Though thy fiery wit doth burn my
        heart,
Lest we should ne'er meet and e'er be
        apart,
Let thy tongue red pound me to the
        pavement,
And thy true-bred words be to be
        grave meant; ---
For, to blindly love without e'er seeing,
Is like being cut and yet ne'er
        bleeding:
Logic it defies, and reason as well,
Causes the mind in confoundment to
        swell.
So let it be our lot to be content
With each other's malice, spite, and
        torment;
To speak our needs to each other's
        deaf ears,
And then watch to the sword lay bear
        our cares.
   'Twere better this way our shared
        lives to live
   Than die in the hope and love we
        ne'er give.

nebulous mercury, or old neb as friendly namesome, was a longtime salty marner.

one day he was seasonally easing along with the flotsam and jetsons

when there appeared before his worn and weary orbs a macabre confoundment,

the vastly ghastly countenance of a slithering slimy see servant,

a critter that rose from the sea and had to hunch over so as not to break the sky,

the kind of monstrosity you only see in miffs.

he began to wrap his protuberances and testicles around the clig as to make repast. 

ohh, dreadful tingers draggled forlorn! 

shunned and electrolytical he was, old neb, awash in gloombulches and grovel gullies.

but then old neb snapped to! "Not my chipper clig you don't!" he charged allowed as he fingled forth in fury!

the battle eschewed in the stub of legends. old neb will ever be memorial for what he did that day.

to this very day, indeed up to this very moment right now, even chipper cligs flying scallion bones cut him a big bertha,

such is the perspective they feel for him

no hobo, but a ****** chum.

Pain unearned but still deserved
Served up as dessert
By her earthier friends
Laughing at her crying back
As she stumbles blindly home.

Ignorance is a crime
And sweet little puppies die all the time
But what makes them smile for a moment
Places her in confoundment
So sweet and remorseful
She takes her own life.

Bullies on the steps
Bullies on the curb
******* punks on the bus
Unexplained learning curves.

People are animals
Who can do better
If they want and are able
And not just something in the middle.

I wish she'd known me
Before she knew you
I can see you from miles away
She never understood public schools.

She needed an honest education
Never the misfired humiliation
But the streets run with rats
A fact we'll never get past.

Is social equality such an uneven street
That the fanciest of shoes might stumble
And the beasts ferociously feed?

A wake and a vigil
Candles burned for as long as boredom can stand
School bells ring
And it's business as usual.

It was back today,
that prickling scent of ozone,
that foggy sensation
slowing my thoughts
and adding dead-weight to my head.
I'm not losing grip again,
no,
I'm just viewing the world.
It seems like every time
I sweep my gaze
across an object or face
it's wearing a mask I've never before seen.
This feeling's not new,
in fact it's an old friend.
I beg it to return,
to help me see this peaceful world again.
Everything crystalline and perfect,
it's a new understanding
hidden beyond confoundment.
I fear it,
because I recognize only that which I have viewed before,
but I always wish that it had lasted just an hour more.
A flower now seems wilted,
while another blooms.
The one constant,
it's always you.

There comes a time when all good efforts render our souls wounds laid bare.

there comes in our lives, a moment so long lasting and ever never failing to stretch on for an eternity, that one finds each minute second a lifetime for which to wollow and contort in our self abuse and humiliating pains.

In these moments of seeming endless script that dictate that we find everything wrong with the world of our making, we seem to realize the saddest value of self being remanded to the simplest of sensations , sensations devoid of gratification yet sweet and addictive in some parts as to understand what it is we are doing in such dismal environments of self.

These times when all of our best laid plans and stumbling prized findings, of unfolding adherence to what we perceive, as the world in its synchronic and dumbfounding way of expanding all we thought we knew of this place for which we act like we are the masters of.

and we find we feel like failures no matter what we find about us, supporting us, within us, without us, and opposing us.

Yet even in this seeming depressed and down trodden state as one would think to find the feelings too be, we find rebelliousness a constant even when dealing with ones self.

See, though I find myself a failure to many differing and inconsistent degrees in life and all I tried to accomplish, I found myself far more willing to lash out and strike the world with my own sense of abandonment, accusation and bewilderment, though knowing that it be justified and unjustified at times in its quantum 1,0, and both degree, I realized that I felt this way to myself as a constant.

See the truth is , I never failed in anything I was trying to do, yet feel that I failed everyone by even attempting to do anything. I knew nothing and know even less these days to some important point of reference lost ages ago, while seeing clearly the confusion cast like a net over the world and the confoundment over us all, though my intent was for all others to see what I could not.

Seems that I some how could never edit myself as diligently as others ensured to edit all that is of me that the world would ultimately see.

Seems when I would speak of things and venture out of the box and attempt to render a graphic image of mental consideration so as to convey and extrapolate what is vague and blurry to ones self for it to become a vast painting that could be envisioned and embraced for you and the world to expound upon, I was seen far less accurately and far more foolishly than I figured motivating to anyone, much-less to the soul of any matter for which we water the hearts of all good people to find a well spring to matter the most as to find the best avenue of approach, and thus solve in resolute that which we failed to consider raising up a flag pole to salute.

So do consider that even when I dash about all rash stricken and dashing the best efforts of mine enemy and supporters alike, I truly have attempted to cast a complete and rounded full spectrum light upon the very flaws and perfections of the you in me, as if to ask you to hold strong and truly the deepest regard for yourself and those you might not have found worth in before bumping into this nobody of me.

I am no hero, I am no wonder of the world to gave upon, nor am I a waste of time or effort to see the beauty in me, see, no matter what you feel you find in me, I know I find it in you as well as me, and I am truly doing all I can to see past all of my failings, so I can be reminded of all the good things of you in me.

Soon I will raise and be less broken and beat to a ****** pulp, and you just might be proud to see the you of me, and till then, please remind your self, you were worth it to me, to stand fearless in front of the world and all of the overwhelming things that opposed us in this endless and confusing happenings that make up this unending situation unfolding before us all.

I am a King, and I know this because I know you are as well and I can see that in the me in you, question is, can you see that in the you in me.

You were and are worth all this pain and cost that has defiled all I have ever held sacred.  SO try and not give up on what you think is worth it.

Chin Up, I am still here and working on it all, just reeling from some serious blows to the soul. smile, you are still beautiful you know.

-Xenophon leads me on… in another place… here
Aft amorning entranct with possibilities. Yo crero.
Someday you, is reading thisday me, when
from Under the Volcano
to the Lighthouse, bemused, as muses use us. Little things, elves. Ves-try best try, purple robe,

- the nobels dismounted
By and by, we learn the rhythm, sing song, none
Said wrong -goin’ up country… doin’s as we do…
goin up country, bring some ***** home
Woe baby war war war, holy war, face o’ god,
- Click, new channel, and the other one goes on… abysmally pro fundity, pay eh…
No mortal may gaze into, as the window of his own soul,  may gaze eyes ablaze, having
Witnessed the fact that the shining thing, tasting
The wait and see tree, {we asked why we could not eat the olives from the tree, but remembert green persimmons. So we let patience work}
We name first fruits, from the end of time, wait
Wait wait wait wait wait
Fifty years. Just wait. Suffer it to be so, never go
-away hungery, or mad, as the author, seeks cause, aitia, reason come to cause,
meet me at the t. aitia, I am, as amusement, a thoth thought that any Solomonic emulation can run. Pocket Pal, or a B natural Blues Harp, or
Some times I sing. Or whistle, just to let me know,
We remain just this sane, by a thread…
Of Anabasis, goin’ up country
Bound, bound bound by my brothers,
Marching
As to war, God gives us greed, t’ meet our need
Jones to the bones, pure-dee vine curiosity
how were such armies formed, gathered up,
from where, whence came the brazen helms
the hoplites sport on inspection and demo charge,
with a roar like highschool foot ball kick-off,
same surge of mob adrenal reasoning, tuned in,
sheee it, we, she-us, wh-then, the signal dropped out. Zero beat.
Right on. Tune tested, best of 300, in the top 3.
- look there were multiple versions
- the story of mankind, as we branched,
by means of confoundment… flattening,
Tin into brass, folding, and flattening, pounding
On an oak stump, oh,
Long time ago, this stump, see we cut it down,
slow, slow, old man fades, see,
Time as thought is time as time, to me, thinking this is all I bloomed to become.
About 1957, I learned that an old Persian olive
cultivar on Crete, or anywhere around there,
takes fifty years to reach maturity, full fruct-
if-ication…

So me, the guy after the secondplace hero,
Xenophon, you know, the rich geek,
Teddy Roosevelt, right, right right, just
like his character,
Legendary… like mine. My best me, I did boast,
But freedmen, as a class. Raise a brow, one notch,
Per sold out, wait, wait, wait till we see, the whites of their eyes, the others, sub-human, by god… hold your fire… wait
Or regret you have but one life to give, for your country. Do and die, be an Israelite indeed, guiless.--- unbeguiled, no guilt for knowing…
And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not… in deed…

High-brow mode. Click. Read the underlay,
life’s books, exist as onion-skinned palimpsests,
- Secret writing , not hid, just here, under
- Stood stones, such as we all learn, sing
- Song,  look at us, we’re marching, sing along… to Pretoria, pre- torie, eh, we
Dropped out. And ate dust. Dots in the distance,
Thunder in some dreams, tuned to take a non-anxious thought from a child so sure,
I’ve got a mansion,
just over the hilltop, in that bright land of after all.
We die. And lo’, we live, as words,
A word, to the wise, is enough… true rest compresses trust abused as a beggars tin-cup, to catch the rich man’s ball…
yes, I owned a silver cup… not tin, silver.
I was as proud of that cup as what’shisname,
The Left-handed Son of One-eyed Jack.
He had a buffalo hide. A whole, shaggy hair,
old, too old for fleas, buffalo hide,
he held in pride, the ownership
of special things kind of pride, not the gay abandon chains and don a Phryigian cap and
wrap the headsman’s axe in our threshing staves.
How high the brow, I raise, singlely, no, I lack that gene, yet, my lip doth sneer, left side only,
Thus, we flip the lense, then flip the pixels, yes,
Film effects, chaos in beauteous sfumato or chiaroscuro, something computers were taught,
finally, by sight. True, half-tone tech, made Chiaroscuro Computer Art, vision via metrics based on artist’s eyes, won me first prize,
An the 1986 Mohave County Fair, where we
Displayed our wares, and our networked Macs.
SE- latest, dual 3,5” floppies…
$3200, out the door. I never sold a one,
but to me. Wholesale, minus my commission, as the flooring was running out, interest
about to come for the accounting and the vig,
Keep hope alive, pay us all you can, we say when,
Enough’s enough, left right left, mental exercise,
Stretch the concepts… essentials first, must know
Knowns, we knowns, we all know, stories with morals, since the cradle,
So it seems, some think wombed Bach is better than acid rock,
time will tell, so they say. Vonnegut mutters,
So it goes.
Canned Heat, on youtube, at my whim, yeah,
Play it from the second verse, we all can think,
We were singing that, when Kurt Russell was a computer wearing tennis shoes, in a strange
Disney characters from the real Mickey Mouse club, with Lonnie, and Cubbie, and Annette –
Beach Blanket Bingo—war story
Flip for it, the novel thread is chance, fishing
For mental means to ends in minds, aimed at peace, post happiness achieved, on the Lincoln plan promoted with Famous Amos Chocolate Chips of the old block,
Yes, as you may imagine, carbon-steel, is new
To mankind, almost all the tools we use, are new.
Since 1969, have we learned any thing that might ease a child’s mind… after My Lai, or the like,
As soldier ants, enforce the others must die, we are protectors of the flag and the concept enclosed in the word republic, a we form, regimented,
Tools,
Trades and crafts,
Guardians of liberty,
Priests and experts in knowing signs
Left on stones for all to see, see, see and
So-bemused become, awe sets in, couch lock
Right, too right, mate, good enough, we got mind
Sunk… lowest point in south America is in Argentina. And what do you know, so is the highest. Learn it once,
Know it for ever, after any ever in progress.