Stories, reports from wars past, haunt me,
in spirit sensing wondering,
perplexing twisted strands
from National histories
kept for posterity, seen as certain
evidence of life being as reasonless
as distant suns in swirling galaxies.

The business of making ends meet,

make any punctual sense, ends now.

------------------

Dear, the word, intends
to express worthiness, valued

by cost, not
to make or gain the dear thing, but
by pain
at the loss,

remembering reason,
reattaching whole
required why lines, dangling

Among the many joys,
eudaemonia, silliness in the sense lost

nine cousin romps in the lawn sprinklers,

secrets sacralized sold
for students tempted so,

sacred vow bound logic

-
mid-14c., logike, "branch of philosophy that treats of forms of thinking;
the science of distinction of true from false reasoning,"
-

Refine elemental whying, trying, taking
for good, leaving
as worthless but
for marking
in mind, poisonous deception

Games of getting to the perfect peace,
having no driving curiosities or prides,

mystic authority granted me, poetically,
costly so-called sciences, I am, by faith,

for which homeostasis is the reason, ready,
balance of energy store and energy conversion

self guided discovery, so deep is one's ignorance,
self sorting discourses through mortal events, time
since e verily was allegorically massively imaginable

at thought sped enlightenment intended
to disrupt rote thought, symbol assignments
and general intelligence deceptive practices,

the bread and butter of the business of Psyche,
logic by which mankind live and learn and lead
those yet to be to become augmented generally
intelligent choosers of values… versus costs, price

personal, what portion of one's daily bread is paid,
back by me, the muse user enjoying being alive,
and safe, high in the coastal foothills environs,
practically perfect weather for happy humans,

gatherers more than hunters,
crafters more than manufacturers,
traders more than sellers or buyers,

but lacking religion, woe is them, indeed, if
all the witnesses to Hell, sent back to spare us,
perdition due the ignorance of original foul sin,
are not exalting their knowledge of damnation,
against the sacred knowledge of good and evil.

Live evil lurks in mere repetitioning prayer error.

Hooks in Jim Morrison's oevre, say… you cannot

imagine a reality without disgusting disdain for order,

order, in the court… witness under oath testing if we
agree, this is the ever we got this morning, as we rose

from slumber… we, thee linking me… in mind, inspired
thought, amused bemusement refusing confusing truths,

God loves Hell, love's it, or…

blasphemy, accuse me, gospel performer professional,
j'cuse, indeed. Did I dare to die for the American Story,

Home of the free, Land of the brave, oh, say, can you,
remember the first hand grenade WHUMP! can you,

not mirror neurologically callused startle response wise,

real deal, dead people, blood, smells, smoke, silence,
deaf deal with it… accept

therapy, publish, or perish, laugh and live free in truth,

not simple, but sub-elementally perfectly sublime

---------
The news from my future,
is mentally actively spiritually leading,

holding my circumstantial ordinariness,

spending a lifetime to reach one last day,
which can, we may imagine, be any day.
---------

Meaning in landmarks set as scenes,
who imagines whose mind's lost all hope,

who can, as a God-fearin' man, *** boy, cowboy,
drifter with a gift of gab and a deck of cards,
declare 'is whole soul forfeit, should he lie.

Bet me I did not beat my own demons, just
now, for the rest of my life, on the most likely last

day, I spend this way, like it were that very one.

The day called Judgement day, same  size day
as those in that original week, rest assured. What?

Obfuscation, cultural integrity, opposing
the holy Pharisees of mutual warring wills.

---------------------

In word form, as a thought, logic is open
seeping sneaking suspicions suggesting surety,
has an am big is us re-both-knowing ness spirit form
for a ready reader, list as doth the spirit, sure hot
wind in a gape jawed face, asking if this may be real
as has been realizable
since commercial radio, propagating productive
personal mysterious
signals sent via zeitgeist,
which reasserts itself, prodigious certainty of purpose,

what do I wish, what do we wish, we, with us in it, me
and you wishing we felt some fealty due the heroic me…

what if expressing a self, molded military mind model,
in a complex religious mystery granted symbols just as

right angled and perpendicular to gravity, per se

timely, chance, definite purpose, be as good as truth,

no harm, no foul, patiently pretending toward goodness,
as do little green apples, and children in my vicinity, true,

all the children in my house, and yard today, are good,
universal attestations, any ever experiencing, such a July,
presume these kids are as happy as can be, today
where I happened just to be, he who chose
to stick and stay and make it pay, by faith
some how, kindalike an intuition,
by now, this'd be real, an actual poetic privilege,

the truth that once the best that I could think or ask, a day,

whole, no ritual mass or mirror mantra back atcha, one day,

surrounded by children, literally running around my house,
and squealing little girl laughter at little boys rolling in mud.

Since time is taken universally,
to be measured in portions to each
thing a time and seasons, within that time,

to use the will to live, and let seem living
all - what, curiously wrought musings,
wordless, falling for the lure, seems living
moving itself aright, as often wines may do,
inviting titles do to musers unbemused,
but no child knows the meaning of things
such as admonitions not to look upon
the wine red, swirling beauty, see
books judged by covers oft stink of
deceitful meats, imagine the ruler's
condescension, partake in silence,

answering freely all who question why,
breathe-ing and eating,
I am but a temporary mover of matter,
from one state to another, as I pass along
this trail that speaks of long disuse,
where it leads, at this junction,
I lack a will to lie and say I know, but

I know, I am willing to believe, where
I would be if I turned around, here

from there, relatively no time at all,
nonsensed wish to be known,
for having been a survivor,
sensed as something natural, self

set up to become this old, enough
to know, no greater need than peace
with purpose, a faith that your duty

is to learn and make do-good things
from things not being used at all.

We on Earth, honestly,
we have no where to go and be,
we do know what must be done,
we leave undone all we have no

will, or means, no way, to do right,
no way to do at all, wrong or right,

yet, with a will used to prove, right
my will, a will used to wait, to see

after many days, few change life's initial
gravitational course.

And I think there are just too many things that break my heart, I fight too hard to stop from falling into pieces that I can't be spoken to, not even quietly.

There are too many people I've seen thoroughly, I can't separate myself from anything and I can't be looked at, not even briefly.

There are too many oceans, too deep to venture, no explorer will have courage enough to dip their toes in this water, and no one can touch me, not even kindly.

There are too many things that scare me now. I never leave from the bed I lay in and I can't be danced with, not even calmly.

There are too many ways to break my heart these days that I can't be moved, not even gently,

Not even at all.

Vivid memories of you: just a word or phrase.
Hiding meaning like a yolk in an egg.
A "Hello kitten",
A cheeky laugh,
The brightest smile,
I miss our past.

A Chattered Weeping
Tropic heat
    there hangs a grief
      Clung !

Like a cold wet shower curtain
      inhaled by an open window
   suctioned
         mildew mischievous
                against the skin

But this grief ..
       a replenishing ache
      (now scolded from rank)
    and no longer
heaving and hopeless suffocation

duration has operated

to the man donned in black
to the woman with no spine
and a broken back
you work in slumber
with eyes unopened
to life's beauty
you have only spoken
brief talks betwixt dreams
stiffened, when awoken
of thoughts that linger a ways away
in a land of virtue
reminiscent of tolkien