trickle, trickle, little dew drops
your divine tap
has, all but dry up

so with no drizzle
insight
to bring thee rain

our tongues
will all
share the same
dried up fate

so with a bending
feeble knee
i do beg thee
let go
of your purse
and sinful coin
we have no need
to eat the fruit of oil

and with shallow hollow breath
i do downwardly cry
for who will survive?

and a little voice
will say
surely not i
or the rich
or the poor


and in the coming of the
dawn
the heat or the cold
will only bring
bones and tears drops
of lost loves

for paradise was
green and the oceans where (were)
like of the new
but we soiled her

and cover her
in black goo

Meteoric rise
Catastrophic crash

Theandric
Relating to, or existing by,
the union of divine and human
operation in Christ, or the joint agency
of the divine and human nature…

in any ever after, timeless nature is thinkable,
first peaceable, gentle, easily made easy with,
free as the wind
true rest in coincidence, yes, the actual idea,
yes in opposition to no, and working together,
stirring in whole new precepts to judge with,
chaos and beauty, stormy weather and calm,
tobe ra', post internet literate inventory bots,
aiaiai
what could I have known,
had I read then what I read today, had it been
thinkable back in the times we made order,
made muscles remember qwerty gestures, ai,
as if we have a genius for testing best easy ways,
we build on each easier way, we meander theandric,
- as it is written whosoever is a grand inclusion
androautomatical informational intelligence leg-ends
collections of meaningful reasons for faith usage.
Garbs of right uses,
lose all value,
naked.
True.
Idleness at days end, gloaming sophist tries,
means of matching first impressions, is it real,
or Memorex, tell me wordless window watcher.
Watching infants gain first order for search
oh how happy we shall be, when we know our
ABC-DE
mmmmhmm four square frame of reference,
Hollies, look through any window/

now, I am the grandfather, proud, with no hubris,
as salt with no savor, good for preserving old paths.

Leave it be, today, I made these remarks,
at the same time something happened everywhere.

And now, these times of constant entertaining
information acquisition with intention
expand
to graphically appear in the mind of any ever
who ever rewatched "My Octopus Friend"

and American Utopia, and the Last Waltz,

Class action inclusive bubble develops, but now,
we stretch, was my grand father low or middle brow?

How long was America MAGA ablized, rooted

Caliche, soft lime, left deep ruts where braked
wagons ground recessed groves, we could see,

those mostly got eroded away after a century.

My grandfather rode from Sweetwater to Williams,
on horses he tamed and made useful,
on horses his father shod, and taught him to shoe,

such knacks as smith's must grow to feel known,
to any degree as fine as tempering spring steel,

using modified fires of inner solar ovens,
the size of the point of the smallest star you see.

Spot welding aitia precepticonical connection,
where chata left a gap open to chabad concoctions.

It's humbling to look
Up at the stars, the
Gorgeous night sky.
Humbling to think,
Someone revoling one of those stars
Is staring back at me.

We have so few words for peace,
And far too many for war.
Symbolically, and literal.
Does everyone just hate each other?
I don't, I look at us like siblings;
A family of the same species
Contending with the forces of the cosmos
With the aid of all that is natural.

I am an ethical capitalist and
A poor philanthropist-
And as for party,
I claim none.
This system is exactly what the founders warned of
Parties that pit parties against each other,
Who forget they are comprised of compatriots of the same nation.
Never swear off community
For the sake of security and comfortability
Because those that tell you that is the bargain we pay
They have shares in lies

Do people not see the separation of culture?
The quiet segregation of our artists,
Where we all hurt for their hidden toils.
By the media corporations that pay
Real artists pennies on the dollar.
Who bully those to ghost write
For people they believe will sell better.

Your feed is targeted, more selected
Than you can even imagine.
The profile built on most of you is
Down to a T, it should scare you and
I do not fear monger.
I have heard screams from one with no mouth;
I have seen myself programmed
To live out a life to completion
At the direction of others

I tell you all
As someone born to politics,
As someone who when he was born
Was told that everything is political;
There is a far larger nefarious thing
Going on behind the curtain, screen.
You are being tapped of all you know
Trapped, in a snare that closes slow

They don't want you to look up
To look at the stars
They feel it is reserved for them,
The rich - not the intelligent.
They realize how it will make you feel,
Small.
And you'll realize,
They are too.

Everything I say, I never believe.
Then, why speak?
It is paradoxical,
That is the purpose

That when you encounter this
You show the cheek, and
Continue to speak your truths.
To not let another, shy you away
From heartfelt honesty.
The beliefs held at the soul's root

To be true to no one else,
But reality
The harsh things that stand
As obstacles for our race
The species run, now from us
Nature rendered with disgrace