A golden crawdad, on an urban sidewalk; in the end turn of Autumn. Oh, imaginatives can add such lusters

Per-iety given at prices
Left some pleading
Outrages. Sorted out of the fraction
Impacted esteem-edly
Presence of a implemented higher order
Of infernal representatives
Pulling the heart string of this
Is it you? Is it me?
Seeing isn’t really the hope to distinguish
Or figure these dream referrals
Quoting back to notations
Burnt upon a whim of superiority
Longed for to study past civilizations
Of the occurrences established in that dormancy
Of the optimal credential
Rerolling the formula to reduce onward
Continue with the answer
Now newly numerated
Mother of the order coming over
Exploding to the sorting, reworking

Again
       going up the street
  Figuring for a transitioning
     But retaining status quo
like the secret people meeting clubs
and it makes perfect sense
     Make new spells
For enrichn’ing inflections
Be here now, be here now
         Attention
Be the setting
By setting the theme
Preen yr feathers and make the calls
      Walk down the street

Sometimes I wonder on the psychosomatic
Reactivity through the imposed implementations
That are constantly being tossed at us
In waking world, despite my skeptic layers
When someone says something they believe
I can find part of me believing with them
Their sincerity drives through many lands
Images, pasteurized truths
Heated by the make believe of our person
Symptoms.. what are they really?
Maybe just adjustments to echo-static pressures
(If such a thing exists)
They cling through the frictions
of separate functioning energies
passing by one another in opposing currents
Procreating gossips, and partial positions
Sounding inclusion marks of humours
or secrets between intimates
Hiding by asham-edness
For the matters that slipped away in an instant
Matter no more, may we propose new
May we propose new?
Would the qualities attributed to that novel
Contagion be seen flowing through the walls of the intended suggestion?
Pleasant would it be
And fickle would it show, at least in measures
of the preference
of the bowl that we incorporate

The punishment of over-indulgence
       Collection of dripping
              hinderance of connectivity
    I thought, maybe it seemed like it
Not enough rest,
        With family meetings
    Intimate in normal day happenings
  Surprising hilarities..
    Endearments, ‘goodbye, twinkle star’
   Warming, sort of remembered
  Being again, like things again happening
Similar,

Cycles,
               Things must fall
So that growth continues
       It never seems fair
From one side to the other
                         Someone claims victimism

    But it is just such
Harsh and beautiful whatever the expression
From Some angle
       And all can argue the fact
Because it hurts, distractingly
Skin peeling from the nail area
No way to bite or cut, because at this point
          It’s too close to the flesh

So we scream and stomp
                Press buttons
                       that were never put into order
And blame, blame, blame, blame

Isolating into deeper depths
   Wondering where..

a caterpillar expedition leads to
      multiple endeavors
                hanging on threads of connection
           coral beads, dangling

     I am a mantis, prepared like a ninja
               mechanics absurd, like future robotics
          a scene unfolds,
                         monstrous to some
                from stand point opinion
          it’s all a cause
     and problems resolved w/ problems

        hmmm..
           well then
                well them
        what does that well then
             mean to them,
                            my friend?
     what then too, does it got
     to do with you, I’d assume
              you may presume?

       I can’t pretend to have it.
  does the string make a note?
and what temper shakes the vibrate?
I’d start from there
         proceed into it.

Our premeditations are spontaneous happenings
           Expressing itself in tense repititions.
                     naggingly, seemingly stuck in ruttage
             but really a strategy of suggestedness
         In a select position.
                     Spinning ideas collected for comfort
    A platter of minute individualistics
               Not so plain to see
                    But relevant anyway

Generous to all
                  In every manner
         Primal flutes, ghee abound
    A spectral becoming
         You, I, discarded plastic
An infinitude
           Boundless being
    One of many, image of the sun

When I see a person
     Any person
Someone I like, someone I don’t like
(More so even withe latter
For they show me aspects of myself
That I may not want to recognize
Posting a challenge to strengthen and grow)
      I see the pain I am faced with
          In seeing this, forces move in
    With intent to heal
               Break habit and soothe the patients,
                                         Of the world

I am a psychologist
          Because I recognize the potential in us all
   To continuously become
                    Harmonize even in the tremor
        Of pain, for even joy is an ailment
                 Constricting reason
      Showing colours
more well maneuvered hidden ness
             Yes, this is our battle
    And like Arjuna, we must do it
    With love, the force of compassion