What is strange, after all
was said,
and done,

the story seemed
forgotten
and

no one idea remained alone, as an if,
a
possibility,
never even imagined, one,
which alone made
each
hap or happenible, imaginable as an aspect of reality
appear to
happen, in your reality,
now,
and this
happened to be, one possibility,
wit' me
and you In it. it
seems
we can't

discern a granular differing christalization,
for, we know, it
looks like one of us loosed the grip on knowing,
realizability, actual-al-ity, virtually,
for sure,
at eye level.
See
qubic zirconium looks like diamond,
to naked eyes,
in certain light;
and magic seems scientif, with at least
six spin opt-in on the
referendum
passed for truth to exist in California…

Prop. 13 covered us, property tax wise,
so this reality looks
as if it worked,
see,
the effort to not die, remember?

Life goes on.

This is all we got to make the best of.
Your guess, as good as mine, I bet,
it's worth breathing
again;

but don't **** me, if I'm wrong,
joke,
no worry.
I never was,
under
those circumstances, you are crazy.
Not me. Breathe.

rhyming is hard
who do you think I am,
a bard?

i try my best,
but i fail the test
of being funny
or rhyming, buddy

I don't know
  
i eat the food of the soft and hard work
no time is left for a god to appear
cross the river and find a path that's worth
a life of effort all live with the fear

of not existing in the mind of self
and what we call god is a band aid that
is better than nothing as we bleed out
our life upon a tabula raza

which is true yet malleable so now
we walk and talk the walking dead maybe
not a word is true that's thought softly in
a moment of real yell's and we follow

as slaves to the inner tune unheard that
can be peaceful if we try i don't know

And he gazed into her eyes like lenses peering into her soul; she was transparent. And invisible she wanted those rough, tough and hard parts to be unlovablly hidden. she did not understand why he looked right through those bits, they were as transparent to him as glass, he was not bothered. he  looked onward, inward, to her core and wispered close and softly to what was locked there; I am not of your past, I would be in your future, and i am of your now, as much as the air surrounds you I am here it is me, come out to meet me, come out and see

Drifting from the moment
like tying up my laces.
A process so ingrained
I’ll be doing it in my grave.

Snapping back I see a bow
and find my body dead.
Can’t even remember how I died,
let alone how I lived.

Live on barefoot beaches
with grains etched in your feet.
Feel each one for what it is,
now is in your reach.