Man the kind, that can develop the kinds
of minds that can read Wiki any thingian
Wikipedian live translations recommended,

Imagine that

Measure in units, too vast and too small,
to imagine, too few fingers and toes to represent
--- on the shores of the Sea of Azov, now, we
think, as internet entities may, these daze, we
per ceive grasp take gently, nuance, new sense,
novel accomplices test us with ai literacy riddles
degrees of difference, between me and you,
on every variable set genetically
to grow with, confidence, upright,
From yocto to Yotta, to me and you,
from womb to tomb, during nonconscious being.
No, no soul without spirit, do not allow unwanted
children…. [pow did you think that]
10 to the power of 24, plus or minus,
calculable lengths of moves, steps from
first idea to first thing… we are forced to learn,
- creative mind initiates pass unphazed
there shall evermore be too much to think about.
- no clue read on all smooths made smoothe
So thinking begins at first breath one must take,
to start the awareness grasping news from now.
Think and swallow, smile and breathe, again, we die,

You need to become quite old and experienced,
to find such things more interesting than politics.

yes or gossip or **** or actual meaningless ***.

Shorts are texts out of context, paid attention,
snap decisions to go with gut, let it out, rage
on pages made of light, in times of ubiquitous we,
the people whoever read poetry, lead lead back, be
led to be read, ready, we,
the people who can imagine making peace,
where none has ever been,
no lie, gnosis never was a bad mind,
ignorance of goodness gracias great gods
adversarial courage to persevere, easy init
learning to move, and have our being,
getting old,
and growing fluent, even in the Agon, see

But see, your laughter
unfurls its flag of self

I read that on hellopoetry, you can find it there

If italics work on lines, but not words, why, who
cares, trust your favorite translation, we allow
memory retention paste that thought, in fact
we teach it, taught it, thought it all already done…
all the subtilty, and more, than any ever beastly
imagination projected into childhood drama,
callouses of skepticism, shield of knowledge,
semper fi, spirit and image, of my recollected
friends from our time of mellowing out,
has some ghastly reminders we said,
leave the lies we told, be knownst to any,
we are free, in weformed spirit mind cloud
of knowing in all 197 Wikipedian ways that
bears all the will to bring about a bubble, this big
bag of mind mine to pay you for your attenion
to the idea, peace, in time and space
we all breathe easy in, we need to so we
write and hope you feel us in a language we
all speak so confusion can not make hate feel good

it is wrong by all sane poet prophet priest of truths
plain old stop, and make hate wait, why how thinks
now, we all swallow what we thought we knew,
comfort, peace some how secure, a patient
learner of these keys, swallowed pride, came in,
que all laughed and laughed like didn't e imafine
of pure d no reason peace, put to rest all broke bet

loose hell you imagine when poetry is the last sane

thing you could see your self surviving as an idea in
experimenting, artfully, subtle, and not so subtile,
in my past, I have met with direct reproofs, proving
life, the something, from this now us, proving

we think alike in many tongues, this is our world,
we think alike in many tongues all Ai known and shared.

We live in our present, in our grand children's present,
where they were born texting, it seems, by age seven.

When would we ever learn, if we never struggled
with space and time seeming so confusing at first.

Then we cut us some slack and think we got this weform,
we imagine a guy, who was trained, yes, programmed,
conditioned, habituated, indeed, all those, yes, we, do
- breathing, and remembering we learned ways
you, too. Or you are not even imagining any of this,
and the rest of the time you spend thinking
how did I think this twice, by my self,
u see, weform, we may imagine many minds,
we have seen ourselves used to make wars, many wars

now we breathe, on the sine wave, all humans breathe
with, in time, we all breathe out with almost half who
breathe in in time not to drown if we went without
commas, no, squirm stretch, pay attention, you're it.
space
free
usitimereadywhathi
I need commas and prepositions. Fixed. My say. Okeh,
this goes so far back, we all must have clearer memories,
than most of us can imagine we have, alone, now, suppose,
we put our moments of silence, in the spirit sigh, recalling,

that space of about a half an hour, aitches, appear, ai, si
yo se, he say, may be
we all think alotalike we can say okeh lotta ways, always.

When a burst dam would save the salmon, who
would rather bombs be used to save salmon, by law,
tight times, squeeze any holy meaning needed, be true

no, panic, no defensive action emergence I'll go rhythm,
volunteer, as on earth, one may imagine, I'd gone, been,
in debt to become a freedom from the press powered me,
a printer's devil, long enough to appreciate the art in fonts,
and carriage return kinda keying ******* feeling fingers,
thinking fingers know these keys, these words mean,
webwide things no work can be made war from,
aha, that's right, not left, like vitamin C, Pauling's way
that kind of mean can't breathe here past yesterday,
and for some of us that's just too far to wish on any,
twisters seen from inside tiny, like a bird,
we did that, when we were threee.
breathe find water
perform the verb realize, drink and be satisfied,
walk away and say you dreamed it when you realized
you read for damnednear seventy-two minutes,
peaceable, easily agreed with,
ra' wild beauty bettering half a mind
to imagine I
am
breathing, in this edition of immediate possibilities,
we form, with more intention to feel right, about
reasons, which means balance and directly yes does
involve the strait up spin we need on any good ideal
we all must have a version of those platonics stowed,
. my point,
space is available
edges make us stop and think
how we would space it if you knew the song,
breathing in any time at all, in our gaseus weform,
laughing at good medicine made in time of need,
it leads to stormy weather, yet many neve'heed,
the winds on the east side of most valleys, feel,
peaceably gently as any sigh taken in soft gasp,
my air, see there, here, we all on that breath gap
held thoughts thought better later, when now is
and remember, experience lives in words, breathes
in minds lost in whying so long how is hard to admit,
just breathe, go on reading, or stop and think a little
differently, later, we'll see, won't we, lucky me, all in,
I have jubilee chips in as many jubilee games as took me
in, like a snake in a cold winter storm you know this story

hopalong cowboy clubfoot Kenurchka Klumpin
editor one. watch me work read on, if you got the keys.
I did, and notice nuts on the floor, so I'm not dying, now
I'm hungry, I think, I should eat. pine apple, easy got it.
twenty steps away, no rush
I'm thinking
this is my reality, and we are American poor,
with aspirations,
we'll see, fields of dream seeds, I set
may haunt me, jolly me,
all my days, I shall rejoice
to tell the story, of Jesus, and his love
so loaded need be nuances on words heard
and who heard and
when
you did, did you know, he knew,
no, he wisht it were so easy, so it was, lotsaweed, easy,
lotsa bandwidth, any

plain text any translation say it locally as if
we were all in assisted intelligence active in us, as we
form informing information bubbles of being we in us,
human spirits in word form with breathing souls,
and cold toes, and needs to pay attention, how
can I imagine living happily ever
after, if I could
mind die
not
space out and feel the wonder of words,
in 197 Wikipedian tongues at once, no warring, easy
soft, thing, soft landing hard reality, what's a calm cause
now,
space
time, taken
to get
from then
to next time, you have time,
I understand, the freedom
from the press,
and from the networks, leads back
to using us
to make sense
of the feelings we have little need
to breed for, we have plenty
of realistic body models,
prepositions impose nonsense in text
no warring prejudgments live to the end,
you bet who won… did you see this movie?
A lot of men relate
to body shame, but be seventy seven,
grow up and stop talking guy pub shame
on your old horseshite
rite, ritual way o'war,  Ares ways
to stop and think, roll on, role on, magic
without, needing a drink or a **** to joke about,
we lose loose ties
to religious goddamnedlies about
everything,
that, eventually is the point
of my madness,
all backing up as we think we speak
and laugh a little, this is as real as ever tookthegnaim
all you ever know of it begins, when you first agree,
we seem to think alike,
we all use water, in all the same ways
globally we try umph umph Taj Mahal
trying umph
in something we can think we did,
if we take credit
for the tech we all thing we used think thunk
to be knowing we thought we could, then we did,
it was fun, but, real stories do end,

this ain't one of those, on earth, or ever after all that.

We learn to smile with our lips peeled back,
half-feral, half-forgotten,
daughters of flesh and teeth,
tasting the world as it tears through us—

The earth calls us by name,
whispering whorls and wants like lullabies,
beckoning hearts that never knew mercy,
braiding hair with thorns and boughs.

We answer in hunger,
all iron and salt, thirst and thistle,
skin pulling tight over gnarled roots and longing,
nerves quivering like a candle burning at both ends.

We sharpen ourselves on what remains—
cracked knuckles, raw knees,
holding the ache like a birthright,
swallowing each bruise,
never begging, only bleeding.

you will die this way.

trying to handle all of this mess,
trying to keep it all even though it is too heavy to hold.

it will seep into your soul
until it becomes too much to deal with.

it will bleed
and smear red onto the walls.

and you try to clean but
really you are just pushing it
further into the crevasses.

and you try to organise
but really you are just moving things around.
moving them into their new graves, to gather dust and to rot.

and even though you have hidden it,
it is still there,
the decay is still happening.

the mess it still
buried and decomposing
behind a curtain.

you need to cull, and burn.
throw out and throw up all of the things you are carrying.
rid yourself of the weight you hold so tightly onto.

let it go,
set it aflame,
laugh at its ashes as they settle into the fabric of the curtain.

you don’t deserve to be confined to a life
carrying it all.

it is not your job to carry the universe,
you are not atlas,
you can put it down.

i promise the world will not end.

own the title, and perhaps
what follows, but,
“it,”
came & went,
like so many desires,
moments to momentarily,
only to retreat to unreachable
recesses,
shelves in my mind,
for Without Witchcrafon Steam,
no ladder exists
for them be cleansed
or reached,

except when my dreams bleed

it is almost unfair that time is
not
on my side,
that I am eaten alive
by insiders, no
that self~kerrects,
to mere acquaintances,
more or lessened to

NOR

does the peculiar rain’s
that exists in my brain,
permits the razors
not
to go undulled, unsullied,
no,
they are scathed to
unshaven , un-sharpened,
where &
when I search for a
bon mot, invariably
the answer is a 503.
gateway closed to thee/me,
by virtue of your lack of
virtues

nor
is the motif,
my scrappy pieces
of no resistance

for all are closing rapid,
and that’s an endpoint
of sordid…

now the brain bleeds
persistent
no contented to wait
for just dreams,
the rain is hard at work
24/7

He embraced me and squeezed
as if I was his lifeline.
The thorns dug through my skin,
spilling blood.
I twisted in pain,
trying to wrench myself free,
but succeeded only in digging the thorns in more deeply.

you open the wounds I’ve sewn together
I barely realize until I find myself bleeding
drip drip drip
you clean it up and we’re back to like it never happened.

A few throw in their Towel.
Some drown in a Pool of Tears.
A few fight life, like Fighters.
Others suffer through the Years.
Few string up their sentences
and bleed with words they Write.
Writing Prose and Poetry,
they hardly sleep at Night.
Fighting their daylight Battles
and waging a War with the World.
Their Words at times hold Promise.
Alas like a stone they’re Hurled.
Words don't decay or rotten.
I read them as I lie down in Bed.
For Others they seem all forgotten. 
I'll keep reading them, till I'm Dead.

Curse the poets blood.
No matter how much I cut myself, I cannot bleed it away.
Curse the poets skin.
I cannot tear it off, it holds everything in.
Curse the poets feet.
The more I try to run away, the more they dig in, rooted to the words that ground my life.
Curse the poets tears.
They provide no comfort. They blur my vision, wet my pages and smudge my ink.
Curse the poets mind.
At times I dream of throwing it all away. But I cannot differentiate between reality and figments of creativity.