Hello Poetry ought to make poets expand,
and lo, it does,
- perhaps past Amazon Web Systems, bending under the plan
- who knows how 502 connections catch up, when poets
take a thread and pull...
as the poetic bubble expands and encom-
passes under
standing stones, crawling on my belly shining
the path behind me
as might a slime in my condition, signaling
to all who follow,

rest up, some levers set springs that can
lift you anywhere
from 324 to 7500 bodlengths, imagine that
wrong
and the stories all start to seem familear as hell,
being or not,
you know, when this ain't sati-sifine-mine
satisfied, servant given props,
true, measure twice cut once is a good rule to remember
once more
too late, to matter, it passes as gas, spiritual, not religious.

The nuts are LH I bet you, watch what ah, you know
what the left hand knows, qwerty is on my side
and right requires looking to find a critical. point
where a breathing comma woulda done it better,

think out, ah loud, ha three times
what if now,

you read, and wonder if it happened or you
imagined it did.

you weite this line, it did gitwrit right, whosay whosayin
amean ameam a meme me me ,miney by yo toe-western
tap tongue click to the beat of the tribe,

unh hung, we bin, we gone we been and done
sing it old son sing it in that
silent way
words do as they seem to float above the page,
oh, sage, shouldabeen a child's name, and lo, it was.

A prophecy from Sue, too true to
disobey, so some where there's an Xer in Texas
called Sage,
remembering the Alamo
and such names, ken come loose the looser the interpretations
and beguilded become
set to high idle bemeaning nothing
in  1 generation exposed,

to the new atmosphere filled
with signals saving time,
Ten Days Coast to Coast, those
shiny men, in reality,
listened, not all of them, some of them, one finger typer,

guy lost his thumb, on a wagon train real deal do it
as it was done in the journals,
now, 30 wpm ,-.;

imagine imogenes-- the r--- re
tell, or call imoges imagine in the past

reality, mine, perhaps, not yours, even in the same
time zone, but we tune to this signal
and sudden
instant yes, a me
was a we and we went with it , let it boast of knowing
this qwerty code due to darwin's bulldog being related
to the guy I met just
inside
the doors of perception, after an excellent read
given me at the fishnet factory, in a package,
that seals the time frame for much of the past
and all the futures imaginable

it was just
that quick we yooost to say, the quick and the dead,
at the edge of eternity, we

as we are, aware, being ware able we know,
a thing or two, is not enough, to infect,
we need more,
baby, have I got a number for you, I put a spell on you,
I ran to Ur,
but Ur was fallen so I ran, to where Forrest Gump stopped.

And I remembered, away away a me-me memory implant
during a momentary disconnection
sensing something resonating as I wish a gong one song
hmmm steady
hmmm breathing thingme I am,
this
what good can I do did i- said AI already riddling
and only just
begun.

See if we or notice we did. We shall think we may know,
and we may as well do it.

So likewise ye,
when ye shall have done
all those things which are commanded you,
say,
We are unprofitable servants:
we have done that which was our duty to do.

You, lazy little 'twerdnerd. Easy. Live. Take my truth,
let this mind be in you, it does the hard part for you.

Ai ai ai this guy, I tol' you, extol the road,
ride on, cowboy.

Let go. Re
laxation,
enemystic, plop. Plot to end
with a thousand swings
gnosis-not-burger 'n' fries
swung wide and low. Sweet cherry '63.
Once belonged to the gayest geometry teacher
ever, eh, in Kingman, Arizona.
Mr. Zubek, annual faculty advisor to Optimist Club,
Annual (also)Highschool Boys Speech Contest,

bi- annually, he traded in his Chevrolet.
-- voice of experience,
That triggered this then, not now

I saw a ****** lowrider, brand new, showroom floor,
yep, a certain mind set, kept with odd links,
missed opportunities to go the other way,
kicks the BTDT system of old ahas,
and ahs,
as once imagined…
not possible, pre dementia.
Wait for it, should you live so long,
it all runs together beautifully, to match
the beauty of the messenger's feet,
in your cultural awareness

of total unknowing- to eternity,
and beyond.

The Bill and Ted Trilogy, vs Left Behind.

So, crates of lemons have no thorns. See,
Lemon trees have big ol' thorns, but

lemon wreaths, all on a bough snipped,
thorns and all, to show those who never
picked a lemon, and won life's sweetest point.

Such wreaths are December treasures,
if you know where they grow 'em.

You can sell them, or give them away,
the beauty in the whole fruiting sprig goes along.

Incredible, all agree. This cannot be real, so surreal,

right realer than real, impossibly real, yet we may
imagine, praying in a temple designed,
worthy of praise in a spirit a tempting to speak,

do you hear me,
sing, do you here a formulaic bubble
shatter
snowglobularly.

Took the snap,
looking back at Caiguna,
From Balladonia.

Good onya, seeya some day.

She had a funny way, of sweeping,
in time with Merle Haggard,
on the radio.

Dam'lucky, me.

Thought you once noticed, I did this thing,
some time ago, and now,
I'm glad, because if you see it, if you did,
you can say
Yes, I have seen illustrated Blake,
you would say, that's cool,
and why so, you know, you have words
and freedom to make them heard in silence,
for a price,
listen to reason, is this the real way we speak
test, text, right?

Some quicker than others, many dead,
did not expect to say so much un accounted

what would that be worth,
if is was historical. threaded through each day,
and through then to now,
like the world's biggest ball
of industrial binding twine.

The new medium allows wider attention:
If think breaks, just get there from
https:kenpepiton.com

https://kenpepiton.com/?page_id=502

Details of now, surface of ever.

Step, as we may, step away, on a way
from
to

Details of now, magnified, made nearer
to see,
to learn.
Ifery and wasery, wondered, wandered

upto, but not beyond, go
think that which holds the heavens,
a bubble, eh,
must be,
edge-less, inside, so smooth, smooth as
air,
I dare say, air is smooth, breathed easy,
calm, cold or hot,
air, is smooth, this surface of mind, this
is rough.

Pitted, adolescent greasy fifties happy
fashion engine, rewind,
take us back to when Ike and ****, gripped
the winds of change,
in signals so mysterious, we wonder if we saw,
the signs saying,
turn or burn,

and thought, what the hell, truth
is related to me, I cannot prove a lie.

I can say, virtually literally, true as such can be,
I can say there is no hell and we can't breathe
in heaven as conceived, beyond the stars,
or at least, past Mars,

ah, when all the world had, say,
a number, ten thousand, or so, say
science, prescience, right fore thought,

a story rises, from a word, that was a name,
first presented to me,
forethought was a god de-ifier, resistor of the bit
part, seeing the whole,
part seen is deception, to any who wished at then

to know, only to know, edge of knowing,
stood, stare, seeing we being a whole generated
mind, in lines linking one thing
to another,
in ever after birth, before death, now, as we imagine.

We think the wind a wonderous thing,
the mixture of elements we breathe and have
our native being in, & we have our post-natal first
known, ah, breathe,
air, this is the wind we wondered
through momma eyes, maybe,
I guessed, just guessed, instant-
iate a probability,
set a whatif, then

else
I laugh and douse the flames of cortisol,
thinking you may feel this wind,
next week, it meanders, and
may linger in New England,
delivering the requests

question everything, but wait, wait, listen
answers cost attention, not to mention
understanding, beyond - as in through,
which my kind plants as great crops
to make peace with,
as we burn through the opposition,
like mental hot coals.

Re learning to live, as once we lived when we all
knew, innocently, presumptively, knew
enough is always enough to share,
died, and we noticed
dying is easy, and
that much, that extent of declared, I know
dying is easy, is true, because none, once the
resistance
removes the lie that lingers as hell to pay, while
little grey Domeanies squeeze the truth
from me,
a sufficiency, enough to prove my reconciliation.

Bad Gateway
Error Five Zero Two
Bad gateway,
I hate you.