Deep answers to deep.
As I answer my self who pays the mort-gage
theoretical spin off ona mobius strip
from who uses war
on reality as art, thus artificial, officially
authorized use for brainless mortal minds
projecting
re- ah, rhea, lovely
-- in the future, to the reader
-- use these mentally any where these signal
¿:-,? something more is needed --
-- answers must follow preceding quest ions
not sparked piezo wise
Brakes. Sparks, , more than enough.
ok
Flint to steel, steel to towers, to antennae to now.

Kapow. we have always imagined radio and TV.

We think in ways Issac Newton never did imagine.

Jiggle the prism dangling from my partner's ear.
Rhea bhering all the gods, and there, errors
began, gin being spiritually essential
to geth to gather sense
signals sortive
suggestive

-yes, whatifery, we have that, how much do you wush?

One more breath.
Why?

Why do you ask?
We have a rule.
No wasted breath. Make every signal clear.

The next idle word we speak won't wo not
be spoken as once is wont for any unrefined term.

Time out. Selah. Take a thought.

- we have no angst, thus no anxious thoughts
- should you be shopping for such,
- those are outlawed here,
- theives honor, liars pledged allegiance-con carne
-
- aye, ai, no-- we as words in warring times make
- peace, no concarne mind heresy, see your self
-
do a little out of body experience imagining
you can do it,
melt into your chair, that
is the easiest position to begin
facing forward and falling with no fear,
until
something unnamed as yet no words may be
in the beginning of beginning your
agreement to be mindful of me,
in your secret you stash, your hidden power
valued in talents, specie solid real esse state being
omygoooooooooo
djasay I may break into song, as I see
where this is headed headed up to see
from below what an *** hat I am, at times
out of body low
low as a JD Sumner solo.

A drunken god declared there is, as in
so be it
wine that makes glad.
so be it
wine that makes glad the core of man-made
in my image, goodness of happiness in any time

One more breath,

All of poetry deserves to be written,
but so few of it deserves to be read.

it seems now my clouds are grey
incomplete thoughts that often tame the sky
calming the waters that wade in my eyes
as the sun kisses the sea
here I abide by the silence that waits for me
thinking it’s you in disguise
in my hands is where your heart lies
after filling your ears with my words
that leave you in a solitude of bliss
joyful noises fill the sound
my love for you becomes profound
I wander in the arms of the tainted truth
when all I wanted was proof