It's a merry day,

we dance on the earth *****:


feet full of music.

Try this, it's {like}kid baseball, no grownups,
and only mental no hardware,
eyes glazed, as we accept
- we saw him, baseballman,
- corner of Santa Monica and Western
he played this same game
but we are
all grown ups, for the session, and we
volunteered, but we
do not
at the moment recall, reconnect, reconcile
one
mind, o
, my god. wjatdewdotame? tamed me?
blamed me? shamed me, got'amyou,
made me
the father of others who know I never knew,
but they knew, why
her and all her kids knew, eden was mine,
the I traded that
for her,
without ever
really, with out, out most ever, knowing
why I never noticed, she knew just
what to do, and I never learned,
wham- thankyewma'm

why did the guy never know, really war is wrong,
and she knew, yet she set herself as prize.
Who knew,
they all knew, able proved n'able was a name
for those who found it funny to hurt with fire
and smoke and savory fatted beast feast fired

desires to know, more, moremore, barren womb
more rave ravening black wings now mean
mean and I mean it, I win or I die, I try
umph.

and a more is a matter of opinion,
some times,
it feels staged, inserted for drama, as if drama,
is a god, or a guardian spirit,
per haps
may haps, we creak, and stretch our spine n mine
pops, gas, escapes, internal pressure adjusts,

a sigh,
you may be reading
for pleasure, less likely you came this far for
the upaginthewall-weall-alley ****** at the core,

as you think, mmhm
in your heart you are,
re-
swing low, sweet chariot, I got no place to go.
And this ain't hell.
And I oughta know.

So, merry message
of the annual effort
to enjoy
on purpose
conciliation apprizals as to
what counts
gift or thought behind it?

"Tis the eve before Christmas and nights silence abounds.
Darkness has fallen and only slight breeze to make sounds.
All down the quiet street each house light is now turned out.
Many hours since merry occupants were moving about.
Tucked tight in their beds are each young girl and small boy,
awaiting the morn of Santa inspired mirth and pure joy.
I sit crouched in the hedge my senses alert and aloof,
This year I'll get him before his reindeer ***** on my roof.

When a leading star
cast a ray of hope
on a manger
where a mother
birthed love
by pain and tears
there Santa appears
before dawn
where the child was born.

I'd prefer
to be a here
a tic there a tic tacky nerd

but yeah, I have a hindi or u
a friend who is of that
what do we pc say
caste or creed
I don't know
we never broached or app
roached who has known not
the idea of dharma as where we
was found,
all turned around, is it worth
a thought,
and then what's a thought's worth?
a kind of cosmic image imagi djenjoin

With smiles and merry spirits, we cruelly celebrated your demise.

Ginsburg threw me a line…

"on the black waters of Lethe", as I floated by.
A ware, launched in antiquity as tonal code,
lazily waiting the call,
dum did dum dum dum, drum drum drum

Big bass,
tickled in tune to the whistler washing dishes,
in the back, we've all seen
in the back, on TV

but are you,
really, for all reality is worth,
are you experienced, have you gone this far
before?

Have you changed a diaper on a rich old lady?

Seems like, right, one word to another,
line upon line, precepts perceptively retained.
Precious little is as it was.

Pre is a time-wise measure, how can we think
past thoughts,
we never cross the same river twice.

No question demands an answer in truth,
demands are put on servants, while we
are known as friends,
to all those floating on the Lethe,

well below the leavee, see, there those
same ol' good ol' boys discerning whiskey from rye.

They see time's a river, and I agree,
says this story to me, but
I say, it is a river of light on a bubble's inner edge,
I been there, Age of Lethe, a game I invented,

-- a virus, plays by lethargic rules, no effort needed,
living to steal and **** and destroy,

a minimalist First Person Shooter, steal **** destroy,

then it was hacked, steal **** destroy, mutated into
take **** destroy give,

which was odd, because all truth comes in three
pointy things, if then else
oops opposites spoo ffffffff effect

****** drama writ large, it was us,
the muses, dis-mazing the mazed again
a loss of time,
too bad. Three points equal one try. Aim.

So sad. Grieve for the fallen all we never knew,
the heroes unsung.

Goto the ant, thou sluggard living in a floating Barco
Lounger, drifting aimless--- ah, what if not,

what if I know a place,
just around the next bend, and

we get off there? What then, it's my story?