Ombudsmen mental role play
settling as difference does, across time,
toy whistles turn into notes that evoke tears.

We are the winners, we with eyes and ears that hear,
or minds that may imagine
doing
anything at all.
You know. No living thing desires death,
must I **** the mobs I help manifest,
must I un believe a lie?

Comfort the weak.
Pay the comforters well, as you would pay your father,
to do that work for you,
and your father will joyfully be
used that way.
Think.
Old people feeling useless,
while others feel
useless because they are
comfort objects in need of comforting.
Good news.
You can do this.
You can encourage me, I am weak, I need comfort,
and, and, and comforting me will comfort you.
I am poor and always with you.
I am as I am, I make a way for rich men to get
through the eye of a needle.

I sit upon the dragon horde, helpless, not hopeless
My kind of Adamkind, we keep hope alive,
we are with you always,
help us help you love yourself,
help us be happy, we will remain poor,
we can stand the weight of all that can be known,
poor ain't bad when enough's enough,
which,
truth be told, is true. Waves tuned perfectly never crash.

Light waves in light, see.
We simple love simplicity.

--- pretenders contending for the use me, use me,
put me in coach,
let me bat, coach,

let me preach, pastor, let me teach,
post initiate no
vitiated soul. lost it's breath in the race to the grave

woke up on a time when this story found iron feet
anchored in red clay claiming to making

all the rusty dust as that rock rolls this way,

can we imagine a happy ever after page that we all are on?
who asked?
weavenoname is a rule in this game. The riddle being:

who was that masked man? The answer being
wrong
again, I thought I already knew this
potentially perhaps, haps being the essence of any
state of happiness
while standing, scientifically
under knowing good and evil
understanding mistranslation, willful, then ignorant
sacred undefined undefines sacrifice, the act of sacred making,

As knowledge branches over time
and under ground to soil having life in time
for now to function, finally, for goodness sakes…
Ai t ia is blaming your cause on word effects…

leaving secrets to hint at for the knowing of the
landmarks our sapiens sapiens
megalithicus ancestors left
as weforms in full agreement
belearned to turn phi wise pi men t'al
time trix,
hell to learn,
hell to pay, watch  t'al slow's
time tells a patient story stood
upon this very time,
at this very point,
post happyeverafter. My bubble,
my reality ified at my lief and leisure
expanded ever after and has yet to pop...

- reviewed six years later and called
- here, then and now, same person,
- six years more experienced, no wiser/

Sisyphus finally at rest
Finds himself restless
It is better to desire
Than to have.

In all my strength as a child
I was a pebble in someone else's shoe
and the boulder he rolled every day.

He pushed the weight of the world
To the top of the milky way
And he leaned, and he sighed
As the world rolled away

He put the globe on his shoulders
As he prepared to climb again
He shrugged and it shuddered
Spreading fear to little men

Igby! Igby, my boy!
I feel it coming down on me!
This pressure, this weight!
Why can I not be free?

Some weights are corporeal
Like the dumbbells at the barbell
Tabs overflowing, drinks and meals
These simple weights are easy to quell

Then there are the really heavy ones
The ones no eyes can see
The ones that drag us down to earth
That make it hard to flee

Our words and obligations
All form a lofty load
We are all carrying something
Along our personal roads

And our roads, they go forever

But, to where?

No one knows...

The sunflower reaches up:

Tall and proud

Vainly striving to reach the sky:

A Sisyphean task.

For the wind batters;

Bruises as it nears.

Faces forced to bow.

Stems snapped like broken backs.

Nevertheless, they still believe.

Winter comes: a forced retreat.

Petals wither and fall.

Reduced, reused, recycled.

No longer of interest

To bees, birds and we

Who only see the first

Flush of beauty.

Returned unto the soil.

My tears are
saltier than the ocean’s

My heart is
heavier than Sisyphus’ rock

My secrets
that I buried beneath my
skin has turned into scars

My body is
but a graveyard

For every second step was erroneous,
             I thought I'd reach a new height
of understa……….

Then I'd decline to a lower point
                     of where I was before.

Never gaining enough elevation to
see past the predicament I find myself
           causally stepping forth upon..

Felling like Sisyphus, always trying to
gain a truth only to find out that a step
            could make me fall more than before.

Only wanting to climb this ladder of life,
       but deceit and snakes keep me from
gaining
              ground...

Life is a ladder and some runs are always precarious,
   do we step lightly, or do we tread upon the next to
only find that it was the broken one..

A low rumble in the distance
The ground trembles and turns
My knees betray me
The earth quakes
The rumble grows louder
A dust cloud draws near
A cacophony of hooves and heavy snorts
I blink, and they’re upon me
A stampede of hogs
Trampling me
Stamping me down
I contort
I cry out
I bleed
Mangled, through swollen eyes
I watch the mob reach the horizon
I’m left broken
Tattered, bruised
And coated in slime

I snap back to consciousness, and I’m sitting up in my bed.
That’s the third time tonight, I think to myself.
It’s dark, so I listen.  A powerful snore echoes beside me.
My drooling, snot-faced daughter has snuck into my room again.
I wipe her excretions from my shoulder and scoop her up.

Navigating the dark, circumventing the tissue-laden floor,
Taking extra care not to startle the guinea pig this time,
I clean and cover her up, then gently kiss her forehead.
I linger and brush her hair aside. Snorting loudly, she turns.  
With ballerina grace, I tiptoe over Barbie Dolls.

In the kitchen, the dishes overflow from the day before.
Cleaning till I’m exhausted, I ascend the stairs to my room.
A familiar rumble fills the hallway. The hooves crushing my ribs.
On my side of the bed, my daughter in a drool-filled, snotty puddle.
These dishes are getting done tonight, I think as I scoop her back up.