In my realm, any tale worth telling tells itself, backwards…
this is part three under reproof inspection,

we have tools some of us imagined,
perhaps with prodding from what prodded
Heinlein, his version of the Sixties, seen from his fifties;
differs in tech to stretch the realm of possible,

Artist's intuition that women's intuition was a thing
by 1961, the year of the twist,
if I recall Junior High, and who doesn't, eh, as seen on TV.

We were there.
There were those books, You were there at the battle for Bataan

We were there books, 36, a kind of boomer canon
in the southwest, some of us had grands who rode those trails.

But the one I imagine I remembered reading,
We were there at the battle for Bataan,

that can be imagined as a ghost from the cemetery
in Kingman, Arizona, on the actual road
alluded to in rites of passage,
all roads lead
from the middle of nowhere, there's no destination known.

Up on the point,
overlooking my green valley,
if I am an honest man, and I believe I am,
sharp as a tack,
tacky as a fly strip in a butcher shop,

sticky in that ai ai ai madja look gleam meme,
flash of white,
no light, brigh'ness reflected from raven's wings, sure
that is what Castaneda saw, no wu wu needed,

once the plant impresses your kindness,
adsorb absorb soak seep, sniff
wonder, if we may imagine
and we do not, we are as the being who may read and does not.
Or the reader who may write and wishes to be

known for the worth of the lines in threaded time through
changing times, drastic fantastic changes in time
thinking medium
thick syrupy, thicker, honey, honey, how could such excess be?

the proverb, pre installed, tic
Hast thou found honey?
Eat so much as is sufficient for thee.
see
prophecy saying the child shall shall, not will, shall
eat milk and honey until it can, not may, can
sense the fine-ness of the line
the veil, between useful for imaginary things,
how fine the film discerned, imagine that
scratched
with this
so fine a line, that nothing is a thought, with nullness
nought, not infinite, pre-
punctuality, never ceases to happen and now remains, ever.

Part 2 read first leaves one wondering tense…

Plucking seeds from threads so twisted…

Division deceptive guess I know
you know

I know a man, caught up to third heaven

on behalf of this man, this sentient being
living in me, by fi
do or die,
- I shape as story formed from facts
- as mirror neurons bher witness,
- yes, we saw, as fate
- might have it
- a mote in one's own eye
- detected with the beam in the gleam
that bit herein
therein sof-ein, tic
we are in
the book of life, as opposed to one of the
books in life, though
as we know, although, you may doubt,
knowing doubt is so good, it is hard wired.
Think
whether in or out of the bubble we breathe,
I have no knowing, un re prove able,
as a witness of truth being known, I know
relatively
nothing of the daily habits Plato had,
or even if he hated that name, it signaled shame,

what if it were not shoulders broad,
big ol' Hoss Cartwright
or Mean Joe drinkin' m' Coke, big as an Ox.

A castrated bull, you see, in a world lit
only by fire, every boy knows how oxen
are made
to pull the plow, bulls are made for cows,
and hides.

--- okeh, reproven, this is that, we have
a salty trail forming,
tear tracks.

These, in ever after ever before,
these lead to lost souls, soulds, sold ones, yes

this is the good we may do, should we wish
Tom Cruise never replaced
Marshall Dillon's brother, in the Mission Impossible
Drama reoccurring phenomenon, we see it
the impossible mission accepted

Great Red Spot, drifting in the swirl force
upon it
as a point in a sub-known-use of story per se,
si, no, se we know,

---- real time, long past, save we know, all things
reflect
and defracts, signs found in faces or traces of tea,
we make up what we wish you
to leave
be true,

do, and say, I did. That's done. Amen.

And Forrest looked behind him,
-- in the future, we have links, you may see
what any true heir of wind would wish to see

View of Monument Valley in Utah, looking south on U.S. Route 163 from 13 miles (21 km) north of the Arizona–Utah state line.

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

however Fustus wit' d' Mostus namesake, a fact
I was aware of due
to John Kenworthy, who played ball with Roger Staubach,
and was a clerk-typist Marine in 'Nahm, he stressed,
while telling me of learning the knack
the key to the short story, which is

Know the story before you tell it.
Covey, the Mormon guru of success habits, said
Begin, with the end in mind.
In mind of that, I think, I remember Brenda Lussier,
had a meme, in the form of a poster, same thing, really.
It says, as it remains memish once it functions as a meme:
If YOU aim at nothing. YOU will hit it.

compliments of adult children of alchoholics, non-profit
meme makers aiming to make it all better. Small print.

Twenty one thousand, nine hundred and fifteen days,
the sum of all my experience, all memory and dream.
Days of smiles and of laughter, scattered as they came,
interspersed with pain so deep my soul still hears the scream.

Accumulated time filled with things of the important everyday,
Through shifting hands of time all things came then hurried on.
By heart or minds good reasons were the choices that I made,
until now where no good remains and all sense of hope is gone.

My mind will sometimes force a replay of some echo of the past,
when hope and love gave purpose to a young man's dreams.
Twenty one thousand nine hundred and sixteen days,
more recent but so much later,
with a soul deafened to all but screams.

It's not your fault
You were created
Made for the rain
Given the hammer
That brings the gold
Use it for the dream
Days will turn to fire
You are burning now
Will you feel the heat
Before it it's too late?


© MJL 2021

I took time for a walk
And she pulled on the leash
At first, I kept my ground
Heels lifted tip-toeing arm outstretched
Eventually I had to follow my shoulder  

She led me past streets and streets
Of large houses full of large people
Symmetrical windows and faces
Coarse grass reached through my shoes

With a slow jog, we came to a field
My feet landing in every crack in the pavement
The sun sat square in the centre of the sky
As we left the sky turned to ocean

Running now through neon and road signs
Swimming in the dark rain
Puddles splash as we pick up the pace
Diverting onto the road

My 20s were a flurry of leaves
On grey morning ground
I know I have much further to go
But. I'm already halfway

My 30s were a sprint
My 40s a still faster walk
50s, 60s, 70s
We finally slow

I wander now
Between each step is an infinity
But each foot fall
Passes in an instant

I walk closer and closer to the evening sun
A shadow extends behind me forever
And the way reaches in front of me even longer

We picked up a rock one day
At the end of the road next to that orange sign
That always made you think that maybe they’d continue the road
If only someone cared enough to do it
We were young, like 16 or maybe 17 an age when we could feel the oncoming dread of life
But we hadn’t experienced it yet
We marveled at it for no other reason than it was the right kind of magnificent
In reality it was a pretty normal rock
We sat out at the end of the road for an hour and talked about what our lives would look like
The kids who would eventually fill our separate lives until they too left their suburbs behind
We always swore that we wouldn’t forget that day
It was too magical
But I have to confess to you
I forgot
I didn’t choose to forget it or do so in a rebellious act of growing up
Time passed and we got old
And there wasn’t really anything we could do about it
It was just another remnant of a childhood lived with other people
Before I knew the ones, I would choose to make a life with
And that memory would drown in a sea of clouding memories of my childhood with you
But then, today I found the rock
We carved our initials into it trying to make the moment last longer than we did
Our fleeting lives were nothing compared to the eons this little rock had seen
I thought about calling you up and asking
“You remember when we found this thing?  The orange sign, how we swore we would always remember it?”
But I didn’t
We haven’t talked in a while and even though you probably know me better than anyone else in my life
It still feels too personal
So I guess if you remember the rock sometimes too
Call me
I’m still here

What's the matter with me lately?
I've a feeling I'm no good no more
Should I have a system check
Possibly get the upgrade three point four?

Problem is my hardware is outdated
Not sure what support I can expect
The new software won't install
We're incompatible I suspect.

Time comes and you begin to think
This has truly lost its fun
Now I must watch you from the corner here
How you carry on with a new honey bun.