Your duty is to learn...
what exactly can never happen.
Mine is to prove that could.

Waiting for results,
patiently possessing all the commercial good sense
being made on TV and YouTube, ignoring Tweets.

Finished Lex & E. Weinstein
Finished A World Lit Only By Fire-
Pondered,
puddled & splashed through pundit
performances of guessing,
betting
this election, 2020,
is
the respirited story conspiracy, this is all the breathers,
mouth breathers
nose breathers, nose-in-mouth-out breathers,
rare mouth-in-nose-out breathers, rare
but
possible… one in eight billion is consistent
with inspiring research, to prove
this
is commonly considered odd - almost meditation,
but each breath holding real human spirit
influencing the entire ocean of opinions,
see, wipe the beading perspiration,
whew, we are
the conspiracy, this is us, breathing one
breathable bubble, in the sea of all knowns,
we breathe knowing,
were we all to breathe at once,
here is plenty of air,
so

why are you choking?

we so easily pluck weeds from the garden
because the look unruly and don’t go with the tulips
but in life
we don’t segregate the suicidal, emotional, and unstable
because they are that way
from the steady breathers
we are a world of dandelions
with a rare tulip

In the context of today's supernatural energy,
The brains in which I inhale are forever spinning.
I bought my eyes from the black market
and cannot see clearly anymore.

Saint Hildegard lived in yesterday's supernatural
with purchased Germanic eyes of green and ivory...
as mine are.
She is the best friend that I have never known
and would never **** my vibe.

But all of the energies running around
are killing the vibe that races through my spine.
And I want to see life as a puppy does,
running and frolicking low to the ground...
digging up tennis *****.

You can count on me, though,
to see life as a the gangsta I'm not,
and not as the hound I so want to be.

But I'm neither gangster nor *****,
but only a Lupine plant leaving seeds to be eaten
by the breathers with brains who take all I have to offer.

And nobody calls me the lucky one,
but I know I could be if I had somebody else's organs.
And if I were to dance with you
I may call myself the lucky one,
but I settle for dancing for you
and I'm not lucky at all.

And I don't know how I'm at the end of the line
when there are no girls in front of me.
Can you tell that there are no girls in front of me?

This line goes on for miles,
and the stereo I listen to today's supernatural frequencies through
goes on for miles.

You're the dearest loving zombie I know,
so take me away in a helicopter
far away from the breathers and the bleeders.
And we'll be the only ones in the sky
and we'll walk about the clouds
and engage our supernatural ids
and create a make-believe empire.

But there are things to do outside the windows
and nothing can possibly be how I wish it to.

The scars on your arms
Form the box of my jail cell.
I'm serving a pseudo-voluntary,
Compulsory sentence for someone
Else's hell.

I guess I chose this fate
Despite it being ****** in front of me.
But the illusion of free will
Is a broken façade of
Immaturity.

I suppose I do like you,
But be with you? I don't know.
Your unblamable desire for
Love and affection is something
I can't show.

Because while your world may be Torture, mine isn't heaven either.
With heart flutters,
Stomach aches,
And leaving class for breathers.

The help that I can give,
Is reaching its end.
And whisperings
Tell me to leave,
From nefarious, bitter friends.

Yet when I entertain departure,
The only things that I'm left with are

My thoughts in the shower,
My tears joining the water,
And I remember looking in the mirror
Trying to figure out where I am.

People of peace walk gently
People of strength never be stilled
Abundance awaits those with courage

RW Dennen-


Stay out of Iraq the spirits
pleaded...
Eyes wide opened, boots and shoes lined up in order
in almost perfect straight lines in Philadelphia July 2005
Symbolic death shoes of civilians out of synchronization
in a war of soldiers

Under a small tree meticulously placed
we're children's shoes in a perfect solid circle
I read o months of age on tags
I read 8 years old on tags
I read 12 years old on tags
And on and on the children's lists grew,
as wisdom must have waned
and common decency
was once cherished

These shoes and boots sadly became
the dimishment of human beings,
horizontal and vertical rectangular
snapshots of once smiling faces
all in the name of war, they vanished all too soon

And I saw running tears and tears being held back
and I felt lumpy throat feelings in unison
with the rest but in cemetery silence

Touching deep feelings so overwhelming
is to touch a false bent flower and flowers
and pictures of deceased soldiers and civilians
and letters once presented at doorways
throughout America
America cried its sadness and disbelief,
the vanished breathers of life giving air,
Our sons, our daughters,
Our mothers, our fathers,
Our sisters, our brothers,
Our relatives,
Our close friends,
All perished, like a vampire that ***** away the life blood of
the once innocent

I noticed mostly tourists coming in droves from Market Street
towards us volunteers who were located adjacent to the
visitor's center side entrance as silence like before still prevailed
And like before the atmosphere prevailed even stronger
as these boots and shoes became tombstones

And tender hearts became tombstones
broken into small pieces
Passions never changed into loud speech

And the green turf
rolled down towards the sidewalk
like a green carpet holding all those boots and shoes
like a quilt interwoven with boot and civilian
shoe memories about days that should never
happen again...

You can't safely have a cigarette outside of the bus terminal
without a couple of folk asking for one.
You can't safely have a cigarette in general.
But, if five of them have to last you a night and a sunrise,
you don't really mind turning down a few nameless hands.
Some of the bus drivers like to talk about football, weather;
others complain about management or the patrons;
a few don't say much at all, avoiding sympathy.
They're probably the smart ones.
They don't want to learn the sad stories in between stops.
I usually like to just sit in the back and ride out the best bumps.
The handrails jiggle and crash with every pothole.
-
The men who work at the metal scrap yard
usually get on in front of Debbie's Diner on 22nd street.
Bundled up for warmth and firm of face, they only speak to each other.
Small talk about who almost missed the bus, broken crane joints,
and who moved the most barrels of copper piping fill the blocks.
They tend to pick on the guy who runs the aluminum can crusher;
big guy, they call him "Boose" and he couldn't be much older than I am.
His hands and lips are dry and cracked from exposure,
but his face still shows ember of teenage years, though jilted.
There is a bar that serves three-dollar chili across the street, spicy.
The workers go there when they miss the first bus, have a beer,
down a bowl of boiling chili, and catch the return bus in better moods.
-
The railroads on Brush College road tend to hold up traffic.
The ADM plant doesn't really mind if a few twenty-something mothers
are late to their practical nursing and phlebotomy classes,
but they voice their complaints out of a cracked window to the side
of a ten story soybean silo nonetheless; steaming ears and all.
I stare at the graffiti on the laggard train cars, each unique
in color, quality, style, and message; the industrial Louvre.
These waits sometimes last a half hour or more.
In the days before Pell grant rewards come in,
when students still feel like they're working toward tangible cash,
the seats are all packed with heavy breathers.
The air becomes thick with community college carbon coughs.

There is a difference between holding your breath
And not breathing at all
One takes a lot more effort
One is the product of carrying too much
The other of carrying nothing at all

When I walk into a crowded room
I will hold my breath until my lungs find a reason to relax
My face will flush and I will eye the exits
And I will imagine any possible scenario that would allow me to leave
Which is to say,
I’d rather be in danger than be here

I’d rather be in a secluded single bed hospital room
Than brushing shoulders with conversations that don’t concern me
Smiling uncomfortably to an offensive joke because
You don’t know me enough to know the fire in my bones
That I could ignite and burn you to the ground.

You also don’t know how I wish I could extinguish that
How I burn down everything I touch
How I wish my embers would die down
Lacking oxygen might not be the worst thing

No, being alone in a crowded room wouldn’t either
Saying unironically that I stand alone in a crowded room
As if it has never been said before- might just be
Or maybe my sparks are burning this poem up too
Ruining its changes

You gotta understand,
The thing about fire is
It is a beautiful beast
A chaotic dancer who knows both sides of
Everything beautiful and everything not


In my eyes fire eats its beauty
It eats the life from inside out as it spits remnants of relics
Too tough to melt
So when we are in the flames
Like our salem sisters we think
How can something
so grand
So intriguing
So important
Be burnt down by a people so ignorant
Only to reveal what is truly important
How could you not see that as a compliment

How can you not see that we are all the flames
And that we are all also being eaten by them
As we consume everything around us in turn
And that maybe we just need to catch our breath.

my brother is the safe environment I’ve created for the history of my lord.  political awareness, I mean, I mean, is a darkness.  my eyeglasses tell me you’ve been to see a train station.  do animals wait?  several impatient years later, two blindfolded mouth-breathers walk cheek to cheek in an Ohio fog that combs forward worms the length of a screen name on craigslist.  I am nearly pronouncing krokodil until my tongue disappears so I can pronounce it correctly for my mother’s not frostbit ear.  as for the two, they are mistaken by the disembodied poetics of local policing as the trophy nose of an odd-for-these-parts moose.  any re-enactment is my father the victim of a spirited birth.

I’m in the same place as all of yous, but I’m absent minded and got misanthropic contempt, like anthropomorphic deer by the highway watching Cadillac surgery. But deep cardiac compassion, all you idiots are inside of me, lashing out with lively love. Scorns used to scar, but now I smile. **** the struggle you’re on, and put your shoes on the final platform. It’s not truth mama, it’s death. Have you tried it? Me either, we’re both among breathers. Now, tell me about your facts in expressions unconditioned by human history. Tell me about those bats on your shoulders that babble obscenities like Black Beard’s parrot, named ******. He speaks not of this century, so his “*****” are now children’s songs, sung around plastic bonfires, trying to roast electrical socket covers. To no avail.  

Born human mightiest
Socially slighted and far-sighted
Let’s bash through hierarchy
I said bash
you P.C. crusader
cold as a computer
slaughtering the people’s good language
in the name of removing something savage
instead of asserting a new image
A true sign of the artist
but I’m no artist

Contemplate all this work of Time,
The giant labouring in his youth;
Nor dream of human love and truth,
As dying Nature's earth and lime;

But trust that those we call the dead
Are breathers of an ampler day
For ever nobler ends. They say,
The solid earth whereon we tread

In tracts of fluent heat began,
And grew to seeming-random forms,
The seeming prey of cyclic storms,
Till at the last arose the man;

Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime,
The herald of a higher race,
And of himself in higher place,
If so he type this work of time

Within himself, from more to more;
Or, crown'd with attributes of woe
Like glories, move his course, and show
That life is not as idle ore,

But iron dug from central gloom,
And heated hot with burning fears,
And dipt in baths of hissing tears,
And batter'd with the shocks of doom

To shape and use. Arise and fly
The reeling Faun, the sensual feast;
Move upward, working out the beast,
And let the ape and tiger die.

I read some poems badly and in bad light, here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR3w2eHYE5Q



from 12.9.13


messianic allure

my brother is the safe environment I’ve created for the history of my lord. political awareness, I mean, I mean, is a darkness. my eyeglasses tell me you’ve been to see a train station. do animals wait? several impatient years later, two blindfolded mouth-breathers walk cheek to cheek in an Ohio fog that combs forward worms the length of a screen name on craigslist. I am nearly pronouncing krokodil until my tongue disappears so I can pronounce it correctly for my mother’s not frostbit ear. as for the two, they are mistaken by the disembodied poetics of local policing as the trophy nose of an odd-for-these-parts moose. any re-enactment is my father the victim of a spirited birth.

To the outcasts, the freaks
To the silent ones, the unheard
To the criers, the broken
To the heartless, the damaged
To the screamers, the closed off
To the drowners, the dying
To the breathers, the living
To the strong, the weak
To the flimsy, the fragile
To the suicidal, the struggling
To the raging, the bitter
To the sad, the lonely
To the misunderstood, the confused
To the 'why don't you talk,' the 'why don't you shut up?'
To the 'it's all in your head,' the 'It's not important enough'
To the 'stop acting,' the 'stop faking'
To the 'stop being so dramatic,' the 'there are people worse off than you'
To the 'shut up,' the 'you're making no sense'
To the 'I don't understand,' the 'nobody feels this way'
To the 'I can't help you,' the 'get over it'
To the 'you're weird,' the 'this isn't normal'
To the 'go away,' the 'nobody wants you here'
To the 'you break everything you touch,' the 'just die already'
To the 'broken ones,' the 'freaks'
To everyone, to always
To whatever you do, whatever you say
To everything, to everyday
You are not alone.
~ hk

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die;
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombèd in men’s eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o’er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead.
    You still shall live—such virtue hath my pen—
    Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

Dear Children of overwhelming love:

Breathers of Breaths

Thinkers of Thoughts

Dreamers of Dreams



You're on the edge about to fall

It's a selfish place we call home

No one cares to see your tears

In your pain, you walk alone



Heavily laden with dreadful burdens

Will there ever be respite?

Or someone to carry your yoke

Impossible in the darkest of nights


Pull your hair to feel fresh pain

Go to sleep and never awake

If only your mind knew these thoughts

Put a precious life at stake


You run, you run though your body aches

No escape though you scream

In your mind; the only possible end

Or so it would seem...


Your broken hearts break hearts

Surely you know this to be true

Don't become just a number

When there are great plans and dreams for you



They may be clouded, they may be lost

But if you search you will find

Strongest of fighters, Pioneers

Most beautiful soul and mind



So children of overwhelming love please:



Love to Breathe

Love to Think

Love to Dream

And Love to Live

Red rooster is yet to crow
but I feel
my pulse racing to
to embrace the new day.

Shadows of the night
cling tenuously to
parked cars and trees
awaiting the golden brush
of dawn's early light.

Sleepy elbows and knees
complain in vain;
my brain yearns only
for the kettle's
shrill persistent refrain;

caffeine's coveted crutch is near.

Roasted vapors of
Kenya's finest beans
thrill the air
with redolent coffee streams.

Breathers flare,
lips quiver,
tasters salivate,
first sip is here...

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

My heart sighs...

It's time to write!

~ P (#writerscrutch)

Contemplate all this work of Time,
  The giant labouring in his youth;
  Nor dream of human love and truth,
As dying Nature's earth and lime;

But trust that those we call the dead
  Are breathers of an ampler day
  For ever nobler ends. They say,
The solid earth whereon we tread

In tracts of fluent heat began,
  And grew to seeming-random forms,
  The seeming prey of cyclic storms,
Till at the last arose the man;

Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime,
  The herald of a higher race,
  And of himself in higher place,
If so he type this work of time

Within himself, from more to more;
  Or, crown'd with attributes of woe
  Like glories, move his course, and show
That life is not as idle ore,

But iron dug from central gloom,
  And heated hot with burning fears,
  And dipt in baths of hissing tears,
And batter'd with the shocks of doom

To shape and use. Arise and fly
  The reeling Faun, the sensual feast;
  Move upward, working out the beast,
And let the ape and tiger die.

Thoughts of blood and gunfire bouncing in a skull that has been damaged
To the point of no control, I wonder if I can fix the hurt and salvage
The more I try the more the skull ruptures, and the more hurt pours out
Yet I try to pull away and the skulls owner viciously attacks then strikes a pout

I'll try to explain and calm things down but it refuses for the skulls ways is the only way
And the only way is the wrong way yet the easier way is in the distance of the day
'My friends have betrayed,
The boys are afraid
And I am alone', but really, are you truly alone?

'I thought I could call some people friends
goodbye goodbye
I cant believe you've abandoned me
Goodbye goodbye'

Scream and shout all you want, you've lost the respect of the ones who cared
And the dagger and rose will stab through the hearts of those who shared
Babe take breathers all you want know that I'll continue to fear
For the skull and heart that you've tried to hard to hide and hold dear.

I'll try to explain and calm things down but you refuse for the skulls ways is the only way
And the only way is the wrong way yet the easier way is in the distance of the day
'My friends have betrayed,
The boys are afraid
And I am alone', but really, are you truly alone?

'I thought I could call some people friends
goodbye goodbye
I cant believe you've abandoned me
Goodbye goodbye'

If this is what you want
Then I will give in
I'm sorry the world isn't pleased

the sun will die
but not for a long time
not before our own infinities
collapse into the absurdity and
the unimportance of it
all.

the sun will die
but not before goodwill
closes its doors one last time.
so long ****** $1 books and
memories of old people couches
that smelled like **** and beer and your great-grandfather's
apartment.

yeah, the sun will die
but not before those
kids who used to pick on you
and that ******* on the train
who got kicked in the ***** for making lewd comments in the quiet car
become worm food for
more decent creatures.

the sun will ******* die
so be glad.
everything ends including
all us *******,
us heavy breathers and
old ladies and ex-cons and alcoholics and plain humans.

the sun will die
but we got other things to worry about
more relative than all the others
so we may as well
enjoy
the
wait.

I gave my car insurance
but myself none
Living in a bed sprung by money
and covered with a loaded gun
If you want to ****
then ask to be mine
We can be smoke breathers,
tossing our leftovers in
eachother's freezers.

I've got America's chewing gum
stuck to my vintage tread.
Viva la sell me myself
before I'm dead.
But my hair is knock-off foaming cream,
and you have to ignore it in my
wanna-go-far movie star dream.

My nails are splintered with dirt
from twisting the skirt
of my reflection
and I feel so deranged
because my whole life is staged
and I don't have enough
money to watch it.

Lonely highway for poets and gurus, stop! you shall not pass here, no liars thieves or breathers of air..What direction do you have , what conquest runs dry when tears plummet sad.. Sadly mistakened or badly broken, What beauty the empty vase shall carry when the exodus comes, When deaf turns dumb youll be the dumbed.. Founded freedoms tossed to C.E.Os, voutures for clothes, endless serenity..  food theres plenty.. Heartbrake lane lies between the false lovers lips, fused fingertips to caress whats not to caress, stores to sell you out, a slave to the world, a murderer thief and *****..What have you become to the vocal masters..Whos slave are you after? or are u the slave>>> ive seen much much better days................Title- slave to broadway Avenue.... by me :)

he was strong. i could see that much. and bitter, with a black-coffee way of speaking that kindled thoughts of fallen soldiers learning to walk again. holding fast to my blue plastic tray in true freshman fashion, my focus wandered to the red band around his arm, akin to the one encircling mine—always a symbol of the hunter, never the hunted. but i could not pay attention to this small detail for long; a gruff voice was asking me questions and a pair of sea eyes swept me away with the tide.

he was tarnished. i knew from the moment he took his seat, like an elderly man would, holding onto the back of the chair for support before lowering himself down. though it was easy to hide behind an ever-charming veneer, the fine wood was peeling at the corners, revealing the coarse plywood beneath. we talked of the living dead, zombies and zeds, planning attacks like star-ornamented generals as casually as two strangers meeting at a coffee shop. we never touched, and a bridge was building on our crumbled foundations.

he was beautiful. an army assembled under his command. and with myself at his side, we were breathtakingly terrifying. breathers defended the air that had held them thus far like a secondhand cradle, yet we were the vacuum that ****** it directly from their lungs. the ruthlessness of it all stirred up carnal instinct in me that had existed millenia before I was even conceived. and he felt it, too. there was no denying that the hypothetical taste of flesh on our tongues was enough sustenance to keep us from feeling the bite of autumn or the memories of betrayal sulking in our war-punctured hearts. a different war, for certain; but there was still the hunter and the hunted, and we fought with every cell within ourselves to be the former.

Rift rafters fall for the love of their sinister lives that continue long after the setting sun,

Breathers lay out their arms welcoming peace with a deadly knife,

Sought after visions lie but for a just cause,

Simple villains turn tides when truth proved to be theirs to gloat,

Lips of curves softly calling for the ears of new found kings,

Lofting lost but on the path that was sought when no path was given,

Crain the neck to see what is alreadyinfront of you,

Suggested laughs at the subtle sight that was born from the head of a baby,

A free fairing fan fiction frantically falling for free franks from Fredrick's farm facility featured February Fifth,

A test to the cure that causes our noses to run amuck,

Fidget in our seats when words of conversation repeated for few sentences know their bounds,

A long lost rambling mind, tastes silver in the blood of night

True story used to cause me to remember,
Christmas coming to mean the story told,

I first got the story from a family Bible, yep.
We had one, and my mom must have read it,
because, when I was no older than six,
I asked her where the story of Christmas
came from, and she opened that Bible,
to the very story.

The Good News, surely was then, had been,
since. And now I think I may recall
that child like faith, in a seed
planted as true as can be,

the story came from the tellers of the story.

Why? Curios addiction, pineal primitive will
to know what works and what kills.

Men of letters, let us make up our minds,
in the realm of words, lust is not a factor.

Any vital juices spilt trigger art' official guilt,
mea culpa, my one 8.2 billionth
of all breathers, I caused hope to fail…
falsification
of this sapience capacity- projected
light where Plato had shade,

of course you may now remove earbeans
with no other one the wiser.

The connecting notion is "blindly, without foreseeing."

From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/temerity>

Sad, you, city child, silly old man says.
Sad, you, city child, saying so hateful a thing,
saying you would hate being a bird,

saying you cannot imagine having nothing to do,
but fly around heaven all day, scrounging
for scraps, ah
child,
see those crows, hear their song,
are they laughing/
yes, at you.
I believe all black birds laugh, coo,
if you care, is common to doves, coo
to caw,
as a bird, these are common sense,
saying, I am here, now, if you care,
let me know,
otherwise,
this is my rest of the moment, time to feast.
I come to
eat the bugs that eat the dead,
caws, never any famine
until fire, or

catastrophic reordering of earthly things.
As when men lost sight of time signs,
trains of thought, fought all natural
signs of times too long for one
generation to know alone,
but watch,
hide, and watch.

Isotropic radiation field
pressure moulding matter
from raw mater, really
immaterial substances accruing
oomph
to act as a force in field, from
out to in
becoming one in time and nothing
more.

Or drifting into sleep as sound
silence imposed enwraptured wait/


A mighty rushing wind…

Eight billion voices
counting cadence, 30 per,
once intuned as day to night,
global steps through ever empty
time continuance field-set-frames
expanding as we imagine unbelieving
unimaginable,
in a structure so big,
us, no mortal takes so many breaths.
We listen, loosening tight why-knots in
wish reports so oft negated in time today,
I am in this wind passing as gas
of eight billion breathers, but
between the exspelled hex
human 'spiration, so soon
seeming freebird familiar
with the bass line,
my toe taps a happy dittydahdit dah didah.
- haps as happened,
- may haps per se
- FTA
sent into the wind every minute or so.

keep looking, soon we see, you, there
suddenly blue shifting seeing me seem
no longer red and running away,
but we both are like fairy floss,
pale blue dot convergent
gentle minds, fitted with tamed tongues,

hearing laughter welcome the transformation.

Shadows of blood pooling below,
Echoed in his eyes, far above,
Fears lay on the land, blue-black crows.
He takes in mem'ries of the feelings of men,
His unfortunate creations, conceivers of sin,
Breeders of the evil, breathers, 'o lungs broken!
Hot tears on his golden cheek,
So many fell, the evil grows,
He cries for the fallen, the robin's broken beak.
In this time of the rise of the fear,
Uplifted evil, earth-thick dark,
Clashing cries of sorrows, no silence to hear.
Blood seeps from the earth,
The mother weeps,
Black pits' mirth.
Unholy the heart's abode, smoke-fire,
Brimstone ripping the skies,
Broken, ******, decaying bodies,
Lo the wolves of dire!
Carrion, Fear's black teeth imbibing flesh,
His eyes clouded over,
Black dawn, unconcealed gore.
                                                          -­**Firefly

A scope widened, in a frame suspended
A view appendage holding a crew surfaced
In a battleship full of fools
Above a sea as dense as a mother's love

Scattering shrapnel across a glass lake
Full of neanderthals with cast iron fists
A bunch of mouth breathers, treat me like a name-sake
But they can't see through things as transparent as race.
It's hard to keep this pace, It's hard to keep this pace, when people try steppin' on your shoelace

Every rose has it's thorn, yeah it's true, they've grown many-a-thorn.
That's why we must realize this world's full of heart, but embedded in the vessels it contains the foundations of pain.
Mother tries to remind us of her balance in nature, but we're too focused on the worst, in the worst of ways.
Instead just take a minute to think that the worst is why we have the best, and without these two extremes we cease to exist.
We resist the notion that the worst is the best, and in this we lose our touch with nature's nest.

That's why I ask you not to resist,
To break the glass lake, and unweld your fists
To mend with nature's nurture, and become her future
And rest assured that you're nature's kiss.

Made no comment
On the river front
She said she wanted love
And I gave her another name
Told her to sit a while n' stay  
Make no mistake
For there's too much at stake
The world is spinning
And she's still winning
But we don't know
What we're fighting for anymore

Got not road to walk on
Only the one in front of me
She said she'd never believe
What's under my left sleeve
But once she saw
Her heart thawed
And rested her weary paws

Absent eyes melodical mishaps
Everyone's got their hats
So...where's yours at?
Different faces other names
Someone can be one way one day
But switch like a light
And change again all the same
Lion tamers and fire breathers
The day of the true believer
Is dead, gone, and thrown to the sea

God sent a telegram from Costa Rica
He had a picture of him
Flexing his arms, rubbing his belly,
Really showing his STUFF.
I pitched it in the fire.
Didn't even read the text.
I knew he was gone from the get go.
I came out wondering
What was gonna' come next.

Took her hand by the candle light
She held mine a little tight
"Nothing ever changes, " She whispered,
"The snow never melts."
I lit her cigarette and smiled,
"What you've got to realize, my bird,
Is the only thing to live by
Is for nothing and everything by actions
And words."

I miss the moonlight
How it streaked
Through my summer window pane.
This pain gets boresome.
This pain gets lonesome.
I sit and I wonder
Where oh' where did she
Go off to?

No, I never question
What I'll do,
But I wonder
Gazing out my foggy window pane
Where oh' where did she
Get up and run off to?
The sky remains blue
The arrow shoots on through
But I wonder
Where oh' where did she
Run off to?

Minus the drama
I ran out of steam
Nothing is a dream
The waking life
Shakes like an August
Leaf over a
Running stream

When you're looking
You'll never find what you need
The speed to the distance
Is the remedy of
Kings and queens

Lessen your grip
Take that sip
Watch the sun set
Take that

Final bet.

Remake the photocrapsh, you have it,
edit, make the moment be that moment

and we redo the steps, the dance
in the process of time come to pass…

Breathe, be a bit aware, the air,
that essential other than I, is there,

all around us, one gaseous natural
substance us and all the other actual
air breathers,
some in constant meditation,
seeking mediation between spirit and

truth that life tests if I can perceive,
the suffocation of a story, conceived
in side my suit of fingers and toes and
bones and blood and meat and sinyew.
--------


Worth any reader's taken time, to make up
for enticing any one to follow a child
in search of lost time, I'd say none taken, none
left to find
usefull, filling a certain vacuum uses fructus
we yoost to take as needed granted. As cheese
from butter blessed with a meaty rancid taste.

Pre-posed, as supposed, positioned
up, above your head, above our eyes looking
up, into the thinning air beyond the morning fog.

Hear a jet plane, and think that noise unignorable,
then remember not hearing it for days, in the desert.

The ignorability established, test if I missed a sense
shut down class, perhaps I am the audience,
in silent meditation becoming one in time difference,
my peace,
I give,
not as the material reality gives, or is the world,
not all the material reality gives?

Wondering wonderfullness, full double el full,

necessary respiring, reselecting next moment
to breathe, re-in-ex-aspir'tual inter mingling me

and thee, the e, in all out joint efforting t'i
to fructify and die to leave seed soil cannot
suffocate.

Suffer it to be so now, thinking imagined touch,
the breath you take and replace with modified air,
humanized winds waft away the stench of our city,

our only physical existence place time sequence,
relative to mysteries too esoteric, by reputation,

if one never learns to use the good, to make good
a hope, a hook, with mystery, a sur-prize, un earned,

posed to be essential experience, once, for you alone,
the prize of personal recoknowsis acknowledged,

it's your party,
you can cry if you want to, but the art involved's
below you now,

as we took your breath away.
-------------

Fun with functionality, feeling your wish
to feel included, fecundity of same sour dough
higher minds than mine let be in thee
some how sure your part's done,
passed, missed cue, or
not.
The entertained remain, unaware… only knowing

the show must go on, and on,
and people,
on the whole, be having life
in the midst of life supporting

reality, recogentle, wise
teach
as trees teach, learn as nuts do. One
touch, one mind, one time to grow old in…

----------------

The daily ef'
fort ification va
vacation
cancelation …
looking away
at you, I think, at you,
I aim a wish, a joyish wish
wisht at a once,

upon which all stories dangle,
awaiting your attention, caught.

In the spirit of honesty, snared,
are we honestly acting strangely
similar,
similar tastes acquired, tasting
-----------

Echo rock effect stone groaning
-digital echo effect edit if you care, imagine
Peculiar order
own self first idiom, I am
become first ideal me, being
as good as
my word, and nothing more
esoteric than a reading mind's
recollection of a beauty envisaged

as an instant too brief to measure,
¿
instance,
in contextuality
stopped, and sensed
as a fly-by why, loosed for use
in curious arts, acadamized, apt
to wink at reasons feeding war,
to prove worthiness, what rule
gives order authorship legality,

in the scattered cosmos, who
orders each star to form from
?-
Point potential pose- d
to be
energy, itself mysterious, as to d
source and precognitionation put to work
as the works of God, the creator spirit entity,
put dhe PIE- put'erthere, core cognizance
in me, my child reminds me, for the duration.
Go is an order not a game.
Dare blame the temple servants, dare
cast aspersions at the spirit speaking,

gibberish, you wisht was peculiar, your query
run with your parameters set,
so your query
pulls from the spirit of timeless truth, a quest,
a duty,
a call to you, personally fit for your benefit,

maleficence despised sufficiently
to pass as white noise under signal. Go.

----------

generic me, reacting temper-mentally,
- getting to the crescendo way on
- down the line

to form a personality, a person like me,
emotionally tied to my character, my role

in your life, I see,
the other in the air out there, at the other
end of this wind

breath of life itself, certainly not all mine,
but I did add a touch of exhalent chaos,
in a laugh,
at recognition,
gnosis lies esoteric more within,
adipisci as if adept apt
at marking old regions lost to religion
- parrot headed afternoon paradisiacal
intentional, estate realization, holy place keeper,
mental, fundaments
minimum augments
happy old form gaseous wedom form,

beholder of beauty shown to set the meme,
look into my eyes, think mere words make minds

adversarial, as proverbial order impositioning,

in your brain, the ***** holding your will, if you
will, imagine another mind, with a habit in effect,

set to alarm me, when you see
the back of my head, and I do not turn to see you,

there you are any way, any in the official plethora
of thinkable ways around the obstacle
ambition definitely a needed virtue,
the will to know there is a good way,
the will to not steal, **** or destroy to make it
true
work applying patient perfection
to your tasked self, assigned early on to pursue, this bit
bait, curious bait, as scentual instunk ready, ready
ambitious ends means in minds, imagined done
is good as done,
Jesus said…

Two or more, you and me, endlessly
actual mental agreement, gentle, peacish
way beyond groovin', we be entering coknowing

eaching out, under our stars, we all know
what they are, they are near enough to feel

we each get this one big judgement day win, once…

ready to rock on, sit in witness position, watching
time pass, feeling memories sprout recollected laughs,
take the time, use your own, it never matters

looking back, from your self awareness instant, slo-most,

snap shot scene manurable, yep, gnoshit, that smell,

bucolic, fancy pants word, for real live process smell,
earth in cogitation, using a cast of billions of cloven hoof,
cud chewers fit to a stall and a milk ******* giant calf,

holy cow, each cow contentedly cogitates, how holy
am I to live in constant motherly bliss, and no
bogus science to make me feel lowly, mere meat maker,

for the sausage eaters needed to clean the windows,
so we all can look in on each other and say hello, did

you know this reality was here,
did you appear on purpose, or were you pre
supposed to be, so be ye do be.
Done.
Or don't, being as how here you are.

The end.
Now we wait. The point being made, when we feel it

really realizably so real holy cow, wow, milch for minds,
blowing past reasons for war, what would a holy city do?

----------------
Make a milkshake and use raw eggs.
Don't die.
Here, contemplation, using your knowing to construct
a shelter for a spirit,
a heart shrine, in memorium,
an avatar, that's the word, now, image made in mind,
non projected, kept bound under covering rules, why,

Gorgons are adapting to our air, as we all imagine
monstorous men leading conspiracies, breathing in teams,

fighting like hell to push back the peace cannabis brings
the furrowed fretful brow, high, low or middle, now,
- pushing back opening cannabinoid reception link
- thinking we all tuned in, is not true,
- the sixties I dropped out of,
- some boomers lived in, to this very day.

we all imagine the excess success allows, and the weight,
we all imagine the schedule, and the cameras, and think,

what, me worry? Will you take the esoterica to task, you

imagine life reset
to win the reasoning contentiousness,
with defined ambits being wills used
to lieve be the truth that Jesus said if
he is, believe it or not, leave go you know, if it were not so,

truth itself wills you know… you asked

let thy will be done, mine, I hold in place, conserving
certain truths fed me as a child, pledged in aliegiance.

Some values from when this world was lit by fire,
some of those eternal flames, never let it go out,
lessons used to arrange children on the pyramid,

few were told by their granddaddies
to laugh ten times today, and take
the long way around the mountains, find a stream
and keep its pace, time through space at any speed,

mellow is mental, mind frames are, as well. We think
we see the world one way, but we see it always good,

inherently good, inside the air we breathe and have
our being in, mind and brain barriers imagined,
fallen
long before the reasons for the ritual, right structur-al
to form as a temple made not by hand in mental form

living stones, I presume, am I standing on your toes?
Redone dances long left go be a fantasy from the cave wall.

- tips in times of self rejection, madness of art
devoted sons, once taken to an alter by a broken father,

God, take him, I'll break him, I'll make him like me,
don't let that be thy will, I'll walk with this limp,

but I'll not lie and claim Jacob's well ran dry.

The sack of values a poor man uses to stay alive, sur-
realize reason for being fine with sufficient suffering,

enough, to let me know, it is part of the process of time,
as recorded to be remembered, once
a prophet told you to pay attention, and as it appears,
to me, from here, my entire wedom did,

pay attention, with passionate joy, no lie, not even
to get by,
get past the poison
through the gifted, take life as granted found in a
willingness to whistle while you work, like a little tea ***,

here's my handle,
here's my spout,
tip me over and pour me out… do recall, do, once, redoness

dance on rare either real or otherwise, riverdancing ductility,

until I run out of breath.
And rest.
Riverwise on the seaside, going down.

When you get old life is as complicated as can be…
so- I fforget some things.
So, they had a saying, in the early day of open nicotine and caffeine,

put that in your pipe, and smoke it. Just let be the function. Peace
happens, seemingly by chance, often in Septembers,

made intentionally memorable for a good reason. We smile,
inner chuckle counts for laughing.
"Surely Feynman was not joking"

Let that be a lesson in legalizing enjoyed ennui, put to good use.

None but he who calls me, me,
thinks of me
as doer of

the deeds we see were done, or
must have been done,
ere I was error there of, as

beauties, if such do yet make
plans for chances I can take
as hope, sent deep to meet me,

as has been done, hoped over
plans, in me, object I point
at you. See, we are they who do

say you see the banner wave,
o'er the legendary home, aye,
of free and brave, learn-

ed and led by the learned away,
to find the me who started
thinking things we say are prayer,

this, nada mas, this we have
as we think, we have, this we,
I, me and you. Please be real. Amen.

The out of body designation,
after life, after ever once begun,
rounds the bend in time to find you.

That is mine, you said to he-
he who calls me, me, he may be
too dense to pass through, solid state.

Activated Intelligence,
see the odds, gads, scads of
notta chances remain to test,

may good enough to try, get by,
as among the best, for umph,
at the last wish in any set of three

kinds of minds full of found
ways this could occur or happen
to seem felt right, enough for now.

- the binge, a novel passtime,
- focus, intent, on hero stories fit
- slicker than snot to viral ideas…

We sneeze, sometimes in threes,
all the breathers who think in me terms,
studies show we mostly sneeze in threes;
------------------------
we get vaccines in threes, and we live on
Between April 26 and July 10, 1954,
volunteers distributed Salk's series of three polio shots….

From <https://www.google.com/search?q=first+polio+vaccine+roll+out&oq=first+polio+vaccine+roll+out&aqs=chrome..69i57j33i22i29i30.9668j1j15&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8>

Many inputs say Mondays are common,
but one input says this Monday is uncommon.
We are to be the judge of that.

This is the Monday when you appear,
as reader dear, ready to reason with ghosts
amusing each other with wishes doing pirouettes
as angels may be imagined doing on pinheads,
spinning, or kicking in chorus line choreography.

The elderly nobody imagines the scene,
and makes it seem a vision, something seen,
after the finest sieve - pulling pin wires

snipping whimseys, making mites for widows.

------------ The Government's about to change,
wanna bet, whose got money on whom,

leave the room… vacate the judgment hall,
we are all here, to judge me, last call
all the outs are in, all the ins are intimate,

and we have made all the seed we could,
in word and deed, and we chose to leave
the edges un mowed, so critters can live,

when we can understand our own words
and read other languages using them,
these words are as living things imagined,

said and known, at once, in Housie or Hindi

whatsoever we can envision and project,
we may elect to try to do, or we may do
using words alone,
we think as one
mind,
so now we is I, we is not royal,
we is eloheemishical. Us big good being.


Watcher what of the night?

----------------------
Two geriatic puppets duke it out
for the FOOTBALL
News is all reruns.
Making war for pay,
money makes it work,
gotta love it, gotta love it.

Any reason for killing for,
gotta love it, real deal love it,

steal from the rich to become
richer, Lord knows, war's reason,

come now, let us reason together,
let us cogitate clarity of conscience,
with science standing in for knowledge,
the whole truth, once told, whole knowing

all things working together with reason,
for those in the blooming gnosis realms,

where augmented intelligence forms
teams of knowing hidden reconnectors,
citizen band geeks in the olden days
breaker, breaker, let the learned agree,

we lived just in time to see it all work.

In older olden days…
Messages were carried, at current
stretch of the imagination speed, by slaves…

Writing letters was…
different, I suppose, or
propose, positionally different,
sup and pro posals posed as statu'es,
forms of former founders of the orderly
clusters of human compliance called nodes,
junctions and interchanges, whither all roads lead.

Edu-pre-gogy-ology **** bang,
mechanical thinking in the subconscience science
used auto responsively,
finger aiming quick **** experience, wired below
the will, deep down to predator macrophage stage,
running id scans on the ego accepting wedom hero role.

The sole survivor, from ten thousand stories repeated
trillions of times by now, exoterror faces esoterror,

children led to mindless aliegiance to the flag,
and to the given republican form
of labor management,

had the heros of history
had my tools, perhaps sense had been made easy,

but this is the future, tense
I have, for a modest sum, any course of andragogy,
mankind mind leading, post child mind pedagogy,
- repeat not in vain taking my name, say true
- memory for song is long as all that

among canine species, we see breeds.
among human species, we see types, types for tasks,
intuitive doers of certain things magnificently, once

often, relatively, often
in the process of time, unique tasks.
Ever canonical, global and beyond, true wow
Onesies
Single mortal lifespan tasks, centered self aware tasks,
rockstar, base baller, foot baller, tackle, center, guard,

sergeant major, permanent noncommissioned officer,
loyal to the letter, let us assume, a military mind,
holds all response react ready reading inclination
to check for polisemy snuck in under humor heresy,

whose spirit is stirred up when fans are frenzied,

where do the emotions go, after the connection
to the whole aspect of prowess in team leadership
leaves the bubble of we the fans, become me,
alone and unwilling to ever cry wolf again…
-que sera sera
my side won, my times done
being, as a man with no real job,

they pay me for surviving crazy,
that's how this magic pen is driven.

Of course, in the course of human events,
this stage of peace enough and time enough,
shelter enough and sustenance enough,

centering, any whole self requires more knowledge
than had been made plain using words
in agreemental treaty
form, easily entreated,
as wisdoms are,
so you know what the adverse position is, and why
or why not, good or no good, workable or not,
doable or not, whatsover we agree,

as touching anything,
in all the sense ever fit
to touch, the initiates recognosis
sense the essential lies all being judged
in your heart,
gentlest touch, truly superlative softest

Public heart, common stander at the anthem, hoo yah
rah and all, good citizen soldier ever ready, to imagine

your part in the billions of parts is perfect
for one task, Life given, your one deed,
who says? Fate from the exoterica available to boys,
and girls who seem allowed to mind wander, some how

reading children, book reading children, in homes with
gigabit wifi and
dads and moms and
grand parents who lived
through historical moments.
  
Selah, long breathers, long now,
times proof recollections written
on the tables of my prayer's heart,
I prayed for one of the kind that works
instant in prayer, ask and eventually, find.

The process of time, see, seems invisible.
Perfect, facere specifically just right to be you,
dude, man, joker, street wise desert gawker, you

lucky, you live in a world where words are animated,
via actual Starlinking thinking come to pass
in proces of time since I was
preschool, a kid, child from the escaped goat clan,
mindshapers begin at the ******, confusion,
is common enough for first borns, nobody knew,
really, you can imagine, the cravings,
but confusion is not disconnection,
and no disconnect to knowledge
becomes immortal hell zones.

oh, my god, why, and
then, an elderly man with mottled skin,
sun squint wrinkles around slit smiling eyes,
bemusing the unbeguiled
amused at his appearance, a'knowledges knowing

With a re-coknowing Nod, to the east,
we are so far from where stories start forming leaven,
we merely imagine many long unthinkable things,
habits lost in ritual performance, character act-or,

no need to change a thing, that guy, that person,
that could be me, I have done that same dumb thing,
or watched it done while doing nothing
time and again, get lost in genre and find myself
wondering in wonder land
wonder woman world  of my own
imaging, imagining
living words between us, intimate, most in, inest most
crowd of witnesses,
reading right minds left letters better left than right read
clunk chunk
encoded news from the superlative zone, grand canyons
filled with technical debris and useless superlatives
clicks from children who know what discern means
are subsiding,
slipping under the wave,
trending sense first your worth,
before you accept a bid for your attention,
if you know this line of reasoning, having been
this far
before, as a thought, forethought
-breathe knowing now more than ever
knowledge inside intimates attain
to thorough patient word
redemption and restoration to full
polisemy parallel -all el, par excellence, a we
awe
form. Wind shapes form of spirits, tried, true.

Mind thing first reading each letter,
finding the evolved pen much to my liking,
fluid forms meander, and sigh, and sometime,
puddle to ponder surface reflections,
seeing some wishing for simple,
while we all know we are a ways after simple

this is sub-limity. Lowest ever so far. Look around
nothing needs to be secret at the bottom of it all.

My ankles are swollen now thanks to you buggers.
I didn’t even do anything but you satisfied your hungers.
We are sitting enjoying a glorious day
And in you buzz, determined to have your own way.
You hide your nests gradually making them bigger
And then their where abouts it’s our job to figure.
You can ruin a picnic or a leisurely walk
And drive a hiker to jump off a dock.
Under the water is a place you won’t go,
But we are air-breathers and this fact you know.
Cleaning up carrion and devouring our pests
But why come after me while I’m having my rests?
You’re nasty, Mr. Wasp; you and your stinger.
I hate you. I fear you. You’re a real hum-dinger!

Shifting of chairs on tiled floors,
Raised voices, waking quiet breathers.
Waiting for the glass to break,
Click your heals together,
There's no place like home,
No place like home.

A street dog chases a car he cannot catch
The street lamp illuminates an empty road
Washed by toxic gas breathers
Cigarettes and car smoke