In my realm, any tale worth telling tells itself, backwards…
this is part three under reproof inspection,

we have tools some of us imagined,
perhaps with prodding from what prodded
Heinlein, his version of the Sixties, seen from his fifties;
differs in tech to stretch the realm of possible,

Artist's intuition that women's intuition was a thing
by 1961, the year of the twist,
if I recall Junior High, and who doesn't, eh, as seen on TV.

We were there.
There were those books, You were there at the battle for Bataan

We were there books, 36, a kind of boomer canon
in the southwest, some of us had grands who rode those trails.

But the one I imagine I remembered reading,
We were there at the battle for Bataan,

that can be imagined as a ghost from the cemetery
in Kingman, Arizona, on the actual road
alluded to in rites of passage,
all roads lead
from the middle of nowhere, there's no destination known.

Up on the point,
overlooking my green valley,
if I am an honest man, and I believe I am,
sharp as a tack,
tacky as a fly strip in a butcher shop,

sticky in that ai ai ai madja look gleam meme,
flash of white,
no light, brigh'ness reflected from raven's wings, sure
that is what Castaneda saw, no wu wu needed,

once the plant impresses your kindness,
adsorb absorb soak seep, sniff
wonder, if we may imagine
and we do not, we are as the being who may read and does not.
Or the reader who may write and wishes to be

known for the worth of the lines in threaded time through
changing times, drastic fantastic changes in time
thinking medium
thick syrupy, thicker, honey, honey, how could such excess be?

the proverb, pre installed, tic
Hast thou found honey?
Eat so much as is sufficient for thee.
see
prophecy saying the child shall shall, not will, shall
eat milk and honey until it can, not may, can
sense the fine-ness of the line
the veil, between useful for imaginary things,
how fine the film discerned, imagine that
scratched
with this
so fine a line, that nothing is a thought, with nullness
nought, not infinite, pre-
punctuality, never ceases to happen and now remains, ever.

ope n al l t h e smal lt hin gs (between)
th ei rmiddle s i swri th e ge n tl         y
m yst er y (that which tiny wanders
awe) brigh tfast bl indl ingly w i t h e r s

                   faceshands

into dust stumbling minutely though
g   r   a    s  p in ga nd b    i   t  i n       g
so open all the small things (boys and
girls open them they have empty which
like you have and faster more colorful
nothing they) s                                        o
open all the small things boysandgirls
spilling from them running rivers of
poppies splayed out in raw pallid eve
rushing through cambered fragility
(that instantly with precise mess flair
with the curving orange of death       )

Flower

petals look like paint

Like the clouds opened up and wept

a rainbow

And the colors splashed and became

fragrant

Growing into the earth

Blooming



Lightning

bugs look like dying bulbs

Like that light in the lamp that

flickers

And struggles to stay brigh

and warm

Glowing desperately one last time

Exploding



Autumn

leaves look like flames

Like the trees exploded, every one

flaming

And now they all burn and glow

until death

Flickering fire is now

Dying



Snowflakes

look like broken glass

Like someone smashed a window

in the sky

And we all watch as the shards

fly by

Catching strands of sunlight

Blinding

Do you find the light too bright?
Even though, it's midnight?
Can you see how brigh it shines?
Up above in the starry sky?

I have seen the road to Mars
As I sat upon a car
I could see how far away
those stars led the way

There are planets like some trees
that grow, and grow, so green!
And that make the universe
look youthful and serene.

There are other planets too
that become like a bomb
that tick and tock
like time often does

As if time was
trapped inside a clock
- just tick and tock --
Hammering with rhythm
Non-stop.
To break the lock
To free Himself,
with no apparent luck.

But every tick
And every tock
It can be heard by People
Who stick
their ears
to the clock
Just following the rhythm
Not knowing how free
Their time
Without making it explode!

i saw a little angel in my sleep one night
sat there in my dream in a dress so very white

with a little halo reflecting in the light
shining all around her so very very brigh
t
she had flowing hair as lovely as can be
it made me feel so safe .knowing she was there with me

children of the lord were supposed to be
living in a world so peaceful and so free.

put here on this earth so we can survive
and multiply in thousands to keep the world alive.

filling hearts with love a love that we must share
if we need each other we are always there.

a family all together and we can all unite
children of the lord can make the future brigh