one way or another is not the turtle's

whole story

I shall tell as I would, were I privy,
as I am,
to the reason for turtles at, in, of, on, under
all in all

and all we have in common, when we use
words
right, no se?

We, the gifted generation, possessors of knowns
never usable, undtil understand und ist nicht undone

unloosed, unlatched, untied until we forget

words of authority must mean
common, mean, golden-lean to good-ness,
life, per se,

se, y'know
a flow influencing the peace of a place
is a flow we may let go,

it has a smell, but so do farts and farts are always
funny, to the heart of a child

bubblin' bubblin' bubblin' in my soul, my unsould soul,

heir of wind's listening privilege. Poet, per haps,

singer say some, songs say others,
we, merest of mere promiserly whimseen sips

from the silver cup,
first class, exists, in real life, longer than in
mortal fantasies of fame in ones
own object
ification,

jest dropped in t'see what condition, my condition
was in and I for plumb sure got the message

settled, it is finished. Live with it.

Adapt. Fit to be tied, leads one to con-sider, really,
ropes and threads, and fibers

and stick to it ifity, re
al-izate
great minds think alike, just not in synch,
without a drum...

in the background, we got good ol' **** Feynman,
on the Djembe drum,
you can only imagine keeping perfect time
whith the flowing pulses of
intent
within withon withthrough withdrawn a tube

emerges and were we word bound,
once more,
assigned the chore of making peace
meal form sensible words up to the point, until,

the seals were broken,
nothing is hidden, by rightness, all is knowable,
unhide-able, and why

is that scary? Brave New World, admitting having seen

the savages view of savagery
at its mystical

old known
first tales told to each of us as we mature,
ripen, as seed we die, arize and be eaten,

AI AI OOPs cod-plat-if-icate-- yesterdaystodaysforevers

eat.

fecation perform. make of all gestated
mess
ages agone gathered round fires on winter's days,
to see who can tell the biggest lie,

-- was this not the culture of all children, once?

Did might, as in might be, make right, and the knowing

of the song, the story line intwined with all my
kith und kin
und naught be, yond m'ken, y'ken?

Kinda, sorta. Dribsndrabs. Parts 'n'pieces put to

gether gathering winds into a swirl

to explain why swastikas in their erstewelt significance,

wahrheit b'told, b'hold held
that

everything spins,
in a whirly gig fashion, we may commonly call
spiral formations of things

pineal formations, closely ob
served, say count the spaces between
the places where any seed
may
have been a tree,

look around,
how few pines can sprout, without falling

far from the mothering pine,
now,
gravity works on a fractured earth, but

squirrels and jays were intended to do the

shuffling of the deck, the scattering of seed,
in chance, on a smoother flown surface
than this dis-leveled message in stone at the bottom

of the sea we breathe and have our being in,
this bubble in ever
spark sta
static
tic
a tree form, a fractal twigging of everything
imaginable, into now.
Precisely, the moment you read this. That hapt.

Some said they heard thunder, I heard turtle stories,

all of them, all the way down. and back.