The pain is gone and
I am ready to write about
everything beyond the fear,

ready to bite into the
muscle and bone
of the world,

to put away the dagger phrase,
all the losses of my life,
ready to live in hope’s recesses.

I am poet enough to
make you taste
this hidden fruit,

see beyond all
the sutured sunsets
of existence.

It will not be all
kisses and music, but  
it will be terribly beautiful!

Last thing you have to do,
in your bag of things you have
in mind, that must be done, before
finality sets all you lived for
in allegorical stone, for
example, ensample
being subtil until
the inside out
recognition

set the next generation straight,
using ancient innocent Disneyifity.

Tinker's solder dam seen into once,
and being seen seeing, the seer chose
to loose the reason we've begun choosing

from nothing, something everything is made
from or of or in or on or a gross or so more
pre-positioning facts,
every where we look,
there it is, nothing is impossible
to do right. On the last try, you die.

Guaranteed.
………

it means the innermost room.
the room where the first point is made that
makes the man, the place of unshared secrets common to us all,
the penetralium.

penetrate my heart, and that is where you find yourself
wondering,
is this for real or fun.

We call William James to witness:
Where there is no difference, no distinction is to be made.

Some thoughts seem insistent, believe me,
others seem confident that your unbelief, changes nothing.

Beg to differ, please.
Is the meaning clear? Penetralium.
Now Emily Bronte and me and John Keats all mean nearly
the same idea, at core, when we employ this once idle word.

He's a loving man,

he will be worthy of me --


when I am ready.

saw discharge papers
of life happy occurrence
getting ready now

--------------
And in this we state, peaceable foremost,
recollecting puzzles uses, and disputing
the worth of imagining an others mind,
after my own was recognized as alienated,
by the nearest thing to an advizeer, we need,

the projected tweedy lisping image
of Judson McGeehee,
of blessed memory for his remark to me
about my use of the word ****** to modify
lost.

Truth at the authorial observers qwerty level
accomplished old man, letting this mind be
in him, thinking it no theft, your attention,
or mine, its all worth what we believe,
ultimately, we choose, win, or lose,

and live with knowing that's fine, in finest
grit, being coughed up from post shingle shot

reactions in our instants together as thought

Earth after any minute now is in its principal,
state of mind, tuning our minds through our time,

on Earth, whither many have long believed,
the perfect will is what won, witnessed done, indeed
peaceable, gentle, easily entreated,

settle down, warrior willing
to die for the truth
calling all you read, testing your hold on truth,
chains of pearls, anchor chains of pearls, truths
used
in your present reality to allow a fretless cough,
and sniff, in rememberance of Solzhenitsyn
and Don Beck, who read A day in the life…
in forty-five minutes, with his hearing aids off.

Ivan Denisov itch… but you knew it.

Doing anything, late in life, is for the moment.

No duty remains, all shirked, all left undone, long
ago passed down to the next hero's attempt.

Daily reminders from old mail lists, so and so died.

Yeah. So she did, so shall we all. I understand.

Each of us has a while, as each star has a while,
burning out from self's centermost being, shining

distant, single star, single mote lit for my looking,
first star wish, wished, and wished, and wished,

in vain,
at Venus.

-------------------

With myself, alone, listening,
hearing a human ****** interpret a novel,
a told tale of plottable inter-essential new

points of views, from within the author's mind,

seen and said, seen. Look
see the worth of such words, an authority

describing the scene, bringing life from words.

Telling thought shared as if,
if itself, the if in all we must imagine, saying

this is plenty, genug enough, this in us state,
as an awesome thing of many minds, elohimish,

in this atmosphere we breathe in harmony,
as each breath extends the reach of each word…

wouldn't we willingly want wishing work, word
work, daily dues to pay, waking, wishing, will
would
you join the dance?

Did you laugh? Life is all game.

----------------

Slow knowing, seeing guns,

thinking game plotted paths,
rewarding reality with possibilities,

triumphant miniature thrill of victory…

essence of history, we won, we won, we won.

And then, the new formed governing mind,
the officially united, naturally selfish mind

representing those whose national will,
continues to revere the pioneer, pawn

queened, by no more noble cause than,
following the rules used to progress,

across the board, each step a stage
in the game, scaled to seem relatable

to royal rules uses made of lower worth
pieces in the arsenal of this one, black,
against that one, white…

clearly… contrasting points at the edge
of the grayscale, light's own, none to all,

whoa,
look, in broad day light, light
alone, lacks any gray but  
in reflection, none
from our sun.

----------------------

Some axiom from our Hallmarked past,
tells us to hang in there… hold the line,

only find time to filter for wisdom, enough

to imagine making up a mind from nothing,
Helen Keller had touch, imagine a spirit's mind,
intangible,
made up
from mere words as metaphors, holding
thoughts, thoughts called feelings, but not,

thoughts, states of patient grace, thoughts, if

we both think, between each letter, those thoughts

in the realm between us, in the medium of thoughts…

no eyes or ears or fingers, even so, imagine
knowing all the time redeemed for now,
is being used to make us useful, hmmm,

as om, oh my, ahh-ooom, mmmhmmm, soon….

Makes no difference,
we think as if difference is essential,

day by day, difference referring to load,

how worth thinking is a line of reason?

-----------
Behold the happy thought,
hooking hope where no hope was imagined.

What harm? None done, none intended,
none available for take away.