Commo
Swimming above the surface, a baby in an ocean of light,
Color, sound, and Mama's Flesh;

Communication is touch, snuggling, sleeping, ******
Functions that are as natural as pooping in the woods
When you're old enough to squat and look around.

But surface commo for a baby boy in 1963 was as profound as
Commo can be, deep as an emotion, and x-times the feeling;
Love easily explained for a creature who will never, upon
Ageing, feel that kind of love, 'cept for maybe,
Dying in the love in your arms or hand, holding for life or...

Lvl 1:
Surface
Hi, how's it going?
I"m floating on top of Level 1, seeing things in detail, yet
For reason some use as excuses, afraid to expose my own
Fear to ask about someone else's mysteries. Trite cliches,
Bland social postings: "Hey, a pic of my old toaster!"
Like, please. Like me, please. Give me your deep feelings
And Impressions that swim 2 or 3 or 4 levels
Be. Neath.

Lvl 2:
General (1-5 star) Infough;
Parts of me are still on the surface, but other parts...tentacles,
Feeling feelers, attachments, yearn to dive down to Feelings
Deep; My feelings are always real, but my feelings aren't always
Reality.

I don't govern the watch in my mind that filters out the bad
Stuff - the impact of the careless, stupid, mean, catty-me OW!
That caused you mental and emotional = negative reactions.

I'm sorry my words didn't edify your invisible foundation.
I'm sorry my words whittled the fragile balsa wood that, often,
Barely keeps you upright and conscious. I"m not used to the
Deep Feelings

Lvl 3: See what's above in my shallow depths.

Lvl 4: I'm 12 in 1975 or I'm 18 in 1981 and girls, young ladies,
WOMEN...even the thought of unleashing the torrent of spent
Pent-up emotions

If Ed F's Ication
Lost on vacation,
If he builds up his soul,
He's out of his hole

Construction,
Destruction
The buildings that stand
Are made not out of sand

Your stance is your stand,
Solid Rock is your land;
Build your life up strong-
You'll be right more than wrong

If I lose my why
I'll lose my way
Boldness or shy
I'm lost to the day

I forgot my what
So, stuck in a rut
Down deep with the worms
(But they're on my own terms!)

I once was a who
Like a sock in a shoe
My feet did the talking
My mouth did the walking

Back when I had hair
All blonde-wavy and fair
I'd let the winds guide me
To absolutely where?

Like a large Mother Hen
I lived in my when
My future my past
I ended up last

But what about now?
Five W-yous is how
I'm Someone, a Man
Doing the best that I can

My when is my where
TimeSpace over there!
My why is be cause
How 'bout some applause!

I do what I don't
My Willis my won't
My can't is my don't
In the mirror I see
Whatever I don't want to be

Die to my Old Self
Leave the sins on the shelf
I can't be good on my own
I can only sew what I've sewn

I'm parked in my head
'Neath anxiety and dread
Worries packed in tight
Though I do see a light -

I can't be free
Until I choose to see
That my senses aren't blind
And that the world can be kind

Bound, broken
Chained invisibly
In a prison that
I thought up
I nurtured from pre-
Seed to a wooden tower
I allowed, (SW)allowed -
Chose.
The key is one of the -wheres...
And the locks around my
Mind do not want the
Keys

Midst and
Against;
In the middle
Lies and riddle
Against all that is
Hidden
Without and In;
My middle, the
Central
Ephemeral
Diaphanous
Point, Part, or
Position
Of that only truly
Exists when my
Time runs out of clocks