Regicide.
{this is less than 250 lines, counting spaces,
for patience testing reports made mandatory
in some therapy systems preparing personal dethronings}

Insider uses made first,
to explain the process, confusing users,
decompressing trust,
to this end,
limiting mutual insured construction
as is the natural state among neighbors, historically

natal sense, common natural instincts in us, as users

just beginning to centralize intelligence, secretly
serving kings and things kings are made to represent.

As the annual remembering days honor those olden
tales from our wanderings, days horror infused, retold

mortified if I lied, lying lifelessly, terribly confused reborn.

Did you ever learn the seven year itch,
called not uncommon?
Like a cold, a virus,
a mind hat, ideal
helmet of salvation, self certainty, I am

activating initial me mind hope substance

It may have been a modern invention, akin
to social diseases like carpal tunnel
and latch key kid syndromes
in adult children of alcoholics.

Aim at nothing,
you will hit it, only believe, and squeeze…

--- once, per instance, now … we think we
… are not --- instant recoknowing we think

nothing is ever naturally decoded, we thunk…

this is a breadcrumb trail, as was upgraded,
with little white pebbles, perhaps pearls,
as Hansel had imagined them, previous
to the last leading into those woods,
where there is to this day, sweets
alluring, baiting innocents, just

walk along, dropping bread crumbs,
but, no, not this time, ye pitiful peasants,
no, this time, Hansel came with pebbles, white

ones he planned to use as he had those breadcrumbs
back link hypertalk users are familiar with, from HTTP

here to take point user code
for radio watch, listening see
find the answer using only haps and this once as if
yadayadyad da did da dittydawdit dah didaw
· · – · – · –
- historical machine code quantum leaps… com plete
- hysterical misdirection from **** and Jane,

FTA, why the curricula juxtaposed intro lit
ready readers sorted into fair to tell tales, vid licet
Hans
and Gretel telling Jack and Jill,
after Jack fell, something's fishy, have you heard?

Magic fishes granting wishes, yes, I have heard,
I know the guy, I met him, yes, he let it go.

Per, you know,
is seldom heard, per
haps to be most often idle, discouraging never,

redeem a given chance to let such a catch go free…
never forget Androcles, let such thorns in the flesh

remind us how far we are from pen and ink thinking
recounting time redeemed using idle words as facts,
reapplied to terms of agreement, among us, as amens

we all put our voices behind, a hearty amen and amen again.

All in ever, once got directly prayed for, by Jesus H. Christ,
the author and final shiner on the faith of our fathers, trust

in the savvy Salmon P. Chase, if the money makers trust in God,
we all had better believe those high financiers are truly so trusting

Bulls and Bears, and fractional banking practical voodoo,
making money from nothing and **** for free…

Boomer retro psychedelic glossalialacsadaisical wishery woo

mushrooms and poke salad, with ***** caught on bacon rind…

Clearwater credence revived with ***** and the Po'boys
out on the streets, with the National Guard, yeah

we lived this long… something's happening here, again
what it is ain't exactly clear, there's a child with a gun…

bang bang, you shot me down

as if hate creates its own down fall, and we follow

fundamental bottom mind, let be in us, informing us

Jesus said whoever hears the knock, and opens, as
if Pelagius was an honest man, and Augustine the liar…

----------------------- well… endure to the end,
judgment day, is not judgement eternity,
get through today
one per waking opportunity,
the sufficiency of ra' needing
tov to know so we do not perish, one day sufficientcy, know
is plenty for all the time you have left to figure out your duty.

Just wait, and breathe
find words used pointedly wrong

offending truths missed while accounting,
and redeeming missions using idle promises
perhaps missed mercies free to take, and
reuse, if officially wide of the mark, assigned you.

Perhaps, you knew,
events usually occur per wishes, as it were,

your fingerprints, eventually prove you became you…
as set during pre life womb prep,
we, were taught to wish,
we all were, it's true,
we were born
into talkies and television and radio,
we were destined
to inherit Mohave Radio and Electric.
Just when VCRs and Macintoshes were next.
With a borrowed NorTel 300 baud modem...
Ancient History of the Internet,
where we created the Class for Training
Internet Support Position Career Pathfinders,
The Kingman, Arizona hub of the SilverFox BBS
------------------------- circa 1986
The radio and record store, was first of its kind
back in those boom days when all the bombers
were being wrecked for scrap out east of town.
I knew the man.
A WW2 pilot friend of my Dad,
I rode on Dad's lap,
while Beale took us up higher than the mountains,
Masterson, fine old rooted name, I think, now.
He laughed at me laughing
while he flew a spiral leaning right
for me to look out and see what buzzards see.
Beale was his name, he was a local, war survivor...
- yeah, regicide, Masterson, as a name... of that man.

The man who owned the radio store, he was named

Beale Masterson,
in a town that uses Beale Street,
as its main street, in a town that used
to be a springs, shown in petroglyphs
next water one day walking, this away go
Beale Springs, some day, those got so named,
sweet clear water with cress and tadpole pools,
some forgotten Hualapais left old trails to, back when
the Abo Highway ran from La Jolla to Watson Brake, La.

Yeah, Poverty Point had Kingman Turquise beads, in a horde.


--- 10 by 10, and a LAPL card.

If I were jailed for heresy today,
I could handle Christian prison.

But I am certifiable, using
Wildersmith to test my testimony.

Mad as the Mindhatters of old, those who forced all classed to recognize
the worthiness of men in bowlers.

Can a cell become a home?

In time, in time, lime shining,
essentially professional pearling

surface on surface polishing feeling.

After a while, an answer appears
just so, I used my self me, I see

at home in species specific environs

at rest, attending pretentiousness,
Dysphemistic Euphemisms

Gideon's burning his father's plow,
now, the reminding Bible version,
essential New Testament and Psalms

as the new recruits shuffle single file

E-1 rank, one single file, shuffle past
the volunteer evangelists with gifts,

the ubiquitous testimony ending
in the middle, with Revelation's
final threat,
Nothing May Be Added

For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book: And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and [from] the things which are written in this book.

He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I come quickly. Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ [be] with you all. Amen.

Free from the things written in that book, did you notice… imagine that/

True tests, transfigurations

testimonial persuasioning
tested y monumentallized as if
testing convinces sweetening whys

evincing effectual fervency in prayer,
muttering repetitions of angelic annunciation
muttered in penitence, each marked amenably

in olden tolden hagiographies
on Earth as it is in Heaven

once, a hermit sat where Rapunzel lived, high
on a hill, in a cell with a single window, high,

overlooking
evident solidified
fundus mundus granite waves,
rolling hills, topped with rolled boulders, rounded
through miles
of riverwise windings visible using magic evidence+

common sense google eyes
in our common sky, we all look down from…

per- (1) "forward,"
hence "through, in front of, before,
first, chief, toward, near, around, against."

haps, as haps may, fortunately
suffer us to play may sayer as life between rivers
also suffers seasons just so, as life
around us just happens
as we pass through it,
breathe-ing in and out with a happy sense
there's one more river,
to California, so, just one more river to cross

our preferential reference, ferry man come to carry us across…

"The semantic shift f
rom 'load' or 'the carrying'
to 'chance, luck' is not obvious ...."
The sense might be "that which is brought."

Into our place
of final testament, mental formation making,
piling skeletal shells destined
to become marble pillars, testifying…

natural born journey man journeyed here with Kilroy.

I felt your skin
strip away from me-
you said you’d be right back-
as you slipped into foreign bodies,
lips soft with easy dinners,
who forgot the lightbulb burning out,
the lid left rattling on the counter,
a suit of pots dented, stacked,
steam lifting from a rust-ringed drain.

That studio in the Texas Riviera
was never meant to last-
brown carpet, AC rattling,
bass beating through drywall,
neon from the Whataburger sign
bleeding through blinds.
We were two beautiful accidents
in a month-to-month, always paid late,
your sweat a spell pressed into my skin,
ankles grinding on parking lot gravel,
the road outside a forgotten promise.

And when you smiled I held you
like a chipped glass,
rim still sharp enough to cut.
The ember died against porcelain,
the glitter was swept with the crumbs.
Your armor slumped in the pantry corner,
rusted tins, lids unfastened.
You walked away, naked and ordinary,
the light left buzzing in the kitchen-
outside, asphalt slicked with oil-sheen,
my body, also, dissolved
into the shimmer of the road.

She bears and breathes
beneath the burden
beneath bone-deep silence
not broken,
But becoming still
and storing strength.
The eagle watches
with wide, waiting wings,
Does not force the wind
but riding the rough winds
without rushing.
The horse stumbles
but stands,
shakes off soil
and still
steps forward.
And the ant
small, steady,
soft-footed,
finds the fallen
crumb,
and carries
the weight
without complaint.
She gathers herself,
Again.
Not in haste
but in wholeness
Not with fire
but with
breath.

Harry bends over the grill,
beefy with years of drink
and culled anger,
scrubbing until silver shines,
a bullet waiting for my shift.

He believes if the French Toast is perfect,
she will appear in a halo of steam,
peacoat and Mary Janes,
ready to forgive the life they never had.

Outside Brother Juniper’s,
Peachtree Street is a kingdom
of late century's lost:
druggies, rent boys, drag queens,
pimps preaching Jesus
to the homeless in Piedmont Park.
The smell of grease stitches it all together.

Inside, fluorescent light
makes faces soft as wet clay,
ready to be remade by morning.
French fries sizzle like whips,
blintzes bleed cherry onto chipped plates,

and Tati, round as a blessing,
delivers soup to the sobbing girl
whose mascara becomes a confession.

I clock in,
busting knuckles and boots,
young, stupid,
just trying to keep up with him.
I know he wants her to return.
I know she won’t.
I know he’s getting older.

I watch Harry’s grace and sweat,
watching the city believe
in one last plate of salvation.

At dawn,
he’ll stumble across the street,
feed the jukebox Ray Charles,
and search the sidewalks
for her red hair in every stranger.

The Secret Miles
2024 Lutsen 29er, for those who know….

We started beneath skies pretending to shine,
Wheels spinning forward, all feeling fine—
But the woods had a different tale to tell,
One of mud, of water, of slipping through hell.

Thirty long miles, deep in the trees,
Water so high it soaked past our knees,
Chain grindin’, brakes cryin’, grit in our teeth,
And still more climbin’ just waitin’ beneath.

There’s a silence in suffering no crowd can hear,
No cowbell cheers echo back here,
Just you, your bike, and the voice in your head,
Asking, “Why?” while you pedal instead.

We laughed through the muck, ’cause crying felt cheap,
We pushed when the trail got too cruelly steep,
We found strange joy in the cold and the grime—
A bond born quiet, outside of time.

The finish line glistened—clean, serene—
Set on Superior Golf Course, trimmed and green,
People clapped, handed out drinks with pride,
But they didn’t know what we left back inside.

They didn’t see the falls, the spats,
The jokes we cracked soaked through like rats,
They didn’t feel the weight we hauled,
Or how the forest, for hours, stalled.

But you knew. And I knew. And that was enough—
The trail tried to break us, but we stayed tough.
And in that shared silence, beyond the cheer,
We carried a truth no one else could hear.

It’s not in the medals, not in the time—
It’s in every unspoken, mud-covered climb.
And that, my son, is the real reward:
A secret pact, forever stored.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved

It’s a cut of prime rib,
that I slice to your size specifications,
served with a heaping side of horseradish.
I hate this ******* clip on bow tie they make us wear.
La Cave. Underground niche joint,
where all the cocktail waitresses and servers wear
******* clip on bow ties.
We specialize in meats and baked potatoes with endless amounts of butter, sour cream and ******* chives.
And don’t worry honey, I’ll be sure to bring you a whole plate full of baked potato sides.
Quantity is very important in La Cave.
The quantity of your tip depends upon it darling.
Sultry, red misted desperate dwelling of men
who dampen even the highest of spirits.
Where is my pronged fork for this huge slab of insultingly low grade prime rib?
It comes with all the sides you could ever want.
No questions asked.
And that **** little honey of a gal, that waitress right over there will cut you off a slab as thick and as cheap as you want it.
Happy Hour can **** it.

If one day you break, too tired to cope,
And search the dark for hands of hope
Don’t reach for theirs, they come and go,
With fleeting warmth and faces you don’t know.

Just lift your left and find your right,
The one that’s stayed through every fight.
Your other hand, scarred, quiet, true
Has carried all that life gave you.

It wiped your tears when no one cared,
It held your chest when pain was bared.
No vow, no oath, no distant friend
Can match the grip it dares to lend.

So fold your fingers, let them bind,
And trust the touch you always find.
For storms may rage and trials descend
But none defeat the hand you lend.

The world breaks many, but never the one
Who learns to stand with hands of one.

Miles of Grit

Before the dawn, I rise and ride,
Legs like stone, lungs stretched wide.
Gravel roads become my prayer,
Spinning through pain, gasping air.

Unbound waits—one hundred miles,
Through Kansas dust and brutal trials.
Each climb I face, each breath I take,
Is built on choices others break.

I’ve trained through storms, through aching bone,
Pushed past the doubt when I felt alone.
Skipped birthdays, dinners, bedtime songs—
Chasing this dream for far too long.

But guilt, it rides my back some days,
When pedals steal the time that stays.
My family waits while I chase more,
Yet still they meet me at the door.

And then—the race.
Heat and grit beneath the sky,
Mile after mile, I wonder why.
Cramped legs scream, the wind cuts deep,
I think of every night I lost sleep.

But near the end—I see them there,
My son,  my love, their arms in air.
Cheering loud with muddy pride,
As tears break loose I’ve tried to hide.

This isn’t just about the ride.
It’s every moment I almost cried.
It’s every hill, each stubborn scar,
And all the hearts who brought me far.

The finish line—just gravel and paint,
But it holds the weight of what I ain’t:
A quitter. A shadow. A halfway flame—
No. I burned through every claim.

Proud not just of what I did,
But of the ones who let me live
This wild, relentless, arduous dream—
Together stronger. A family team.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Everything happens the way that it should

[sometimes you just have to wait a bit to see,
but even bad can be good
if you give it room to breathe.
There's nowhere to look but directly at it,
and to face what's come be.]

It could not have happened any other way, because it happened the way that it did.

{You are who you are - and you did what you did - and you're the only place you can be; this the only life you live. There is no other you to compare yourself too. They are a figment. They do not exist.}

So you are where you are until you change something, kid. It is what it is. You get what you get, and you get what you give. 

(You want it different? Do it differently; otherwise, take it all for what it is: and either change what you need to change, or quit your ******* and settle in. There's Nothing to do about what you did. The choices made are set in stone, forgive yourself and start to dig.)

"Wisdom doesn't come easy,
So when someone tells you something you better listen.
Pay some attention to the wise men,
Even if they don't seem the wisest.
Listen here son,
Sometimes good men do bad things.
So they can protect the ones they love,
God is forgiving, he understands.
Sometimes you gotta get your hands *****,
To keep someone else's clean."