Mrs Malaprop got away, a way, I mean, a way
she can say shitistic stuff as if stuffit were a joy,
when she says it, while
still silken legs crosse demurely,
the delicate ankle
that made monks blush and blurt out
rolling, clockwise, as she sees it,
counter to my
FPS POV, but we both see the direction,
east, the earth is turning east from now
to then when
you become wel here in now.
Recall the lesson of flat land, whoever taught it
coulda been AE Wilder-smith hammered
Jael's nail home,
Couldabin, mightabeen Sagan made the killing blow
young earth shattered.
Fossils seeped their living substance into stone,
petrific, ter ific magnetic trick of missed percepticons
fired fully of the intention, I must mention,
stretching truth to cover conjecture when ideas
like what happened in the "Cambrian" being being
purposeful in minds of men, wombed or un---
--- before you knew, that hapt.
--- and, god, did men make up storys.
on track. Back when men first imagined doing
making, art arose and
we all know
a rose, by any other name is a rose.
That's the idea in self evidence. It's a key to
the Declaration of Independence making sense,
at the level of we, the people, who know
self-evident non-thingables, when we hold them.
At first, they feel like sleepy puppies. These
truths we hold selfevidently right.
I think about america being a workstaion on space ship earth, sorta.