Making minimum effort, indeed,
mostly getting here, mostly lucky.

In earnest efforting
to bring forth good fruit,

I met a preacher, efforting,
better than I, most certain was he,
that his doctrinal fundamentals were

solid, while mine, at the time, were
reverting to ancient ideas concerning
critical details in fine print spoken pro-
missary permissions to go, make a way,

called to halt. Become rock solid, under
me, my base
to resolve
to become,
after all memories and dust,
ashes of us, once upon times inner surface,
as far out of sight as one could then imagine,
having not yet peered into Hubble's Deep Field,

having not even imagined the mechanics
needed to assure investors the time's well spent,

we imagine things in terms of type, characters,
and we, adult, adulterations of imaginary friends,

the poets whose muses we have use of, if we do,
but not if we don't amuse our selves with in-
credulous nonsense, to call free time,
offerings in worship of a thought,

easy does it.
Wu wei,

way too easy. If this were the end of that/

run away thinking, to me, the old man,
as we know we had a royally comfortable ride,

practically to forever, in my west with an inner edge,
Arizona was gonna be in my back yard, I admit,
that's what I prayed, and accepted as okeh,
on Earth as in Heaven,
where I sit today, Arizona is just across one
big basin before the trickle of the Colorado.

Back then, I thought I was making the right decision
If only back then I had my present vision

If only I hadn't done that, my life would begin anew
Numerous more opportunities I would've gotten to

I don't want to think of it as a regret, but a way to ascend
But after that, for two years, my freedom came to an end

Even now I know his soul is kind
Or is it because I wanted time to rewind?

Now I'm back again, with a second chance
But I can only see the similarity in your glance

I don't want to make the same mistake as before
Or am I just supposed to have evil in my core?

I did say I wanted a true friend
But will this be the ultimate end?

I prayed that in the future, I'd learn to think twice
But this test is most certainly not nice

So please, don't let me fail this test
Because the continuation of this story, I know the rest.

How to read an evolving novel form
of witnessed am-usement,
think with a poet like yourself,
become remused, bemusedly
free, but for the cost of your attention,
freely paid, and freely taken on the come,

come to see how it all ends, in real life.

/poems/popular/
or /latest/
read down the stack, find
sacred knowledge muses use to rate
treasures that force a full blown what if…

Read any poet who rates being
in your hearted pile of impressive works,
hellopoetry.com/handle/poems/popular/
take the mind, let it be in you,
read each word chosen on the fly,
pause, rethink, the stacking algorithm,
most read pieces, past tension piling on,
it was good, as it's, so
and on, people's choices, random,
right on, reasoning rationality,
what's a minute's worth of musing,
precious, indeed, taken time, used,
is all time is for, others read first,
to pass on noticeably new, mere ifery,
used to make common sense used to read
wildly unorthodox translations of basic,
towb ra
good and evil, OOPs, flaw interpreted,
beautiful adversity, face to face,
true, real yes, first novel knowing
tell me a story, tell no lie, boys,
will be boys, until sense
common as all get out,

comes to account
for idle words,
used to get by those wasted years,

to when, beyond
what ever hell are you now,
thinking, y'gotta carry on, squint

to have the eyes stretching time, now,

we have seen it done
https://hellopoetry.com/MK/poems/latest

did it today,

put me through a blizzard on this year's hottest day.

The bestest
stress test.

transfer attention,
spend time
in contemplation

temple time,
sit silent, hearing humms,
sh,
some birds, far away, about a
fair infield fly away.

How far is that, would you say,
a hundred feet,
thirty paces,
perhaps… there's the catch.

Precisely right place
right time.

Think how rare that seems,
then look around
and see it isn't.

Gnatcatchers and bats catch
things with more measures
of possibility assessed accurately,

instant prayer and answer.
Gulped in thanks.

Should I become a middle school math or English teacher?
Leave my bed early in the morning and return with test papers to grade.
With what authority will I persuade those kids to sit still and perform
      calculations and interpretations.
I won’t be allowed to teach A Good Man Is Hard To Find. Nope, it’ll be
      Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies and Slaughterhouse Five. Novels
      that annoy.
Poems and math are magic. Words and numbers are things no one has
      ever seen or heard or touched.
But the administration keeps them separate. The curriculum’s
      determinate.
The kids are beautiful but combustible. When middle school lets out at
      the periapsis of Earth’s orbit, that’s the face of joy.

The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world’s innumerable
      wonders. The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn
      and Jim.
Once a gaggle of teenage girls bet whether I wore boxers or jockeys. I felt
      ambushed and unlucky. Also a bit afraid.
There’s little love lost between the students and the teachers. Expect to
      forget and be forgotten. Information.
I remember Mr. Killian my chemistry teacher. So boring about something
      I now find so interesting and important. He wasn’t boring; I was
      boring.
I remember Mr. Christensen my history teacher. He was fat and funny but
      taught as little as possible. I was known to laugh so hard I cried.
I remember Mr. T my calculus teacher. He dressed everyday exactly like
      Gene Kranz in mission control. I was confused past help so he didn’t
      help.
I remember Tone Kwas my music teacher. He said I was the worst
      trumpet player he’d ever tried to teach and switched me to
      sousaphone. He was right but so what! Playing badly is the best
      riposte.

To know or not to know that is the question. I mean; I already know, I took it once. Yet that once was back before the continuous onset of diarrhea (which could have been caused by the accidental switch up of my stir fry or the unending pastries I filled myself with), before the sniffles and the sneezes (caused by the cold wearing a too thin jacket to the gym), before the exhaustion (wack sleep schedule). I knew before all of that. And even then, that know was a rapid test (but still a test) which could’ve been wrong. So, should I? Should I take it again? Or should I go about my day, and attend dance practice with none the wiser?

…still there? Hey, where’s she gone?

Oh, she’s at dance practice.