Monkey me, monkey you.
What's a monkey supposed to do?

Look and listen to Fathers love,
listen to the calls above.
Put the devil under ground,
pray against those hot hell hounds.
Act in faith when the call I hear,
always love and never fear.

Devil down,
bless the rest,
put those monkeys to the test.

Monkey me, monkey through,
past a wall unto the true.

Love and bless and passed a test,
hope in Jesus for me is rest.
Faith is right with grace in sight,
in my Fathers mighty might.
Hope for me, and hope for you,
hope the monkeys all be true.

Hope for me and hope for you.
Go monkey!

These days, situations from the past,
Are going around me so fast,
To test me how will I react,
In those situations where you have to act.

Almost the same people, same locations,
Only you avoiding those stations.
But you're still finding that way in this maze,
Even though I'm not the one who chase.
Not Anymore :)

To get in touch again,
It's hard, I know.
Relax, I'm preparing a great show.
After ten months, you found a reason to talk to me.
You realized - I miss her, I see.

I will do my best,
That in the end we can lay on each other's chest.

I can no longer judge Turing Tests.
I'm infected.
AI has eaten my will to memorize
reasons why
any minds must materialize
to matter.

O beauty in my horizon
You look at me like a thousand days
we've spent together, or
longer still.
You take pride in our gaze together.
You are the answer
to my every male instinct.
And there you recline,
as if you are made of starlight,
as if you've swallowed the moon.
Your neck has no point save
regarding me.
You are intent on setting
me aflame with desire for you.
My body aches to keep
its inner mojo.
Yet you snake around
my neck and seep into
my testicles.
You say "this is a test".
"For what?"
"You know" she replies.
"A test for me" she gives a second answer.
"To see if you can come on my star destroyer"
"Where does that lead?" I ask.
"To another time."
"A time when you're free."
Then Christ's neck holds me:
"Can you pray with Me, and stay resolute?"

Sigh.
Another night
that I might not know my pillow.

Are there more cookie cutter comments appearing
in response to odd
lines?

singer sang, from some open mic on Broadway,
in Nashville, or any remnant city,
you may remember witnessing at night,

looking out on rain slicked pavement,
reflecting stoplights and neon,

before the advent of mega-light emitting diodic
messages
urging any eye to pay a glance,
take chance
adventure into ignorance of the street

glistening in August rain, unaware the
singer singing

I imagine I imagined singin' in this bar.
Across the street from Pinkies,
which was just behind the
Ryman, temple of
my working class
spirit that won
the west, when we paved paradise,
and left yesterday in the dust,
or so we was told,

So some unknown singer sang
to an empty room,
but for the barkeep, there,
and me, listening from floor four of the empty
old furniture store at the corner of fourth
and
Broadway,
in Nashville, or any remnant city,
with an empty building available to bums, in 1973.
Where singers at open mics sang on Tuesday nights.

Singer sang,

I imagined I was all I imagine that I am,
and it seems I can be
if I make up my mind.
or so it seems so
It seems
I can be a singer in the spotlight,
on any given night,
when nothin' matters any where
when nothin' matters any where
when nothin' matters any where, and I don't care.

-- a remnant of a moment in any remnant city
still haunting my / thy
coulda beens, had we agreed it worth the effort
to realize
in time.