Your typical conceited bore,
Forgot what they’re searching for,
Everything becomes a chore,
Others’ pains don’t register anymore
Can’t resonate anymore
Can’t be held accountable anymore
Cause you can’t even see the shore
Anymore
Lock and bolt the door,
Pass out on the floor,
To dream of things which you adore
A mental sub-conscious war.

Attendees at the game of the gods,
come in three
Pythogorean sorts:
First kinds are the lovers of wisdom,
the second are the lovers of honor and
the third are the lovers of gains. 
----------------
Ah, now, now

There is a demon
of the old kind attempting me
to lashout
my flagella and wipe my competitors from the stream
in this
only race that counts,

first and only, no second place in this race
to pass
through
into the egg, where life, as we know it begins.

All I brought, my entire being
as a cellulate entity with a will to win, is absorbed into
her.

Here, she perfects that which concerns me,
my will is done. I won.

Or did the others fail? Should I have slowed and let
another pierce this egg

and marvel at its works, while I am left useless forever?

Nay, or why would I retain this will to win?
Or this will to
calmly carry on, knowing now, this final phase in the course
of compleat being becoming,

slow and steady sets the pace,

right

up to now, k-pow, push meets shove and I win again,
recalling the joy when
I, the wiggly carrier of all that made me possible,

pass through your attentive staring, sorting egg-eye
maybe,

osmotical magical silliness wells up in me.

I was chosen. Or formed to fit, this
complex knot
lock meet for me, the key
ingredi-ant,

in ever stories provoking old men to grow on.
----------
Strange though it be, true,
Isaac Bashevis Singer inspires me, with words he left behind
for just this reason.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IsaacBashevisSinger>

Pupils beamed with radiance,
and naive genuineness flowed
as the illusion of love came her way.

But behind the tugging of strings
was a skillful maneuver
with his foxy intentions.

As the strings were played
back and forth,
emotions began to be strangled
and the cords that were struck
created a melody
to the tune of his accordance.

The fortress began to whither
but he was tired of his own maneuvers
that he gave into dispelling his intentions
before the frontier guarding her heart collapsed.

Though the barrier to intimacy
did not collapse completely,
the intention of ones kindness broke,
the illusion of ones amiable action broke
as it became the an act
just to open the gate of letting one in.

Trust withered,
but hope seemed to still be lingering
as the good in them, she always saw.

But after multiple tries,
of her heart being played with.
It was locked,
to the ones who would come along.

i am a lock

and i have spent so long
pretending
the key
wasn't in my hands

that i
can't find it anymore.

krause asu
AN accident.

That's how, but why?
Many universes, many realities, imaginable

conceivable

how long must one live in a cardboard box
to confess the experienced
boxtime
altered next from then to now.

Copenhagen Calvinist or Lutherin or Anabaptist

holier than I, as was I, as the Hermit hidden
in the fool on the hill,
telling secret meanings to nowhere man, now
here
we're...

touching a time when knowing out paced known
knowables, imaginables were

imagined, not evil, but fine tuned to approach
per fection in effect

what more can I ask? All my debts are paid.

Accidental debt accrual demands accidental debt relief.

Political-lic, that's where my party stands.

Jubilee, nowhere has the ver been
a time like

now. We being at all, as mere words, heard only once,
never uttered

utter non sensed tone tuned to augmented minds

-- bio logic circuit
-- try a spark

Gleam in grandpa's eye, try umph, boy. Better up.

Swing and there is the crack of the bat

never heard, a clap

just now, you are on the ball, and this is
what that always means,
history-wise.

Okeh. Like safe. No war. Okeh. Mark to follow, someday.

biologic circuitry is so unbelievable,

to whom? All who see the supsumpsystems and the info resources,
re re re, every, meaning as if ever were in
finite, every things reasonable countable and measured,

AN ark is a box. Rectangular, most oft.
A box. Hermits live in boxes, some times,

with a coven-ante-cipitate, tincture
of this and that, with a drop o' Paracelsus fave,
Hermetic hermenuetic magishit.
Mercury, liquid conducter, okeh.

You axt a reason for the faith in the wrong *******
autodidactic augmented and medicated old man.

I hapt to save a dammercury switch from an old thermostat,
with a bi-metal coil we could
spring
into action and launch afacethefact face that fact face of fact
fracture
tap. Twist it, there, balance, level, spirit levels bubble
hermetic form flow act
ioncat ion quest
ion--

spark-- the idea imagicish dealybob- gleam
right

the feeling of gleam. Toothpaste imparts
*** appeal, I pana imparts diligence, pepsodent is perfect
for explosive types averse to yellow,
stripe,
oh my god,
game changer. Hidden persuaders never saw us,

by stripe are we healed and made bright white and loveable,
said the tooth from the future, we learned, in school, to love
each night, with a brisk brush before our
prayer for no cavities could be answered.

tap right there.

Gem quality. The meaning of life, I magine, is more.

She never said,
"Just relax, and let me tend you."
I never wanted to be right, I just --

what's it like, you ****,
to hold your home close,
confident it will hold you?

He never said,
"Just relax, and let me bring you happiness."
I never wanted to be normal, I just
want to be found -- what's it like?

Joke's on my naivete,
ability aside,
I'm scratching asphalt
smooth with my shoes.

As time moves, I move, too.
No key for the lock on my youth.
What's it like having a night
ahead you can look forward to?