Wonder this today, what if
existent in ever only in the life we leave
graffiti to prove we examined and proved it worthy.
to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth
vicariously a thousand times,
because Pop watched Perry Mason,
we were on the bench being waited for,
endurance is encouraged for the same reason faith
"Mortgage the farm, Pop, I got G.I. life insurance."
Uncle's last letter, afore he was made sacred
for our own American Dream, it seems, now.
finds little worth in the 20th percentile signed
death pledges held in banks of money
multipliers, who take our thousand and lend me ten
to deposit at interest less than I pay,
this we learned, is the way of thrift
in 1928, then in 1985, then in 2008
after that enough is enough
old men should not
spend no time to find
the purpose of each breath…
we're here to find the reason war is tolerated here.
The days of fewer humans, past now in haps,
left lies formed from living words
in old Sybline rants simple subtle
sublime, impulse urge
twisted in slang to become science
when only insiders are conscious of using
writing to lock meaning in unutterable names
Ha. That lie. The unspeakable name game,
perverted priests have played
proud, puffed up butchers,
Moses guessing, fingers crossed, a word
to the wise is enough.
Say I am,
How long will that be funny?
Timing is perceivable as everything, but so long as
eternity and infinity and twisted paths along the surface
of myelinated axioms,
slick as snot,
here we be. Redeemed. Useless mutterings picked up
considering the ant, scouting, marking, remaining in the dark
of the tiled counter-top, aware of being brown on sterile
white ceramic surfaces
intensified florescent reflecting high gloss,
-- good god--
ah, Tender-eyed Leah meet Rhea impulsive creative dia
metrically opposed - as
to randomness on any level.
This, I think, is why war is thought tolerated here.
Right angle messages tweaked, to fit
fractures from the days when only evil was imagined
shapeless, having form in
no shape, save some old wives tales all fused with spite
expressed in rhymey verse
or, worse, glossolalia
its inverse, aha, wordplay, verse-ification
springs hope eternal, spits in the dust, fine-ground red
ochre clay from far away
brought to our place in time on muddy iron feet
A voice arose,
shake the clay from your feet,
-- the feet of them who buried thy lying sack o'
-- those clay clad feet, did I read, at the door, stood they…
-- some translation of Ananias and Saphira,
Uri, Uri! Libsi libsi
Uz zek Sigh-own
libsi big de tipart-tech, ye ru say limnal
Isaiah 57: 2 for the Jesus freaque
calm in confusion's unpacking, fission
as the firstborn under the cloud of unknowing
emerge afraid to lie.
Nurses whisper, listener listen
Plato could carry quite a load. But listen,
who admits to knowing nothing? be real, this takes time…
The spit in the clay, rub that in yer eye?
men, like trees… yeh, some say they see that here.
Phonetic Hebrew from Strong's Pre-computer era concordance of every word in the KJV. A grimoire of the benefucent sort for sure. Aitia proof.