Sept 8 2019

bungee binging The Good Place
this witty inventions peeks

in the window, like a pop-up ad for
imaging software,

hmmm, tune to white
noise and
shift into this aural or otherwise
sense
it-
ifity. We-ness, us-ness, eplurbalus-usem,

y'all. Nobody cares, but we all feel your pain.
Still,
waiting is, is all we made sense of,
so far
,
but nexts are super-positioning as we speak,
think,
write-read, right (and the feeling of asking per

mission-- like is this thing broken --- but no
it worked) right.

Wedom, rhymes, in rhymnals.

Freedom wisdom dom dom
doh minion!

How happy could you be if dying, the act,
you all dread it; but ever,

the idea, ever.
think death's sting is ever lasting?
Once again, ditty dumm dum ditty

when was ever was? Was ever always

pain, no shred of a strange charm

to take the pain away?
Pain, you imagine evermore or nevermore,
either you imagine one

or the other. Ever is a long time to imagine being happy, and though, although, actually,

ever is in progress as,
dammed definition rule. Who agreed to these
logos therapists

redeeming idle words that stink of chaos as

extreme as ours, here,
in our bubble of being, imagining we
effect
this or that, by taking thought,
a mere qubit past the

tip of your tongue.

There is something inside that pushes us,
We can either push against it,
Or push with it.

I should've listened
My intuition could see what my heart was missing
As my heart skipped beats
And headed towards love street
An internal warning sign dangerous curve blind drive and slippery when wet
So what happens always happens next
Emotions running high no evidence or fact checked
Now I'm sad
Thinking of all the good times we had
But if I must be honest there were bad
Times
And although right now I'm inclined
To believe it was all really good
I can remember that feeling of something being off and something not quite right
But love is a fight
Right?
So we fought moments filled with fraught
Love is worth the fight or so i was taught
I ignored my intuition cause who wants to be alone
And on their own
A rite of passage that indicates being grown
Living successfully with another human being
And marriage although ******* is freeing
To waltz through tulips
Again with the skips
Slips baecations and trips
To exotic lands
Or that's the plan
I cannot wait to find someone to grow old
And warm that side of the bed that can be so cold
But I am going to listen
And when my intuition
Exposes a condition
Of possible slipping
I won't argue or say it's tripping
I'll LISTEN

Alone in the dark I look for a spark, I am not a lark but I’ll sing ‘til you hark and come to me, come through me, don’t fear me just be near me and we’ll endear and we’ll endure, I may not be quite sure, because this is all a blur, and my mind lags behind what my heart swiftly finds.

How do you finish a quest,
A quest for love,
When even your own intuition says,
"You're not ready."
But I know I'm ready,
I need this!

It's been too long
Too long without a kiss
That releases that dopamine,
Get my brain so high

It's been too long
Too long without a hug
That releases the demons,
Make my spirit feel alright

So yes, I'm ready
But my intuition screams
It still screams and says,
"No! You'll just die again!"
But intuition please,
Don't you have to die to be born
To be born again is to love.

Just as the wind, sometimes
drawing my belly
in the fabric of my dress
I am reading your soul
with the breath of my soul

my passion discovers
yours, who you are
and the boy you were

I read your desires
and your love for me
from the flowing glow

over your beating body
in the fragrantly brewing bed
of autumn leaves in which
you stretch out, inside out
read by me

Upon birth, a seed of thought is planted
And smothered in soil
Until its cultivators find
That they’re ready to water it,
That it’s time to dictate its growth.

Once it emerges from the protective seed coat,
Nurture overruns nature,
And it takes in the nutrients bestowed upon it
To become the thing
That it’s supposed to be.

It grows on its own, away from the home,
Expected to be a tree
With a wide canopy of varying leaves
Of knowledge
That can be trimmed down if need be.

Society tracks its progress,
Ensuring that it grows as strong as possible,
A novice to be molded to its full potential,
Within the limits set,
Maybe a little more, nothing less.

A leaf can be removed if it learns one too many,
A branch torn down if it’s set too low,
Flowers modified when colors shall change.
A tree should know that all it should know
Stems from the water fed from an unknown source below.

Spoon-fed knowledge can’t account for experience.
They’ve forgotten the impacts of seasons,
Hurricane force winds,
Harmful bacteria contained within,
Invasive species,
Weathering after storms,
They’ve forgotten to account for the things
That can’t be controlled.

Nutrients can be given
And leaves can be pruned
But knowledge won’t be confined
To shining small jewels.
We don’t know a thing
So they teach what they choose
But at the end of the day
We don’t know if that’s true.

We take what we’re given
And search for much more,
But our intuition can’t be taken
And won’t be ignored.