Whereas, hereafter, here

is relative, meaning related, as in linked,
en-tangled,
tied
to you there now.

Here, we arrive on a time, as all fine stories do.

We step lively, where no angel fears to tread, ever,
as you must know, by now,
ever
is a word's own being manifested in meaning
all the same
to you
dear, as in worth the effort to look for and hold, in the having
state, of meaning,
dear reader, we made history blink.

Missle warfare, in our culture, came before the giant fell.

Shepherds and irrigators used slings, and other throwing
ob jects, sub ject e ject

juxtapose sup-positive positioning, do we think we

or be we? Wu, woo way, woo.

You up for this. It is live, this thread we walk along up
right un aware of wind or rain or storm,

no dry nib scratch, no drip of black on the illumination,
no breeze to blow plains of gold one atom thick

as a leaf, gold leaf, who'dathunk that?

A teller of tales talking to a peacock feather from a carcass
coyotes left by the road.

Ed Teller told me, some things called quantum and strange,
are simple has human beings,
there's the humus part, and the being part.

Art and science, sorta.

The trope is no differnt than when Gulliver was breathed
into our earth wide disneyfied minds,

give peace a chance,
alls, we are saying, is give peace a chance.

And when the boomers are taken down a knotch or two,
a tic, tic, re calibrate

focus
thumbnail, zoom in on the eye in the thumbnail

to the gleem in the eye,

reflecting a Pepsi being poured into a Coke, with a Real Thing,

Giant sticker stuck stickily can't shake it take it oooo

no just any
body, don't you want some body to love? Roar or

was that a flash,
that was a genuine pshahdelic flash back on an out of zone
experience,
who knew? Boundaries are the best parts of bubbles.

The student is curious
he cuts in the deceased
according to the surgical guide
as the master he wants to be

Bodies are interesting
to discover during the holidays
and later give explanations
to the other students, in passing

The farmers watch in silence
how man is an animal
a large species of frog
they don't care about science

Oh dear, fresh blood, give me hellstone
quick, take the bottle from your bag
to disinfect the wound, burn it
away to a large black hole

The district doctor shakes his head
how could mister student think
he would have money
for something so precious as silver!

You make the jokes and I smile as to say sure
Maybe right
And we move onto another topic is discussion
No harm no foul
But you don't see the tears in my eyes as I fall asleep
You can't feel the weight in my heart very moment of every day
So what can I do besides smile when you kid
Do I dare tell you the truth
That what, I'll never be a bride?
Or that women with psychotic tendencies make terrible mothers?
You ignore my warnings
Simply turn them away
And if only it was that easy
If I could loose them like butterflies on a gust of wind
But I'm like an infection you've caught
I'm toxic
I have violent nightmares
Both dreaming and awake
I can't dance or cook or be anything you hope to have
So I don't know why you continue to hold on
Although I hope you never let go
But that's what infections do
Until they **** you

I always hear the old saying
“cut off the limb.”
Unfortunately,
my heart convinced my mind
to allow the infection to evolve
and grow into a whole new limb
that became a toxic person.

Forwards and fore words are cult if ations, (cultureshapen)
words we would find mean more

than their idle kin dread, (a play)
if we had been reared
starting now

A push from behind,
God put padding for a reason,
Mrs. Marshall said. Second grade.

A word, to the wise, is enough.
Acculturation.

That's the clue that leads to leaven,
and a little leaven...
you know, or say you do, of course,
we've known yeast
resurrects in our bread, for eons and ages,
Good Lord.

We know how things work.

If we be honest,
some,
a little bit, we know how things work.
Sayin' hon, I ain't sure I know what honest was.

To tell the truth, I don't suppose anybody knows,
wit'out attention's terrible price,

secret price, only the paid and payer know it, ever.
Sacred makin', sacrifice,

that's a one time deal, for real.

A mortal man can't know until he dies if he unbelieved all his
lies, but his try's are said to give him some -umph,

----
What manner of men are we that it is given unto us

to be? That is an answer worth paying attention to chase, per
haps. Not, to be or not to be, what choice, before now? You know?

Remember, we asked. Together, we agreed,
that greed will draw us to the treasure,

do you mind my taking greed from agreed and making it work.

it does work. it is an essential elemental,
desire is another word they use, but that gives it more
purpose than greed, and calls for more minding of the process.

Once a reifying action has begun we must maintain our equilibrium,
or
find ourselves falling, once more, into dis-traction
on life's slipper *****.

Slipper-iness has meaning.
Ask any little princess planning to grease her foot with KY.
It can be good or bad, not good or evil.

Squeeks from the audience, sometimes signal gasps,
as agap is crossed, like a spark,
mnemonical daemonic algorythms, those ain't bad you understand?

The Intelligence in Re-al, 's'no accidental instance of order over chaos that just cain't quit,
that ain't it.
Geeks as you know geeks,
Gates, Jobs, 'nem, A. I. Imagineers,
did not write this algorithm of life, as it turns out,

The Idea of God seems not to have needed help
designing a safeground,
where kids can play.

Sam Harris axed me, vicar-iously, Do you believe in literal
re-sur-rection of some formerly
living thing/ any?

Yes, yeast, I do. It seems dead, only our knowing it's not
and proving other wise de-ifs the possibility it's dead, now alive.

It's like that cat box, Schrödinger has.
Anything is possible, God knows, Jesus even said so,
wit' God, all o'this is possible,
save lying and dying and failing to be good for me.

Living, it seems, is the deed we do
to prove living forever is worthy of trying,
happily ever after, starting now,
if you wish to stay mortal and never know,

you can't.
You know you die, so you die.
Forever,
that goes on.

It's hell to try that with no triumph in sight.
Alone, especially.

It bursts out of me
from deep in my core.
Tendrils of smoke and life.
They fill the air with the scent of ash and lavender.

Tears of blood drip off of my face, splashing on the ground,
creating a pool in the room I stand in.

I hold out my hand, thin veins are drawn on my skin by
the energy around me.
A deep red.

My hair dances around me in static,
dead roses litter the floor.
I welcome you into my arms, to welcome the disease into your lungs.
But this one isn't like the others.
This one is different.

A sickness that gives you the strength to stand up,
the ability to be yourself.
I've already let it in, I've already opened myself up.

So I'll ask once more:
Are you infected?

Cough up your lungs and cough up your guts,
and heal up your cuts!
Sickness wracks your body,
your ribs show when you cough and gag.
Hold up your white flag,
because you surrender to the infection.

You're cut open and sewed shut,
prepare yourself for rejection.
You can't handle another infection.
Surgery can't fix you up inside,
this disease isn't attacking anywhere a doctor can reach,
nor any speech.

You're in ill health,
that creeps up with great stealth.
Your sickness is using your tongue
to choke out each lung,
while lying
and denying
that you're sick.

Throw the white sheets over your head,
you'll be with the dead,
because you have to surrender to the infection!
let it reside within your midsection,
because it will achieve perfection!