I heeded that you are married
no attribution against you
I the one to rebuke
I could've been a man sufficiently

when you said: man up
I became less a man you yenned
I was dark to scope your worst of love
I blundered to enroll, only love is to rescue

I exclusively thought you had a disease
that you can't breathe in general
though I am envious, but I still say:
God bless you and your remedy

He should be me to rescue you
But I was dark to cognize
affection is the only thing you need to meliorate
I urge I could just turn back the hands of time

Began a fashionable living with you
Instantly that I cognize, you are a love patient
I'll man up, I'll provide sufficiently
I'll satisfy your breathe

Just so, I cognize
you are mated to him
He's better than me, better than anyone else
In him you belong, stay blessed.

Even when I try hard to understand,
Is like I'm making it to come strong than ever
I can't even explain how I feel about you
I tried to keep digging,

But I realised not even the king poet,
Will be able to express how I feel about you.
Poets are the greatest words teller,
But no words can clarify how I feel for you.

What ever you think about me,
Positive or negative; know that,
I'll forever love you.

If you ever think of me wanting you,
Cognize that wanting you wouldn't be necessary,
If I could see you.

If you ever wonder why I keep on coming to you even when you try to push me away,
Cognize that I need you,
I value you the most.

No second thoughts till eternity
If you ever see my galaxy forever shinning,
Cognize it's all you through it.

No one, nothing can ever break the feeling.

It's my choice loving you,  the state is the reason
You are everything I ever dreamed about
You are the only girl that complete me.

If you ever ask I really love you,
Then the answer is;
Take me to your world
Lemme be your everything,
Cause you are one and only girl I wanna share my dreams with.

I love you unconditionally.

A resting place, beyond the madding crowd,
find rest
com fort ify
your quiet place, safe, say, make it so,
listen,
hear jets high above,
no contrails, no clouds, high pressure
clear skies,
no war on the horizon;
what if we imagined this,
today, while it is called today,
were a day when no lie was left
posing true, on earth, as in this
quiet place.

No word holding thoughts once common
is left idle,
meaning forms
a place where a prehender
can see how the handle makes the tool.
In formation, each imagined useful idea in need
of believers to let it be,
in a word.
Ask.
Is this useful for good?
Whole ideas can be null-ift, with a no.
You know, if the whole idea is a lie
locked in a meaningless whatphor.

Nature, and Nature's god, for instance,
escapes the test. Try it. Imagine now,
2019, your quiet place,
am I a being being? For no reason?

Is reason my word now, as may is mine,
ask
in your quiet place.

Prove me now, and see if
desire
words, de sidare (old idea, from the stars)
wishin' and hopin' and prayin'

grant or give or take away that which
you
desire, see sire, desire is a word that waits
in quiet places, for you, all ya'll,
to cognize and claim,

consider the connection made. Click.

That peace past understanding,
ever learning, line upon line,
precept after precept
apprehended

in your quiet place
word of truth
shows
unseen things, substantiates
situations worth the waiting patient per
fection of all concerning
you,
say the compilers of the good news who selected

that which works from that which shant,
should we agree to
go and see, if so and so saying, make it so,

makes it so. Amen is never a question,

you know. Amen is an agreement when so and so
says do as I tell you  to do,

and you obey. Eh? A link in an old chain?
Obediance is better than sacred making (art-ficing sacred, in effect).

Quiet. This time-less gap be twixt touch and feel and hope and see.
Here, we hear wisdom.
She, please agree, is gentle, never rude, but sharp, easy
to be entreated,

a poke in the old pineal gland, pay attention,
slightest ***** of a pin danced upon by angels
who fasted for
chains to be broken,
oppressed be set free,
strangers to be welcome here, iftar, after the fast
the future
now, here, where war is null ift, let us be
a net of quiet places
where messages
from where heaven is

connect to reality,
woof and warp, Ley
lines in time to this day, threads through
the maze to now, as natural as breathing.

(look around, there are no fates with scissors poised,
the titled reader's
pride acts a ***** and shame threatens blame,
but hell. whatcha got to lose?)

Be, still, being. Wonder what you are.

Check engine brings in the sufficiency of evil.

How does this work? Re
cognition, I suspect, a seemingly tireless system,
each day releases a sufficiency of evil,
just
enough to re
mind me-you, I see everything, I know

--- within the system of ignition and motive power

peace is after the first explosion begins to turn the crank.
all the piston resistance is pushed toward fore,

and we are off
the line ready

-- and I drive on to exit 28

The Madness of Crowds,

find what my tweets should be today,
read all the madness streams venting
into
the
new ideology of
entertainment,
consider comes up as a word, verb, I paused to look to the stars,
with their shine
to see me

as some bit of all that.

Far from the madding crowd maddened
by the noise we make in preparing
for war

from the foundational texts, in context,
time relative to everything, before
now, position point
meta data do the ID ea, ificate,
ego, go go on, wonder if

what if
hapt
ha, that one worked, eh? We.
You read, I write,
output input output with the effect of input,

loop once, and get the idea that this may
go on, never off,

well, we may imagine that goes nowhere,
round and round, balanced, as the best
1800's steamy perpetual motion patents were
compared
to vaporous IPO's in 1999,
which were overly faith-biased,
as a man thinketh in his heart, the whole world
seems to be… what the mind of the crowd can
conceive, with grip taken, hold on and lift
toward the top of the ripple,
balance
to the tip… of next…

here, put a gate.

Leave a legend of a fiery sword,
impressed
on the mind of a child living in a world
lit only by heaven and fire stolen
from the earth,
go mad with kuriosity

mad on me, mad on you, mad in us is used
to make us choose to believe or not,

dared? were we dared to doubt,
dared we be of two minds
in the matter of time and my being any thing?

Aye, and art, the wit of knowing, we are mortal,
don't forget,

how happy shall we be in ever, is there a demo?

May we try your way a while,
at the speed of thought
in unspoken words

read words in constant presentpast state, the angel
or the thought asreal,
read, but add the phenomenal experience of knowing

this one word is coming to me
from one level lower than the creator of all,
from one little measure above common
mortal humis based life…

where is peace in now?

An intention pledge, above the ethic moral tide,

as sea levels rise, tides rise, settle
us…
be the unem, see the top, from the bottom.

I look up.
BUT THEN SEE
the word realm I reside with
in time and chance,

such as the first fit word was serendipitously sung
in the sixties most recent,

along the marked ***** twisting thread through
the eve of destruction survived
by everybody getting ******,
according to Phoebe Zeitgeist, my once intimate
Tinkerbell fixation,
**** pixie,
in words.

Spin or real, side real, re
al Rheastatically
Hopft hopes to

twistit
little bit,
{which way, apriori flaw, *** of u and me}

-lefty loosy, righty tighty was known at the ***** line
so, ***** you, tighten
the connection,
let less - power - flow, {force me, Luke, make me look}

Hopfordsensation spun'n'set to spin on and on unless

- un less, add, subtract prove this equals that
- this is odd
- what if there is always a way good wins?

Spin or real, side real, re
al Rheastatically
dimmed to minimum spark, flash 10 second rewind,
I lost my mind
I set a reminder for a live feed proper propaganda
event for the latest contender
arisen to question the faith that is in me,
is me, I am
after all, covered
in the entire line of promises which,
culminate in Christ, if you know what I mean,

other wise,

you call truth liar. And there you are.

Wishing you knew if I were
you
would I lie about something as serious as happiness,
the state?
the condition?
the I'll go rhythm schism prism sparkling down the dusty trail…

mind wandering in ever after, as we have done, un
thinking, epi-
evolved by
tuning to those early greyscale programs with random snow
of many colors, when
you were of a bubbled state happy to watch the noise
of the universe
rippling through time to me via amplified CRT bursts
sans earthly input filtering output.

The white room we all remember,

staring in white room mode at whatever is on tv

see, think, imagine doing, that's it, that's it… nope, no good,
you feel bad when things go wrong,
even on tv,
we see.
These bits of us that make no sort on reality verification,
- there is no standard zero to divide by,
- and all the ones are whole
physical, hardwired, nurtured knots and nuts and bolts and
fast-ening things, thoughts that snag
hang-ups,
run the silk, expose the flesh, pierce the epi dermis

determinus outer-most
me,
into innermost you. In a given word, long ago, I think.
Life began to leak from ever before into ever after,
through now,
like this… quarkishly entangled with every thread of ever,
from then to now,

at any point in time, imagine, this is peace of mind, I MADEITUP!

--- a lessoning, to me today
--- opportunity to take responsibility, noticed,
there in our perifery,
leaning
left horizontal attitude adjust

POV straighten up
fly right.

Cultural norms super impose, form a me you may re
cognize in any mirror here on in…

that is not a clue, that is what you do. Now, or re boot day 7.

Existence that remains unknown is existence without rules.
Since 'kun fiya kun' or "Be, and it is" is so basic,
the only answer to "being" that solves is b+e=be.
Still I question: "what am I, now?" as if I've never heard an answer.

My mind cannot cognize its own existence with "be" nor another verb.
Its rationality is as truth, which has no limits.
Yet, in the midst of expansion it asks "what am I?"
Answering: "fullness" is rejected when I can reject the fullness.

"Disbelief" is what I am when everything is going right but I must say "I am not there yet".
This disbelief is the wind in my sails, without it I would not have gone anywhere.
For even positive knowledge says "there is more to find", really saying "you are not you".
Thus, I am never.
Whereby "be" laughs and says "still, there is nothing".

if you notice the oxytocin

tip when you pet your dog,
or any dog you know,
or know upon
touching, fingers to fur;
we are sym-
ethos-patico.

y'know,
same hormone as let a mamma
milk flow
down

if you cognize the feel
then, after gettin' the feelin',

knowtice what you feel
when you hear

your dog dreaming and see
him running like

we were twenty-two and broken through,

my dog, you can feel him dream,
if you know his touch.

You know i just realized I'm not a poet
I was convinced years back when i wrote plenty
But today - today I cognize that I'm only good in words; words - i mean

Words like:
You are the poem i never knew how to write and this life is the story i always wanted to tell

Just by remembering that only day, the whole day with you it felt like i could conquer anything

It was like as if i was on top of the world and even the stars themselves  were just within my grasp.

But i only know the pictures of you and little of how you live your life and i realized that i have no story at all.

Beyond meaning, and the Eternal Beauty breathes through me.
The difference between those who have found no meaning or care for no meaning, and I who go beyond meaning isn't important.
But is apparent in their manifest mindfulness.

How can an understanding raised and developed with words cognize what is beyond words?
How can attention directed from an infantile stage be made aware "beyond direction"?
As the very word 'beyond' gives meaning and direction.

Thought will ever meander in these webs if it is not given a sound as a vehicle to harmoniously dive beyond these intricacies.
Whoever gives you this sound will be in charge of your dive.
My sound is thus spontaneous.
Like scatting with soothing syllables.
A silent mind is defective because thoughts form, which is fine if you want to know your thoughts.
But since thoughts continue to arise, the mind naturally wishes to siphon them off to return to silence.
The siphoning itself creates a mental frequency.
...
"Selling" sounds to think is like moving thought from the ground to flying into outer space.

Any way to teach meditation is obsolete when the mind changes.
The teachings are relative though they speak of spiritual matters.
It is every person's unique journey, meditation is.
Thus, I come back to "just observe".

How can it be known?
If with abhorrence,
    you are filled with.
How can it be felt?
If being inconsolable,
     was all you ever did.
Whatever's lost is lost,
all that's damaged are damaged.
The cure to oblivion,
    please remember, is
    to cognize -- LOVE.

Just love.
Love her.

Old notes, from before

what they did was imagine a future
the future using a memory (meme) locken in their DNA to cognize

sameness

Defragmenting your mind
disassociate certain ideas from mis conceptions

cost of living, reap what you sow

Lost and know it, is there a way

What if the show (the trial) is a series of phone calls--
listener hears both sides

--- but never speaks--
When is the reward for not doing ever as great as
the reward for done?

A riddle for the robber jailed for doing?
A query for the poet who never wrote?
The singer who never sang, an audition in silence?

Eaking, painful words that say see, soundlessly

and fifteen years passed by
I must say
I know the answer there
I must say
I see farther now than then

Suffer it to be so now. See the music
sing
Sufficient unto the day (no more)

Sop with me, come and dine.

-- Ask the guest to say grace

gracefully, the guest rises to full height,

tears the heel from the loaf,
slowly sops it in the cup of Mogen David,
provisioned by the host,
slowly lifts the soppy bread to lips open
for a bite,

taken, then chewed gently, and swallowed,

Amen. The guest sits and tucks
and gracefully scoops his portion of
a side of beef and three old hens who ceased to lay.

Grace for grace, he mutters, in his own gluttonous way.
as all the tucker's tucked into him.

Smallest child asks, who invited that?

Oh, that.
That's a metaphor. A parable. You see as if that hapt,

you remember it oh so well,
then the story ended and you woke here with memories of never beens.

Not every efforting word makes ineffable sense, some must be heard
to be spoken, other wise they lie

idle, idling like dragons spewing ashes in micro bits of death,
in their slumber atop the horded
answer to all things,

money. the real thing. the idea from which it formed.

A time trading scheme.
Back in the day, we were paid for our attention to reality, then

something changed at the DNA level, down in the core of where we come from,
effortlessly, until

air, whoosh squeeze that back outa me
breathe, old man,

old notes, like we should
honest-account the smell of Dehli
diesel idling in clogs of mopeds and vespas and honda fifties
like Saigon outside Than Son Nhut when the Americans were there

such idle words as these, left lying asif believed
now as when they flowed from a steel nib pen in some era of errors past
parsing sensibly

like old photos in a family album, with no recognizable faces or places

longer lasting than our carbon foot print,
longer than the thread to Silicon Beach sewing stiches before the skein
ripped with the receding tide of couldabeens,

before there was a fast lane, a 56 K modem was a rocket ship, too slow

here come ol' Flattop, Junior, **** Tracey's cutting edge hacker,
Flatop Jones, Junior,
cruisin' Route 66, in 1956, while the Hungarian Freedom Fighter was
grasping at
a dream,

The Yanks are coming, but
they didn't.
Seeya.

I’m pleased to go to the office
And I contemplate the beautiful
On my way, I’m trying to keep peace
By day even if my moods are awful.
I do always find joy so suddenly:
In leaves’ noise, in my bath’s murmuring.
In the evening – it’s unknown in an earthly
Life: my cat rewards me with purring.
Though I’m busy in the office,
It’s the police’s evil irony,
I’ll cognize dzen, during supper, of course
In hot tea’s cup finding harmony.
And I go to bed with usual delight,
My habitual Morpheus’ kingdom is
Waiting for me, the dream’ll be good at night,
And tomorrow I’ll be in high spirits.
{2017}

* * *
Я на работу хожу с удовольствием
И по пути созерцаю прекрасное.
Днями пытаюсь хранить я спокойствие,
Даже когда настроенье ненастное.
Радость всегда нахожу неожиданно –
В шуме листвы или душа журчании.
Вечером – в мире такое невиданно –
Ласковый кот награждает мурчанием.
Хоть на работе бываю загруженным –
Это полиции злая ирония –
Дзен познаю постепенно за ужином:
В чашке горячего чая гармония!
Спать я ложусь как всегда с наслаждением
– Ждёт меня царство Морфея привычное.
Ночью хорошее будет видение
И настроение завтра отличное!
{2017}

Translator - I. Toporov

As a system
part
I am one in all, as a matter of

fact,
not effected affection

kiss-off. Smack, the meat-mind needs a hug,
the smack
is to the fore brain, the way

a stuck energy flow was corrected in the olden days,
with a whack to the element
fecting the knot where no knot ought be, let's see

what if we see first why the flow did not slow, but

stopped. Started, stopped shush whoooeee eeeooohw

tune to the sig- not the noise,
focus hoc es

ad a tensioner here, stretch it to

touch, Art Intuition in action, ting ding music

on a thread stretched to wiggle as a wave

in a word.
What game do you wish we could play?
Let's pretend.
let's make
beliefs we can act as if we know,
like
life is good, we live in it.
There's plenty

more than before the war that peace won
slowly
+-

here we are, the sons, wombed and un, off-spring of those who fathered us, each
an aspect, a spec of usness,
right-usness, save, samesame except, set that thought aside,
pass it by, save
right
used for good, for no other reason, ala
ars gratia artis,

for goodness sakes alive. That's it. Like
eureka, in the realm past the realm of delight. But, who would believe us
if we say we played a role in the game that

realized for goodness sake was a measure any child can re
cognize right. Soothes the soul, ol' time Sisyphus riff,

waft over the cross-road,
function junction

be real or be other
wise

wander on, blue honey, wander on

Green Dragon in my coffee gone to lick you life's sweetest
meme seem somesame goodnessakesiself

jah knowhat I mean mean mean sharp con cise

edgey re
ality, blue con sprinkles of rust ona sea of green

life through a single sensory source comes in colors,
that ain't all the light there is to see,

ask yo' smart-tv what it sees in Ultra-superfly HD res,
you can't see.
see. it says Ultra-superfly High De-fine-itive re
solution,

to get the idea into the kids, there is more to life than what

sapient sapient pre-augmentedus had words for
or means to imagine with,

--- the gift given a knapper, there is the clue
--- reason comes in flakes, as stories spark on points of light distraction
refraction.
bouncing as if chance has a role.

Profound and striking differences twixt these higher
minds and mine

in kind, we re
cognize our own as we learned we know
the curricula upon which standards
apply pressure to mold
the mind into D0-Bees, don't being litter bugs,
ducked and covered for goodness knows
this could be that cobalt bomb,
I read about
in Boy's Life, my grandpa has a copy of, in this game
he plays online,
choosing
subjects, the knowing of which is to be learned,
and
shall be graded, judged fit for this or that,
for sorting
for the roles rooted in the heart
whence teaching
teaching shall be radiated equally,
ala Alternating Modulation Radio, with the inkwell
filling
filling to over flowing  child's joy en
learning to learn for ever, which is
later.
Unless your grand pa taught you ever is already,
just is, watch and see
---
i have water and a vessle that will not burn
with the heat i can bring at will with a twist of a ****
"we be cookin' wit gas"
I can cook rice any time I have rice,
even if I lack salt, I make do.
---
the role of a star on the silver screen, changed
along the yellow brick road,
but we had black and white tv... I never saw the shift.

until long after the experience the original seers saw,
sit with them
just now they learned of hubble's red shift,
some of them
doubted now the translation of life on the silver screen
pop
Technicolor yawn-gulp, in 1930-something somewhere
over
the rainbow, oh, what dreams may come

--
confusion on the horizon, comin from the west
pushin to the east
smell that smell, feel that feeling, is it still...

an answer, accepted, good is good, all the time

equality as a fact
equality as a result, oops, LBJ, did not mean to say

the nation lacks a voice, amigo *****, we vote
in my realm, this is in the book

this book, where the reader is you.
Two dimensions of self-evidence

what you see is
what you get, if you know how to get it.

Medalion, eh, like in Venice, a license to rent my life,
for more than I think it's worth.

Horus feather state. EH? Light, as a feather,
weigh my words with these,
was the time better spent or better sold writing code?

Enchained melody chant me a chance to

... start all over. Aloud, I say thanks to the creative voice,

we won our liberty, at the loss of all the lies we let
be true,
while dreaming we were watching life
in technicolor dreams imagined by imagineers
with access to to tools
right used
to lessen the bherdon of the feeble minds,
entangled in the mythterious
confus-is-us, Am-big-is-us,

common good, call not that common that or which,
which is it,
really is there a discernible point?

We, the people who hold certain truths, personally,
un alienate-able as well as in-alienable,
if you will, dear reader

do we know the citiz
enship values by which we shall be weighed?
what is my value worth?
what are my values?

dis-passionate-analysis leads to com-passionate-response provoking ideas

my ******-sayin' right is white as snow, come reason me a reason that ain't right.

Done done done, kettle drummed doom

clear the room, the VOG calls strike the set

eat my pearl finish, lick my serpentine sheen, wink and whisper
any name you wish you knew me by

for ever, in my realm leaves us room to expand
hopes past the furthest

reaches of faith alone, past understanding, deep in soft foggy peace

reason? you asked me a reason, or is this a chip, on my shoulder?
does that mean a thing,
like a symbol through generations a meme, passed on in the air I breathed,

knock this chip from my shoulder. why? what is the meaning of this
memorable emulated behavior,

quick draw, fire, aim goes unsaid, no time to spend on a mere word.
both eyes aim

a moving raptor closing on a mourning dove lost in a dove frame of mind
wham
back o'm'knack feelin' ***** 'n' gritty

grandma laffs at m'sweaty necklace of dirt and grime, as it
washes away
and leaves a ring on the tub, that i get to scrub
into a state of total eradication,
rub o'm'head

radish reponds, I'am a root fruit, no seeds in me, eh, never thought o'that?

subteranean sentience is essentially imaginable in the mind of any child and
most game programers who play for the joy of the riddle

bottom line.

Confined with my thoughts,
I really wanna stop,
Looking for answers,
For what went wrong,
Trying to decode my mind’s code,
What it wants, what it craved for so long.
But the more you dig,
The more you try to cognize,
You realize it is all a maze,
And you're getting lost in this haze.
And lost in this bewilderness every night,
You're so worn out, you just give up this fight.

The tongue no man can tame

language is absorbed into the wild tongue
then it forgets
the taste
of uncut gems and steak Tartar

raw
word tasters are rare, nu-ance is hinted at while

nu is hog- tied in a mathematic con un drum un mazing
a knot in the fiber string theory needs to work

it's wicked cool,
what an untamed tongue can do

with global ****** cybernetic foam
damping down tamped down sludge from
early efforts

nothing can be hidden in truth,
the act of ac
ception
freedom; when you know,
like re-cognize this
troubling
idea

and say I got past you, you are unbelievable.

True? It's a sense, we can all feel it. Like,
the empowering pushing force
which re
deems idle words worth reading, for the rush.

NO ONE IS ALREADY THAT MR WONDERFUL.

We write a poem and we think
That everyone should appreciate
As l write it and who can be
Such great a writer just like me?

Perhaps you are, but let me know
The meanings you say and employ
By telling me through your clear words
What you may mean by such great work.

When l cognize all that you mean,
I may appreciate what you say
Because your work has taken time,
And you are not a common man.

When you write clearly and l ken
What you want through your piece to mean,
I may like your work; then you get
That Mr wonderful you've meant.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
____________

the truth i can continue to receive
will be layered through illusions, revealed in a closer to pure truth than the revelations i can have through thinking alone:
                                               but the beings are the same of energy as i, but patterned higher or tighter, or maybe patterned looser . . .
                          the perception of the revelations are relayed through illusions, the angels appear to us and speak to us through illusions, and we cognize it and re-align through illusions... we see the fire in the dark because of the same thing it gives off: we know truth itself because of itself: truth.