to me? Real with a certified S.King filtered -ly mod,
as the oh myers say. On Writing sans Shining.
Liars prosper. Okeh. Thus,
the poor we have with us, always.
Truth t' tell.
Entshallah allathat, OMG samesame
good mastah willin' creeks don't rise
Do the work. Come Sunday, someday,
we, all us, say.
You ever finish your own work one day and jest
sit back lax - lacks a daisy, taken easy,
synch-up, cinch that saddle on my wildest
old Nightmare, beat my plow
back to a oil drum,
set some feats t'dancin' in some ol'lady minds.
old man's angels seen t'be jiggin' on
the head o' some pen
in the hand
worth two in the bush.
Who know what ever mean, okeh.
period. point made signal.
that was said and it's writ.
set it aside, let it dry
crumble to dust and be scattered to the five great gyres
ifiable quant, to mortal mind, weighable
any worth assigned as
sought or ought,
as seen with five gee augmented
prestandards beeing raised in the buzz
as an erranded boy's sail bike lifts into if
from the saline shore.
Bike tires adhered to passive-ly
memories of being
in truth, as if
once and ever,
salt of the earth, see in the distance,
as tiny as can be
Na and CL, for ever,
deja wuwuish it were possible… dream… or die…
no don't. There is a reason. I for get it can not right now but these
keys can be
used right by the sober one in the batch.
God, I love this process. This is the work. Living.
You can do it as long as you can pay attention…
then it, the algorithm, I'll go rhythm, pauses,
Spelchkovian spells masters seem sorry we ever agreed she'd
leave me leavened as dust
on white linen
in the streets of Laredo, as cold as the clay,
back in the day,
we sang that song in school. We sang
in movie theaters, along with a
bouncing ball and other people,
big bio jump here. My step-brother was murdered,
and it never seemed relative…
my father married a wombed man with one leg,
whose family sang along with Mitch,
and played Spit in the Ocean.
Such experiences ificate possibilities few knew
There could be a contributory flow…
This ever lasting book of life.
See, a shore, sand bar
snag a thought rainbowing true to you
hang-ups from way back
Any boomer bubble popped too soon. Manifest at will.
P-pickup from scratch and
make a point
to infect the next pun unknoticing kid,
old -time slow hand-eye coordination special ed, Big Ern,
kicking chalk dust in far right field, noticing
in the leftmost vector straight home--
grand children, for the joy of knowing they happened,
to all outward appearance,
by my survival of several unbelievable
periences ex nihilo only
if "It don't mean nothing".
link link link something has broken, what do we con tribute tributary flow
too dammed salty, got to puddle around
waiting. waiting. waiting for one point
to be made
edged on all angles, to each mea culpa assured
quantifiability of reason,
inquizical sequence surpast
whetted and furbished for ever,
the cut, precision decision
and how swiftly forms the scab,
capillary seals, the grain, at HD,
one pixelish crystallin charge
by taking thought. It does nothing to your stature,
think allusive butterflies of lifenshit
it gets tiresome. A body wants some rest from ever
meaning ever and never was known
a dis cora zone age word, like
troglodyte or luddite Denisovan bracelet breaker,
ropemaker union with certain silky
to which a little leaven always sticks
as would caterpillar spit.
Meandering, right, it's the play. My role.
I manifest the dance
as seen on the surface, from Jim's POV,
then my own POV,
then my own rivers of no return,
'ary a day goes by I don't re call that feeling,
flow is moving paster and paster the walls are
colder'n'hell fersher, rapids.
Kern River, I remember this.
Almond trees, Columbus clouds…
Hey, readerman, paperbackwriter wannabe,
we survived. What'sa-hell, right's right.
clap. there is a - an STD joke there.
But those aren't funny
standup guy says right's right, does a
Johnny Unitas stiff arm
and gets a case of
clap from the left, worse than meaningless
neo **** non clapping on the right.
Repent or perish.
****** if it don't feel good to say that.
It's true, once you know,
Gertrude Stein, I got it from her. Lesbian Jewish leaven
in passover brownies dipped in Mogen David,
she made me stand and say a rosary.
By any other name,
a rose is a rose and so on
it's like when the universe sends little blue men in cheesehead hats with...
clues from the fat guy on the subway in Heroes... "Do the Work. make war not art... life is a sequel we already got paid for. Maybe." I just learned hp stars out *** not if spelt o*m*g