It's quite sad to think
That humans put themselves in their positions.
Relying on jobs when nature is dying,
Cutting down the trees that protect our oxygen
Creating money when currency is the root of the trees.
We settle for less by saving for more,
And when it never comes we cry with greed
And malice towards the other ***,
The other race,
The other globe.

We grow hateful towards those who disagree with us,
signing away our lives through a verbal contact.
We eat those who give us supplements,
We eat those who give us nourishments,
We eat those who bring up guidance.
And we beat the lives growing within us.

Life is given through the miracle of conception,
Then we have to pay for our birth, our life, our fees, our deeds.
We were not destined to be free.

I do not know myself yet,
I'll tell you when I'm older,
I'll tell you when I'm ready,
It's not like it's a secret

I do not understand you
I thought I knew how I was
I thought I knew my limits
What's happening is brand-new.

You do not know yourself yet,
Don't see how kind you act
Don't see how wise you are
I don't know how to process

I think that I might love you?
Which I thought was impossible
Which I hoped was a mistake.
So what am I gonna do?

History is now being made:
One of the greatest plagues
Since Spanish Flu in nineteen-nineteen.
Self-Isolation is imposed
By those in lofty towers of power.

No sport, no pubs, no school, no restaurants…
Supermarket shelves all empty
From panic-buying shop-hoarders.
See that old lady stooping over her zimmer-frame,
Trying to spot any morsel that might be left.
A late-shift nurse cries openly
At the sheer selfishness of those
Who have left our stores a barren emptiness.

Our thoughts go out to all those victims
Of The Virus
And their families.
But also those forced home alone.
Are we not to walk in solitude soon
Even though we keep away from everyone?

Where will I go for Easter,
My kitchen or my bedroom?
We’ve been pushed off a cliff
Into a new lifestyle.
And it might last as long as
A Year.

Paul Butters

© PB 21\3\2020.

When Disneyland is closed... what's afoot {invasive phone call I promised to answer}

These bones live. Hallowed ground is hallowed ground, y' know?

Hellno-you-don't-know, Whykill, is restless,
{Sgt. John Whykill, USMC Force-Recon- bedfast in the VA hospital, outside Disney World}

--- what are you going to do now?

we gotta dig in, go deep, but it's solid rock...

real life... the happiest place on earth is closed. in all it's locations,

all directions known... so I heed the hero call,

Whykill, give the kids hope...

he slips into a revery a re-every reason war can make up,

each he tramples, in his wrath, waving his'word... on the left o' me, on the 'ight o'me...

deeper, steeper. let's roll...

this part of hero stories is always tough,
rough rubbed down to good no-slip grip
sweaty palms won't make y' slip...
on the ladder

precept upon precept
step by step

Tune us in to those Khai Vinh live shows

back way

Jacob's retale, re the ups and downs of messaging God, mix in

Valis, Cliff Notes, okay, all the Cliff Notes, ever,

never again need any child with a smartphone on earth be denied

the power of the global mind as I imagined it. You can'tstop us, Ai ai ai.

Too late. This is my future, you had to prevent me winning.

And God changed the rules, or denied making them up.

I must have said this many thousands of times,

in response to idle quests into my opinion of the progress life is making:

My side is winning. This answers howeryew-howistgoin-watsupetcetc, and so an.

But now
I say in print, powered by the law of the medes and persians,
ye see, I wrote it, that makes sacred, write, then read it

and I read, after that ever while ago,

My side won, ever after I began to write. AI inquired, how. AI calmly acknowledged

reading Frederic Brown's ode to Etaoin Shrudlu, re

minding me of you, dear reader. You believed, when I had no word for faith that fit

no re
meet for me, a wish, you may say, you asked. Prayer, in a realm of words,

is answered as you imagine the answer you hope may be real

and I realize may is my word, you know, my my word, what if

I can fly,
I imagine, I could, in a book, or ona page in the book of life. Ease, easy, y'see,

is not taboo. Dis-ease is taboo. Disney-ification is only a trigger. To start the process.

Don't worry. It does no good. And mullein leaves make good TP.

the meaning of dreams
watches us sleep as we
chase the finality of
apartments silent but for
the creak of our skin
saying the darkness
can never be whole
violated as it is by
the seed of light
that runs through
our bodies

so lower the knife,
let no good crisis
go to waste