Staves and rings to make a keg,
pots full o'****, and patience aplenty,
we ain't makin' whiskey, we preparin'
black powder, the old boom behind now,
previous to this Nitro Oxy reaction
as we breathe and think Dynamite,
and steel, and germs and Jesus,
as depicted after Gutenberg
and Aldus Manutius, and
Kabir, first among sages
found by Brave AI,
at my request…
"Hermit, that yogi is my guru
who can untie this song.
A tree stands without root,
without flowers bears fruit,
praises sung without tongue,
the true teacher reveals.
Seek the bird’s, the fish’s path.
Kabir says, both are hard.
The being beyond boundaries
and beyond beyond."
And again I quote Saul Bellows,
"there is just too much to think about."
So we explode.
Imagining finishing,
still, pile all we ever learn,
all our hows and all our whys, and still
stand here staring off in space,
with no idea how long it takes
to make the sense we needed,
ever so long ago, almost a thousand years,
almost so long ago that nobody really knows,
so the clowns are sent in, as children gain ad-
vantage, as happens, on winning sides of wars,
and as that has happened, we, those children,
we are old and used up sorts of men made thus,
precept upon precept, how do we live together,
how can I learn to wish to give away my surplus,
and live within my means, by chance, no plan,
justice, made believable, that it does play fair,
the game of growing old while holding haps,
pursued while first discerned, as good to know,
it is the right of all mankind to pursue happiness,
and break it down
for storage and future reconstruction.
Thinking Past Terroir, where the trees grow, determine future flavors.
Thinking upside down, initiating fire for smoke... all a barrel of curious phun.
