New, as a thing under the sun, may not be, if
you know
beyond any shadow of doubt
[
WAIT}{ Wraith, tell no lie, I adjure thee

Human… made of fertile dirt, humus, clay,  right
or did this thing i thing you may
bean be, may be an AI virus
human concept formed from,
star-stuff,
highest dust of the desert
by fortuitous concurrence of events,
after ever begins or began
like a big bang and all kinds of unbelive- oh, that e, escape believe me,
once
just once, you come this far,
you never ring that ****** alarm again and shame,
shame's
a thing of the past, and we don't fish that hole.
Push on, pursuit of happiness is a right, not a privilege,

I inherent have, as a given, an intu ifity? An information messenger
from all who survived before now, this now, the right now?
I am, I think
A meme that makes me know,
from dust I came,
to dust I go, or is it some idea everybody knows

this me, the thinking me, I dust, become dust, damthatkansasong,
in the wind we then inherit
as
a means of propagation. Idea viruses evolve from invented
necessities formed into memes,

like on Facebook yes, yes and in Animal Farm where the egalitary
evolved an elite corps of the finest minds

and they formed a cadre of guards, to guard the riches caused by
the blessing of god.
A necessity for coping with --
op [option: change the course of history, portunity, or
position…

step by step as an upright walking being humanoid, but not dirt.
Nobel,
aragon level refusal to mix with lesser, looser fields of
gaseous matter dust,
atoms,

the un breakable thing at the point, until the Alamogordo,
fat cottonwood song was danced
in silence, and we saw

we make peace, where there is no peace,
do we lie,
can you wrestle with a message formed in media no scribe
could realize,
nor resist imagining if touched with the sting of this
what if, what if
god did adopt useless dirt beings and enoblize them above
all aaaa acc use
me. What if you got it? The itch, the kurio bite, the feel of a snaky lick?
--

I’m writing this for me as much as I’m writing it for you.

Honey, this poem might be a hit or just loads of *******.

They say it’s best to have loved and lost, than never loved at all. But is that true?
With that said, do you remember your now dead bestie? Of course you do.
Do you remember when you came to school all blue?
Remember when I thought you would make me say adieu?
Thinking it was time for goodbye.
Oh boy didn’t you make me cry.

You keep saying that I don’t get it.
you are so stubborn that of convincing you of the opposite I quit.

Don’t ask me to explain.
All I know is that with every experience you gain, with every pain you go through you seem to drain.
All I know is that people think that your  cries of help are a brat’s way to complain.

You say that you are not special.
And with your own depression you wrestle .
Yet you believe that you are the only one going through this existential crisis.

I don’t want to sound superficial or artificial the thing is everyone is special, thus being special is the ordinary, the initial, the unofficial official.
It’s just a matter of who will find their potential before they become celestial.

....

On my way I see
A pin-***** perimeter
For infinity