A day begun, with no aim,
no reason,
you may imagine, a thousand years from now;
but I may imagine,
may being my word now, at the time, as if
time comes in
countible bits,
points,
per haps.

Haps may be those countible bits of time.
Ticks, to a child's mind reared,
in the interim between springs and woundup
strings, when
toys and clocks, both, needed twisting and
tugging or pushes, gentle pressure to
push past the
release

of the power wound up in a spring,
the power of thing to return to its original,
first state, im-fected, perhaps,
with a self willing to be
as you were... alone and fine, feeling haps
as if each were mine,
and I'm happy, rich in little bits of time,
all mine, or so they were,
each still tied to me by some memory in a line,
a thousand years from now.

Our tribe imagines war.
We weigh the cost in terms we agree mean
what we say.

The barking dogs always dis
agree,

we wannabe free, but the urge to howl, it's

spiritual.
Y' know, y'gotta howl,
it really, eh, that little ly on real-- gotta watch that
imagine
knowing real
some times, your left hand knows what your left brain
can't find a word for,

y'know, though, it feels like this, but real.

Coyotes teach us better error lessons than wolves.

We all laugh, wannabet. We won, been there...

They paint red
She is happy
She is a great artist
She draws a pattern
She thinks it is the finest

Gaza's streets are filled with red

It may be surrealist
You must blind your heart
And say as the world  told
Thanks thank God
As you created like that
Israel killed these animals
As they do not deserve to be lived
You must solid your mind
And dance, dance very fast
And drink barrels of highball
To see the world's talk
To see how it is so having tale
that Israel is doing well

it may paint of realistic
it reflects a view of fact
telling Israel is the master
Arabs must bow and worship her more

It may be line
And see how Arabs are awful
They don't deserve a1ot to be wonderful
**** , **** with your powerful
To destroy Arabs at all

It may be a cartoon
they tell Arabs doing as Tom
Who looks stupid and will fall
Doom to undeveloped persons
****** over that world
Which encourages the unjust
And she will **** ****
As the baby does with his doll

Robert told Olive
And Olive told Dee
That Emma likes Peter
But Peter likes me.

And Stephen saw Jamie
Tell Anna and George
That Vicky kissed Edward
And Clarence kissed Maude.

But Peter told Edward
And Edward told me
That Vicky saw Stephen
Tell Clarence and Dee

That Robert kissed Emma
So Anna told George
That Olive likes Jamie
But Jamie likes Maude

:
your eyes are wandering
the ends of the earth,
all your mental prowess is steering
through the world in touch range,

a signal from now finds no
space to
place reality among my daydreams
in shorterm memory,
no room for a cookie, in my immediate mind,

etched there, to remember
as if touching now
were on our mind, as your eyes
wandered toward the ends of the earth,
filling all our temporal lobes with
memories of never beens.
So now's cookie is written as a been and done,
deeper in the mechanical amygdalic realm.

Now, in real time, eyes in head,

next step must
call on this info, cookied in the past
this math of relation
of vector to angle,
next is now, sudden
re cognized in the future,
it seems now,
as if all this happened before,
though truly, this now, is being done
while I was in another,
in
my mind wandering else where
at the time, evolving
involvement with
immediate impulses signaling
"stop, this is the edge of next."

So now, feels like deja vu as

autonomous lizard brain made room,
just in case the glimpse of reality
needs more looking into.

Deja vu. From an old man POV.
Been here. Done this.

Found joy under the ashes
everytime.

Only mortals
Have told me

That it would ****
To live forever