.
What knowledge bred this means, these letters,
letting us learn the memories,

first stories of broken curses that were first wishes.
We wish we were as wealth, as bling,
the thing, the will to be loved for my own good,
the beast that lay beside the door, waiting,

allusive link to ancient knowledge, used knowns,
knowns used to build the nations whose weapons

must be fed.

And not by bread alone, by my leave,
I learned, the story used to make money
the core reason for war's use of pride,
to make glorious loyalty honorable,
by the time the military mind
matures to use the values,
those to hope for glory,
those minimize truth,
key freedoms known
held under loyal lock down.

Sense.
Common sense, some is not
evenly spread across the gap.

You may never have heard a search,
with helicopters, the after silence,

then, the peace, pure re-
lief as well, laugh let out, you know,
we are invisible,

so we dance where we touch.
Friction ridges caress our valleys,
with swirly rippling Erotes, giggling.

Tuning to a single line of reason,
reasoning I know nothing, as I ought,
I thought, per
haps, gathered happenings, overtime
thinking why in full Kerrigan angst at WHY!
Dunning-Krueger.
Rhetorical quest punctuation, bang. Pre-
tend to pay attention, at the exclamation,
"For crying out loud, don't you know
ANYTHING?"
Rhetorical all caps loudness, registers, in
tentional, attended to,
appropriately,
ignored, as the current opinion
forms followers,
swirls of fast and slow linking interstellar medium

in our wake, as we take life in passing so near,
one mind
one time, see I knew it was me and not you,
who pulled the loose thread to open the sack,
and spill the beans.

Now it's Tuesday,
on time and wisdom, I was thinking,

the noble question B. Franklin proposed

as the noblest in the world:
What good can I do in it?

What good to know do I know?

Well, well, as an interjection, cast
in the word use we are making sense
from
for an instant, now and then,

Yes,
this idea that we exist as related
by lines that link us as fibers in yarn,

conscious use of science, learning
the winding of the bobbin,
and the rhythm of the treadle,

the perfect pinch and firm gentle tug

catch a whisp of wool pulled from distaff
to spindle

and singing all the while, to the muse

---------------
A thread spinner, not a weaver
of novel patterned knots and crosses,
novel, none the less, some olden
but, well, twisted fiber strands,
formed with certain genetic magic
from soil and water and time… I am.
Sure to leave my moment seeming so.

To leave my being so, to let me be,
not the bearer of tales, but the twister.

Some times, well, once, I imagined
spinning ghost turds into threads,

-- the bogus science, bovine male excre-
mental mind boggled constipastory explo-

it. Done, punish me or pay me, I care less.

------------
Not the only version of this knack,
have I,
I've not the rhyming step step slide version,
nor the read out loud oral interpretation version,

permitting
*per- (5)

Proto-Indo-European root meaning
"to traffic in, to sell,"
an extended sense
from root *per- (1) "forward, through"
via the notion
of "to hand over" or "distribute."

It forms all or part of:
appraise;
appreciate; depreciate;
interpret;
praise;
precious; price; & *******
by way of
pornē "*******,"
originally "bought, purchased"
from traffickers in abandoned words,

idled by devious psychsyncing punishing
similar spinning propensities in fluid pre thread
mind windings, ready to retell, as if we all think

we understand the Goldilocks paradox.

Pull your version of the moral in the story,
who do you think Goldilocks symbolized,

deep in the thinking of your child mind?
What color are you, while you imagine
three bears? How forgiving are you
to your invaders?

High Jack,
have you any wool,
we spun the lord's and madam's

and found none for the widow's
children down the lane?

Are ye daft, Poet, mad as lead'll
make ye? Have ye taken to spacing
unkerned letters and lines with old

lead type weights to use gravity assist,

cam, see, loop de loop, and spin and spin,

threads to weave cover,
threads to weave rough leggings,
slow, so slow would be the learning

without notions popping up from nowhere,
as that man called the fool on the hill,
continues to redeem idled words,
and silently sing perhaps praise.

Worthship, measure of effort to enjoy,
get it.

It is the economy,
take joy as yours where you make it.
Peace, too.
---------
and thus not really any of my busy-ness
that I am to mind as my own, strictly
speaking translatable speils as wisdom,

Sophos, herself. per se,
they say she is the spirit in the works,
omakes ur will to make something from our
selves, our advantage as language users,
with letters translated chchchanges
into all understood
by using
simple child morals used
during emperical propagation.

To know wisdom and instruction;
to perceive the words
of understanding;

To receive the instruction
of wisdom, justice, and judgment, and equity;

To give subtilty
to the simple,
to the young man knowledge and discretion.

--- await the call, simple kind of man, listen
did you never read the rules for ready writer
status among the unemployable gifted sifters
of dust amidst the wonders of life in haps past

dare I hook a poem here,
after that very likely the, bluebird of happiness,
flew by me singing, twice, today, per haps

you stumbled into my realm,
I blew my mind in 69, and I am without guile,
no need, no greedy habit crying feed
feed feed the need to grow the talent, eh, weight
and see, fact check me, how heavy
was a talent in pure money
at the moment, back when
the metaphor this fits in as a piece,

was used to test the discerning disciple,

was it Diego? Si, yo crero per
haps, the meaning of things, and the matter
with words, is perceptual, per is a polimental,

many ways perhaps evolve comprehension,
little senses we have in common, luck factors,
time and place chances we be the readers ready

to bring justice and equity
to the beguiled and nonguiled,
while converting the guilty to con-
scientious objection to past proofs re-
proving the efficiency of meandering mind
streams
fluid fiber memory imagined in the Eighties,
here,
my old haunts, hang around,
we meet Suzi Creamcheese, she say, Uready,

we say, may be,
and so it is, with wisdom, James,
and so it is, indeed, first peaceable,
gentle, easy to treat kindly, no warring
spirit meetings of the convinced required,

wisdom works at a word taken for granted,
idling at stop signs where you looked both ways
and listened, as a child, and you escaped death,

time and again, what nearly killed you, did not,
and your life has not been dull, but worth it,
did it, with a happy ever, after all's said and done,

but, that won't happen here today.

Quiet, or you miss the promise kept
by we, the people who hold the yesmen in chains egon-wize

Cuomo Opens Poetic Door Looses Zeitgeistical Cult of QAnon

everybody wants your vote, nobody wants to read my ****

so if you do you could be like so
this is easy,
we have taken every test,

passed all the rituals, learned the steps to the rose dance
morphing from the lilac dance which is longer

in the years when the manzinita shed
more bark to make the fiber for the best baskets ever tested
best
being relative you perceive in as, as in may be the global brain is
friendlier than the kids in the 1950's happy days,
could imagine after they wore the tie

yeah we just missed that, my generation,
barely missed disco, too.

beat the rap, survived the crap, got old on rumors of war.

Huawei, wu wu wu wei we go,
peace versus war...

who one last time? What are the odds?
There is a flood in Bangladesh,
Warholian fame,
back up to 3 centuries
must be the melting of the ice. Who is making this
seem life-like,
as real as any vision in any kiva, vista vision, without which

internet of things

my people perish, and I am at the white page, once more
turning to the business page
three of the world's biggest banks set aside, as in, did not count
as profit,
just in case. Eh. We qui quinonaqanonic grain eaters,
we set a scene, the stage
observed off stage, obscene as you know,

when you see it it is as if you are here, in the book of life
where you witnessed all the evil any one like you could do

if you had your own way, you coulda been Besosaurus, or Sam,
but you went walkabout
and now you say

you learned how peace is made, while being good for nothing.

Ironmanmeyes yesyses I said, while being, actually being virtually
real
as any deed you wisht you did, but did ent, earily close
but
missed still counts, you fired,
you pulled the trigger on the trap you set and Broncos are back,

life goes on, the richer are as rich as ever and the hermits
are as happy as they ever wished to be

Cuomo is a graphic artist, a meme maker,
who new a lysurgic imitation
of
what? HELLOHNOMYGAAAACH-you

deny my power? Fool. Raca-ist, too. Dimensional missed shifter

making some old lies do double time,
the center cannot hold,
Cuomo is a zeitgeistic antenae in radiolandmentis psiscience-osis.

Any idea can be a plague these days. Give 'er a go.

Antediluvian condition, sayzz the New York Times, cut the drip
drip drip
bene fits as we approach 6% solution,

with full disnification in the internet of things allowed.

Tinker bell may be the voice in your GPS if you can imagine
Suzie Creamcheese dating me and being
the operator who once connected me to you

we were walking to chicago, remember?

"On the far end of the trail of tears." today, a native son
sang of a promise kept,

and here we sang along, before we knew he sang, we knew the song.

The magic in cookies is in the wett stuff that
sticks the dry stuf together,
but the dry stuff

the dry sugats and flour and salt and soda, powder
of true alchemical heritage,

tricky stuff tha bi carbon- ate of soda,
just a pinch doen nothin' a spoon full, for a batch of

magic grandpa cookies told of in tales, along with tales
of other dainties, like grandma's chocolate creamcheese pie,

with pecan and butter crust, o

so good. Good enough no need to pay homage,
to the magi in the kitchen

no king ever imagined this power, to tame a raging cabin fever

with cookies mixed, wet stuff first, eggs, extracts, room temp

thick as butter or bacon grease, lard works, make that

smooth, all mixed up, like tongues at Babel

babble on, mix it mix it with a wooden spoon

-- on a ****** day, bake and eat, later, we die anyway.