Mortal passions.
Whiling whole days away,
wishing instances of just this
artful vision made mere words.
Accounted for, line on line.
Actuational responders.
Hello,
World
Initiative, INIT run
plain, lain flat to show one side,
while hiding one side,
and all that lay beneath this
surface, now still pond holding the sky.
As intelligent, gentled warring monks
and monkeys, chatter in the trees,
solitary man, with an array of antenae,
sending and receiving dry ideas
to be read and rethunk, at once, indeed
as wisdom tends
to evaporate, leaving inklings
traced with artifact and story, back
to when our kind being generates
an instance of on
to logical word forming wills,
breaking branches in harvesting races,
to the victor goes the glory, in story form.
Drama brought from life experience, dared
and done,
for no good reason, at the time, daring devils,
mocking saints, saying in one's reading mind,
this day, have we not come to know, today,
now certain, this one day, we have to be in
and have our own being and breaths in.
After a cold April, a new novel day occurs around my environs....
