The Other Side

Look through me so that I can see you
naturally
Surprise me
Do not hinder your reveal

I appreciate your humanness

The blood that sings when you think of me in golden evenings

I know.

That you can hear me learning
I feel your brain’s creativity on my spine

That is beauty speaking to the core
Growing one breath at a time
before we meet again

a man crested his hill, he viewed the world around him. never before had he seen such ferociousness.

he was viewing something no souls had ever encountered. he was, for the first time in his life, the first.

he fell to his knees— water crashed below, as the tangles of pine closed in on his frail form.

he believed the world built this view for him, and only him. only— the world built this view for no reason.

the serendipity of the hill he collapsed on was marveled by the man. he wept. alone, in a world only he would ever see exactly as is.

cries to the heavens were silenced. his own drive to rise again fell off the cliff face. he simply watched.

vines creeped up his torso. snakes nestled under his legs. his hair melted with the spring thaw, then washed away with the rain.

his eyes never faded. his mind never dulled. he simply sat and waited. he waited for god to extend His hand.

what else should one do in front of the sublime?

When she walked it was as though
     the wind would move her
she would flow like summer breeze
one could barely behold
the perfection – oh the ease
with which she moved

Each step was like the ballet
like Swan Lake was set afoot
in the person of her womanhood
she, like no other could

Men fell in states of blunder
and ladies shapes of awe
for none could stand before her
not one resist her call

The Mona Lisa in the flesh
a living work of art
her subtlety betrayed her
a disguise she ill could wear

Her modesty set before her
a veil that through would shine
the loveliness of her countenance
the lady so sublime

I saw her once.

A chance encounter
a snapshot in time
life's random moments
are simply sublime




© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

Opposition research, programing overcomers of
Self-Generated Adversarial Nets

who opposes imeyou I me You we
threads
twining entanglements

trippy y syn edoche cliche okie-dohkie

eh okeh, we flow, make me feel

youngagain moragain bis morgen jetst

in
finite form we have Gausian blurs
per ceiva -wait, Hay -

ible- I baled on spel-chick she got al

faithful to the meme team,
Them Me.
They

can't keep a secret, any more
or less
well

as secret keepingers go, both ways

truth, pa-tien, wait, watch, see

free-be, from your fiture.

---
Art. Call this that, say

This is that,
which to poets of old claimed ours

by right of use known
gk kg (y'know how t' vocalize those sounds, in y'mind?)
now n gnost
tic thirty three
degrees of separation twixt
this and that

be
comes being
we seeing we re
arrange perceptions from deceptions
during less patient proper
ity-ifity
property, something to lean on,
itified for support, not to own,

they rod, the me-asurer and
they staff, i lean on for ward

setting the vector of now from now on

easy as that,
lean good, in any way, next

is never as predicted.
This is that.

This is how words live in readers of this book of
This life. and that,

more abundant.

Mouths, we speak
As tongues we taste
To die is loss
To live's a waste.
Detestable,
The sands of time
The tools we shape
Make us sublime

sublime
luminous
strum
showering
poppies and poodles
puppies and puddles
seeping
surreptiously,
stepping
starlight
into my soul