the old tale forgotten, whispers
I imagine.
Slow slow
Cali-ing an imp's pulse, a life's response to my
spondaic plea
Hear me.
Fret not, the game is afoot. Real life
has ridden the wind
to catch us up
we win again
and set us round this flame to teach us
past the games
past the practice
craft has prospered in wisdom's embrace.
taste, and see.
The story on one tongue tastes bitter, while
I always find it sweet.
The blind leader has an old horse
who always makes it
home, I have a promise I follow and
the horse is far behind, keeping pace
with the game afoot,
far behind.
When this tale is told,
may you be the first to tell it true.
--- each line I think ends the trail
--- but I think wrong
the tale and the trail are seeming symish,
here we be in this book of life, whence, if we find our name,
we remain forever.
Can you imagine? In a word realm, we may remain.
The secret is we live. That's the tale I tell.
===
it's all ish or isha, isn't it It, the nameless
missing wished for thing,
the
exact which one,
we all feel we lack.
A touch never felt, but hoped for
through the pain,
oh, the shame.
Yours, the blame.
---- old man not so old
---- all the lies that you were told
---- were told to all since Cain, these are the common chains.
The mission, the quest to bher the blame away in phors o'shame,
while holding all the truth
a word may logically hold ina reasonable realm,
a word realm
whence, in the be
gin or gen ing (on going ing ing ing)
Genius ginning seed from fibers fit t'make threads
fine as spider webs,
watch, chile, watch this bobbin spin and spin and spin
soon be baby sleep in full-on gamma state,
while gran'ma spin the cotton wit' no thought of a wheel.
By and by, we see things beginnin' better, from seed up.
Sgt. Why-**** calls me, from the VA hospital, in MIami,
why you interupptin me , Why-****? He say
stroke-slow, y'know
I -- a whole next word duration twixt each tongue-lip config
and some repeats due to ram slips
He got it out, said he had to tell you (me) to remember,
All things work together.
Incredulous me, I ask, really, you called to tell me that?
No,
he said
you said you would call, from time to time,
so I figured you forgot. The mission is to live true.
No lie, I replied.
Sgt. John Wikel, USMC, is real. He is history alive, and my friend. Wounded within weeks of boots on ground, his life is the kind of life legends form from.
