Assuming control of the pen, from afar,
my mind’s spring leaks
trickling pasts through your present
to waken the hope that is in you,
the taste of good and evil.
You discern flecks of the fruit in your stew.
Who brought these gourds,
who poisoned the broth of the good life,
who’s hate do you hold, in your beggar’s bowl,
This is at least a half hour read at kenpepiton.com,
maybe 10 minutes each loop on speed,
but it has 2 cool images and blue jays singing in the background,
if you play it right. It's a chiral stack of itty-bitty points -
make of it what you will, slip the knot of all you knew...