A coarse, yellow coat with dark spot aplenty
Lean as a greyhound with limb long and lengthy,
Faster than hare from a cold standing start
Impossibly glimpsed in tall grasses that part.
Crystaline jewels in two huge hazel eyes
With the svelt of a feline’s cold killing surprise,
Explosively quick with an elegant gait
And a murderous jaw full of canines that wait
For a fleeing gazelle or a springbok at speed
Then a launch that would emulate bullet, when freed.
Incredibly smooth with a fast loping stride
That would tax any racehorse an envious ride,
Snapping manouvers to left and to right
That mirror a quarry’s evasions of flight.
A blur in a frantic explosion of dust
Then the life blood erupts, splashing red as the rust.

Heaving great flanks after thrill of the chase
Wide open muzzle and gore on the face,
Guarding the game till the kittens locate
Then the spoils of the chase will make portions dictate.*


Marshalg
Serengetti Plain
Central Africa
30 November 2012

After being released by the raptor, far above her home-world, the girl child put her arms straight down by her sides and dove. She plummeted. Angling her body so that she was falling head first toward her planet. She was absolutely fearless. Unlike the seraphim, who had wings, Natalheme was completely humanoid. Her tunic billowed around her as she fell.

The gravitational pull of her world was approximately the same as earth. In fact her entire solar system was very similar. But Sephiahm (pronounced sef-eýe-em) was slightly larger, and had 5 moons.

Na-mé (her parent's nickname for their 3 year old) kept her large lavender eyes open as she swooped down. She admired her beautiful Seph as it closed in on her. All of a sudden she spread her arms and legs wide. Her tunic began to catch air and she fell more slowly. But the tunic was hardly a parachute. She didn't need one. Soaring up from beneath her the eagle-creature positioned itself perfectly. She landed on its neck and clung tight with her knees bent 'round its wings! It swooped up catching the Mist once more...

The bird dropped down gracefully upon the balcony in front of Natalheme's bedchamber. She held onto it for a minute or so, stroking its mottled crystaline feathers.

"Thank you, Tikeerah", she said softly. The Mooshoré shrieked its pleasure and satisfaction, and shrugged the child off of its shoulders.

She went to a bowl of fruit, which had been arranged on her balcony for her breakfast, and selected a piece very reminiscent of an acorn squash.

She brought it to the bird, who ate it hungrily. The pulp mooshed all over its copper beak, and Na-mé wiped it with a small napkin. The deep red juice would have temporarily stained her fingers...

"Good?" She queried the raptor.

It lifted its beak and screamed into the air. Its cry resonated in the crystals which sprang from the ground...

"YEEESSS!" Other-worldly music bounced from one crystal to the other!

Natalheme sent up a cry of her own, "GOOODDD!" The crystal-music took on the characteristics of her voice also, and the melodious "echos" lasted many seconds....

... and The One smiled.



SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/22/2017

I had the good fortune
to visit it twice,
the first time
it was like the Marie Celeste,
dark with blue doors
and old coffee dregs shining on the base
of deserted mugs,
a full perfume bottle of Narcissus
glowed on a mildewed window,
for shame I thought , sketches,
letters, catalogues
all congealed together
in sodden shop boxes

I wasn't supposed to be there

then again in a dream,
all the walls were dark pink
and shelves were filled with treasure
trinkets for sale, I stopped at a pair
of silver earrings
and crystaline figures
that danced in unison
gold and black drawings
hung the walls of a bedroom
with roses for a carpet
a melancholy light
stilled the air, I wondered
how in god's name
did he fit there,
that tiny bed

I paused here,
others came in.

---- 2023 youtube I wonder if, and lo': The Planets
A grand background orchestra, mental direct
there, you hav it, too, listen, a few times,
just in the mood, to listen
maybe as you get, that it starts at Mars,
begin as we
think we
Read this at your pace the writer advised,
and I did, a couple of times,
like long stuck records…
To Holst, an offered libation,
to all the minds whose words
are music as big as any mind
limited by my unknowing,
only
using, the truth, music, leading after words,
through ever away,
silent for a now,
or so,
from the Sun, past the fragment,
the single lump at the core,
of the process,
Ash as
Icarus, and Hermes, speedy messenger,
such as see thee, hold the knowledge holy,

watch, see, the wandering planets Holst,
might have seen today,
looking through my eyes,
wordless, right on, so far, as we

agree, there
is power in the mind that writes and reads
music,
power alloted some in blind feel,
power exuding from an ever in times past,

lasting ever tones thinning, spreading, patterning
perfected harmonies unexpected
yet
taken as granted, felt, in passion y sympassion,
same sound,

my once known wind, my bass oboe player,
acquaintance, who called me by name,
accusing me, subtly of not knowing,
there is a forest of low stature,
and there are missions there,
where if you pray,
they feed you twinkies… I recall, between
Venus and busy laughing Earth,

I remember Mars is next,
I am ready, I went into the dark kitchen,
back of the Mission on Fourth Street,
across from an Electra Records Billboard…

ifery approaches, Holst has not gotten me to Mars,
I am pulling in an experience, from a mission,
on Fourth Street, in a mindtimespace shared,

as of yet, by a few, who will know the place,
the ******* Mission, the one
with the Joker who used rats,
to get a startle response,

and at exactly the wrong place, for men with
certain
kinds of sure thing reactions, to diabolic attacks.

2023, approaching Mars with Lou Holtz, I thum thum
thummin wearin' my Razorback hat,
Inter Planatary Hwy 71, to Joplin,
ur in my realm.

Bass every thing slow creep slow, seep as sludge,
to the edge, and look beyond,
this is it, this is the Earth,
we shall survive!

We slay the unbelievers and fake it til we make it,
right, kids?

---------- longhair music, epicyc-lical as neckties,
to male tipped stacking schema for *****,
or stones,
or crystaline tones accompanying the heating up
of life's core cargo cult's last load,

Holst, bass trombones,
here, is the dance of little devils with a mind to make
a difference
in the depths of ever after,
up to now,
I had forgotten the piccolo parts, and the French horns,
and the joy of the big parade,
marching off
to war explore the unknown
for exploitations as per the underling theme,
go forth
subdue the Earth, and conquer all who refuse, to say
this is the way,
this is the good old way,

war
glory and honor, earn the urim'nthummin'n'human
inhumainity, we, the chosen warrior beings,
messengers of differing mocking gods of ****** mud
beyond the final river,
every slogger knows, forever, there remains
one more
river to cross, a final thread to tie to you, listener,

Holtz, still in the background, a journey, what price
each player plays in this, orchestration shared,
as I read, I wrote, as I hoped, I did,

and I remain, giddily glad… my side won the war
I lost.

Peace came, unbidden, apparently,
a deep breath, and harp strings,

this is the future from any ever before, now
to know
this is common, not so rare, as even the idea,
not so long ago,
first radio mono performance,
what child lay in the crib and heard this,
through the grand horn of Gram's Gramma phone.
Y''ello,
toldja, ai ain't no Injunsaint. Pretend, then,
right, ai and mai-y grandma

can piece together some occassional lessons, given us,
she in her time telling me in mine,sssince ever about
I was forty-nine, or so, she told me she was an orphan,
and had no family knowledge, past begins
at the last common thread,
to a native american epic,

when the old deluder, Satan, act, attached
to law and order and rectangular resettlement
of wilderness liberated from savages and beasts…
pawn, both steps, dare… help the Macedonians
and take Uncle Tom wit'cha, whicha oughtn't had
never the less, young wombed men, did tend
to become aspirational, after becoming
inspired read-up young wombed men, hot
to seek adventure, teachin' young'n's, out west.

indistanct depth Holst at the kettle drumms softerafter
- the silent version has a different light show
--- circa 1880's, not historically long ago, most places.
This character,
qwerty guy's friend, has kin as close as my Uncle Cebe'n'me,
who died at Wounded Knee, where my liege republic,
honored some two dozen rapid fire cannon supported
avengers of The Seventh Cav!
And in their hearts,
if not their lips,
was the march in time to Garry Owen. Their families
must be proud.

And that's a shame. We were taught to grant worth
to a medal signifying honor brought to the liege, in victory.

Peace passes that, music makes bubbles, we revisit,
replay the gramma phone version,
some scratchy
real realizing strings singing chimes and harps
of ages past
unveiling, hiding nothing knowing freedom is a sense,
you know
you do not own it,
you do not make it up, it is free. The idea

I had, approached as
hunter
in pursuit, steady as she blows,

leave us hap as may be at a triumph of joyous
curious
dancing twinkle noise amusing being a muse used,
enter tained, and voiced by bass
then tinkles
thin thin thin then Zildjian  K-bang!

____

Analog, anabasis… trip, short, burn the bug to carbon dust…

Seeking in my treasury of books, pared down to ones with personal attachments,
- I sought a Welsh-English pocket dictionary, gifted me
- by a taller and older, by experience, Overmeyer… Bob,
- but he was one of a few in the corp, band of brothers,
- who sang along with me, when he heard me humm,
- he knew the words, worth-ship fixing words, yes,
- we shall gather at the river that flows by the throne of truth. Mmmmhmm, so we shall see, so we shall see,
Oldman river, you know,
you wait, and wait, fishin' wishin' cogitations got from *** go,
known good, known evil, and evil comes for effect, not cause,
clean up, aisle five
hell, in a target store. And a Walmart, #26.
-- I recognized the anti particle, passing through either or,
becoming here, from there, your thinking my thinking,

wall of text, in your current context, this wall has hat

hooks to insights marked pertinent someday, in the wide ocean
at the end of any river mind me and error master,
as awareness, meandering as all fluids do.
Aligning in honed most saline crystaline form, as
current opinions shapened from dust and ash originally,
then spit the idea out as a word,
imagine
matter… mater, really, bottom first bit, was realized after
paterialization falled to manifest self reproduction…
patterned thought, fabrication, plane geometry… which we
as a team, a man and his tools, gunslinger, plus accoutrements.

Yep. Adam, did not work alone. The egg was first. He named eggs.
And chickens, full of eggs, no, hope, and chaos, nada mas…
- morals from old stories, we had lost all hold on those…
Stepmothers after The Hundred Years war, like as not was
first slave, with only obey believed enforce,
as far as
holy vows spoke allowed, but in a whisper…
hear us,
old folk, we scatterbrained old rockers by the fireplace
listen, this is living, right.
Pursue haps as haps occur, in thinking one thing or this other,

Our kind, fixed position ears perpindicularly augmenting per-
iferal vision, if, just, if. Immeasuarable meanings, justice, yes,

we settled at that point. All the Promises - in any living faith,
even dying proves life is a chance, we all go through it, and some leave marks, while others leave a heart felt
oxitocin, not cotin, red on yellow, **** a fellow, -tocin. Oxitocin,

Rush!- Kettle DRUM after a cello up run, or an old familiar rif,
Goin' up country, ' bought a map for a dime,
from a time lain aside in book, as I was seeking that Welsh word for these experience in side, feeling inside, but being mere, yes, not a limiting adjectival modification, on a word, intended to soothe,

NOT ******, soothe, as said of gentle rolling seas, calm as constant as Jupiter's ever near there, right there, red spot, there,
that is an anomoly, yet, there are those who claim clarity, that

Red spot, Ted-talk phaze, ease in, get a buzz, mmmm, slow, slow

slow
whoa, so slow, what difference can plain-people, just us,
can we ever just know, this is the way, no obstacles,
and we leave trails, and trails widen, and widen, and widen,

wide as the milky way as seen from North Korea.
What a blessing, right?
--- God made these chickens we are eating,

no, child we selected these big red hens, people, like us, we can
know how earthly goods grow and we can help, as gard'ners,
retired guardians and priests can, make soil richer,
by leaven from the native soil,
fresh after fire, sparks the bloom

Patience, paid close attention, over time,
pay is as interest always is, compounding…
complex knots
slipping infinite loops generation systems
spinning straw to gold, bricks to build a tower…

to grow mustard into brocolli and cauliflower, prosper-o

we can engineer squash blossuming
be.. not spelch-pstpst-offt-listen,
- laughing
in my home are children, aged 6 to 13, across a seven year gap…
in my home with complete 5G internal Wifi, with cable
- copper, ah
- the humm, copper wire interference, acceptible as soft
- sub-spectra sfumati self-edged,- cut from whole cloth
abrupt.
Con, is with, fuse, is
blown… but, click, we are past that, where I live, on a pension.
I survived an oath in a war. And in America, the we, as
represented in Congress after Korea, and UCMJ, reach, reach,
- remember the ears that read, need to know
right, MP talk, uniform, all the exact same alignment and weave… for forsake, forsooth, forgotten gains, -- un-fore-gotten
upright walking, living concept, Phoebe Zeitgeist
- she made a word nest in my mind, on March 16, 1968.
- On a Douglas Flying Tiger insertion mission,
Flying to a foreign land more foreign than any thus far, redux.

Surreal stepped up to real, realms of preception, Metaverse/
uniform code under it all, we wished for this, can we, can we,

please, walk back in and watch the shadows morph to home sized I-max with true-fi dolby optimized to your very own, humanity
verified self--
- eyes up, look where we were when ever, then be come you now known as dear reader, responsibility free, cookie or no?
Be any mind you find you can wear with no wish to lie,
the wrong mind set with the ears and eyes, and we cannot lie…
you lose.
The whole ritual of prayer and supersites, tics, ****. We glow…

once illegal exposure
confidential, super-secret, super-positioned tyrannical systems,

whole cloth leprosy, black mold to dust time sequence…
-- such minds as fed us Elliot and Thorough Error-prone Poses,

as seen from the repressed mind of an unassimulated inate-ifity,
We are none of us, Adam sons, his model had nor repro circuits.

Hey, once there had to be something akin to ****** birth,
really, mitochondria developed virally, just fine, so, so fine,

imagine, we got the cell, a wall, with enzyme will efforts on the doors, we open to need, and useful matter is accepted,
as in another phase we open to expel the uselesshit, which then fills the red corpuscles, which use iron to hold the load.

Flushing blushing bride, Mito-mom, her daughters, imagine…

trackless wasteland, aftermath of minor miscalculation
in the dancing cosmos, whirling
whiling, smiling
inside…

I made it. 2022, Everest Pax, is the real name
of my youngest grand son, who randomly
reassures me he loves me, as though he wishes me
to not let that slip, naturally, his version of me is fragile,

what he imagines I am can disappear, in a day,
like Uncle Mike, and Uncle Dennis, and Uncle Richard,
and Uncle Remus…
none of whom were alive, when Everest Pax was named,
by his mother, with no input from me, save
the covenant aspect in the who gives this wombed man…
common pagan ritual adapted to post-Jesus Christ-sanity.

X-mas, nada mas. Agree, and take the cookie,
or risk another death,
on the real wrong battlefield… Well, what the hell… hero
or legend in my mind, thinking, what would any who do?

One tiny water droplet dances,
On a river of rushing air.
She races 'oer  cumulus cliffs.
She tumbles down the nimbus stair,
And as she whirls mid the frozen flow,
Her body begins to turn to snow.

Relinquishing her liquid status,
Spreading forth her crystaline lattice,
She leaps from the cloud tops of her birth,
Forsakes the sky and drifts to earth.

Now me...
               ...I come...
Grumping down the stony street,
Back turned to the sky, eyes glued to my feet,
And lurking in my furrowed head,
Myriad troubles, worry and dread.
No time to look round, no time to see,
No time for laughter, no time to be.

Suddenly, a glint, flashing, captivates my eye,
Causing me to look upon a small speck drifting by.
One perfect snowflake, like a musical note,
Piroettes, hovers and lands upon my coat.

At once, the black veil distorting my sight,
Dissolves to reveal the truth and the light.
I look up, breathless, for now I can see,
The whole world is dancing and smiling at me,
And my cares, so tremendous a moment before,
Now seem quite tiny and sort of a bore.

I must thank this lovely creature who has perched upon my sleeve,
But all I found was a water droplet, slipped down into the weave.
And on that winter afternoon as I stood beneath a tree,
A small voice whispered on the wind and sighed...
                                                       ­                        ..."Remember me."

Later on, the moment past, now back my daily trials,
And I, caught up in deadlines met, far from thoughts of smiles,
Reached for a pen to make a list of certain things to get,
Looked down my arm at the sleeve of my coat,
                       ...and saw it was still wet.



(For Casey)

I see the cockroach
caress the counter next to a brewing
*** of coffee, striking a chord of
crystaline sweetness,
that God and Satan could both agree upon.
In the living room,
my best friends are killing each other,
kissing each other,
falling in love,
snagging,
splitting stitches,
chalk outlines,
black mail,
and hopes for a resurrection
swirl and spin with the scent
of perfume
and coffee beans.
My phone lights up with a message
asking for some real advice,
my response is to get a new religion,
and wait for the bombs to fall.
Outside
light pollution fills the sky,
an eerie day that just won't die,
negotiating with eager streetlights,
and all-night diners.
On the corner
of 23rd and Western,
a dancing grinderman,
a homeless woman with a snaggletooth smile,
and their prize of a monkey
are cutting the night with desperation croons,
and delightful foresight.
Just past the construction on the east side of the city,
a one-legged, heathen named James W. Green
is finding solace with
a defeated, overthehill harlot,
going to and fro in a motorized sanctuary,
and grabbing change from her coin-dispensing hips.
I discover a pen embedded in the carpet,
I spend the rest of the evening split
between Midnight Man poetry,
and dictating divine apocrypha,
while once bright-eyed friends of mine
mourn over marriage, self-medication strategies,
and scrape the bottom of the barrel
with their tongues to ensure it's tangible.

Crystaline butterfly
Giveth me a ride upon thy opiatic pinion's
For ournselves to be minion's
Of one another's obeisant homage!!!!

                                 As a castleview of god
                   We shalt swoon in primordial moonlight!!!

From smithson's crystaline jetty, I spy.
With my little eye, an isle of the dead.
Surrounded by the bland entourage of buoys
I stand heavy and still for an hour, but dry.
Wandering in my loneliness,
While I want to swim around the jetty of your eyes.

Talking in declarative circles
Grabbing you by the wrist
Don't detest as you utter in cackles
Trust me I insist
Pulling you to the center of your attention
I write in rhythm not in rhyme
Go ahead alleviate the tension
A new beginning intensifies through the time
Forgetting the bouts that we once fought
Learning to love one another
Remembering the life lessons we've been taught
Coming to understand the earth mother
Devotion to an ocean of imaginative thought
May seem imperative at first glance
However these gifts will always be brought
With each passing moment will come with a brand-new chance
An occasional opportunity may knock at your door
For the first time in your lifetime you'll accept it's power
Spread your wings as you take to the crystaline blue skies, Soar
Your standards will have no need to lower
As long as you believe in yourself
Trusting deep within
Medals of honor upon the shelf
Out taking life for a spin

I often wonder
if snowflakes feel
themselves falling
or if the world
simply
rises among them.

Sometimes you have to let go...
watch the glass fall in slow motion...
shatter into little pieces...
of broken hearts, so crystaline...

Eyes capture everything.
Fractals fractured.
Into failed dreams.

This emptyness within me, so much harder than it seems...

Scent of the storm you arouse in my heart
sends rainbow of blessings to bathe
my dreams
in showers of tasteful repeats with which
to start a cascade
of crystaline waterfall in glass-streaming rays.

Soul-warming feelings
in my pounding breast always astound me,
then reeling, set me alight.
Can a soul drown in vibrating soundlessness ?

Threads of an almost-created new heart stand
now impaled
by arrowed decisions because they have found
a fresh start.

They have embroidered time at each corner
of my blazing need,
stitched it with seed-beads to spare
the over-sewn grasses of autumnal hope
to show that though worn,
life is not yet beyond careful repair.

That being so, the taste
of passion's sweet stormy voice will never
again become effaced.

A recollection of images serenade their emotions,
Crafted by a crystaline pebble; bathed by the cold winter light
Whilst I ponder the existence of sensibility and rationality.
All I could focus on
Was the tranquility of how a dying light ,
Conformed to the winter solictice,
Can create the essence of luminosity
Kissing the gentle drops of condensation,
Like a rose brushing the tips of a child's fingers.

how does it rain?


how does it shimmer and sprinkle- ease the tensions
between skies pressures
and ground lessers
impulse actions
allow trajectory placement
true aim -
exists.
In the quiet flicker of heartbeat syncronizational blip.
only pre-destined by present fates , do we sing , and dance the life samba
whilst ******* the night with our eyes, the moons ripples cascade into waterfall turrents
and sink into sinkhole underbelly of cavernous , decadence
grand caverns , without owners name
natural built caves of crystaline exuberance
bigger than you
bigger than me
just two duckies sitting in an awfully large ponf
*pond
we're nothing but dust motes
yet look at at what we are !

Are we lost to a land of too many tribes,
  Too many choices, of too many scales,
  Too many communities of which to
avail?

  Could we be better off fractured and scattered
  Left shattered like glass by the highway
  A shimmering reminder to the wayward passerby,
  All is not lost though we
Subside

  Could that we merely be torn asunder,
  Pulverized, then obliterated by ritual fire,
  Then wrung from the colluding liquified minds
  Crystaline,
      Incandescent,
          Molten
Purifide

  T­o form as before but free from parameters previously applied,
  Forgotten in the furnace of insanity and strife
  Stiffled,
      Tempered,
          Emboldend,
Refined

We float over solvent crystals of life

Glistening in the all glory of our stars might

The wind winding round us

Sweeping up minute glitter

flicking the crystaline particles of life

As sparkles of radiance on our skin

A complement to sparkles in our eyes

A temporal tunnel borrowing the depths of faith

A moment hung in eternity

A transpiring of unspoken gifts and promises

Asilent understanding

A pledge of love in every realm promised

Agreement in the slow blink of an eye

sealed with polite fervour as a

Kiss over the salt waters

Cleansed and anointed by

The salt of the earth and holiness of the

Eternal presence the one who spoke existence

Consecrated by the eternal agapi in the struggle

Of the mystical meanings and the free will of our love.



A living story.

Your small silver fish
dangles from your neck
and slips
toward the light
illuminating my face
and shrouding your own.

I shout profanities
loud.

There is no beauty suddenly,
it has drained
down the storm sewers
that
I am so afriad of
falling down myself.

I yell profanities
loud.

Suddenly hysterics.
I have no sunflowers to give you.
They have shriveled
and molded.
And when I sow the seeds,
so you may reap.
You are gone.

I cannot find you in art
or Whitman.

Oh Margo, where are you?

You're no enigma though,
so perfectly crystaline
a lattice of exactitudes
that I can make no assumption
about.

I scream profanties,
silent.

It is only during night,
sweet night
that you can be found in
my magazines.

I want to pull off my skin
and paint with the blood.
Cover everything.

Where have you gone?

Polar bear drowned in the snow,
come to the North
and watch the sky with me
and laugh for a moment
as peace comes
through tea
and
under blankets.

I didn't know what it meant
But i liked it.

In all its ever-present, phantasmagoric, sundry forms.
I liked how it wriggled through the grooves of my fist
And fell in tendrils down my spine.

I liked its sound--briny and crystaline
Like footsteps on salt panes.

(A) rose within a garden of thorns sits still and glowing.
(N)ot to be prickly but to show a beauty that is over flowing.
(D)own the lakeside crystaline water flows.
(R)ising deeply, to a depth that no one knows.
(E)ventful is the sight created by a "Godly" hand.
(A) magnificent view to behold, an endless story written in the sand.

(U)nderneath a clear blue sky a lovely face sits beneath a tree.
(R)eading a penned story by an author, and that is she.
(E)ntwined, the words that cannot be written in rhyme, and only another tale to be made in time.
(T)o write another is to be done in a different tale.
(A)nd to write it freely is to be like ships preparing to sail.

Charming-tempering, same t'me
shine it all on and laugh - just laugh
like nothin' or nobody, -just laugh like U
Being placed, perfect as a crystal,
pointing
at the causal phase, shifting position
spine serpent stretch wetdog shiver,
toe wiggle heel rolls focus read
local order as close
to smooth as smooth
does tend to be
in crystaline stonefacings
------- otium -no sorrowitit, none
Arms down. Study war no more
-------- the word, neg-otium opposes,
usury
as time is money, otium accepts time,
one by one, dear reader roles renew,
as emptied, swept clean,
whistle, and find the birder,
cruel birder liming the mulberry,

whither the spirit was said to say yes,
to what the prophet promised.

I could do that.
Where I live, I could offer fleeces,
for folk who know the right thing,
but need a sign,
that
is
what
Gideon is, in the Bible and its sources.
An ensample,
a hero to judge by, some of what he did,
well, he was not saved, so, what can ya say.

Shoulda read Steinbeck, more and
Steinbacher less {The Child Seducers 1974}


The soft life, never taking up arms,
never losing everything,
struggling, some times for minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months…

years, decades, if you count upping
from flat, lowest low a man can go,
no money, no means, no rare talent
to sell, no helpful uncle with a business,
selling chotskis, laundering cash,
selling art to hold such whited money

Building grand extended universities,
certifying sticktoitifity tested and ranked,

draft picks, in the game, good old chums
bet with, each owner of a team, seems
above us all, too far to wish to be, really

if you have reached a pleasant enough
spacetimemind encompassing interesting time.

Sorting sales pitch from product performance.
Every body must get ******, by all those who
never missed the mark,
hell, they never allowed the story told whole,

caused, most assuredly,
by heads of states, human crystaline structures,
held in touch, kept in constant we mind,
for the people,
for the lost,
for the rich… who lead us toward good just wars,
to settle trade deficit disputes,
by all rights granted priests, to anoint kings,
anointing, soothing balsam balm.
Those trees are gone, the village oath kept.
Set aside, sacred, set apart the holy, who
form the aspirations fed early flocks reformed,
oleo, for butter, it's better.
frogs fall in this fat, sizzle, sells it like anointed
deep fried chicken
under pressure
churches, ch ch changes, ur between ch
charges against the foe,
because the Queen said it must be done.
'their persevering valour and chivalrous devotion'

The British and French, in turn, saw Nicholas’s power grab as a danger to their trade routes, and were determined to stop him.
…
The spark that set off the war was religious tension between Catholics and the Orthodox believers, including Russians, over access to Jerusalem and other places under Turkish rule that were considered sacred by both Christian sects.

From <https://www.history.com/topics/british-history/crimean-war>
…
Back to Radioman, during one of these days

From going up and down
on the face of the earth
the prosecutor brought witness, face to face,
as one abstracted
from the host, all the sons of God,
- the devil's in the details
the real mind behind the JWST, allowing any
with seeing eyes,
to see as far as any human in ever, has ever seen.
Elucidation, light, where none was known to be.
{had me at Gobekli Tepi} wiseasany, se si
Is this not the truth loosing locked visions,
as all the minds involved
in the current global wedom,
we, each thinking individually,
at the point
of being you, deepest sorrow, highest joy, exper-
i-ence, me the imaginary number, clickt
science if cient
to snap
a tense, taut, tight, too high to hear, note
of dispairing singularities, wedoms,

crumble, leaving you,
there alone, wondering, if wondering is worth
any time, taken
from your ever
upto
when

words, writhed, deep as wonder, once,
as a child, on track to experience,
Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, when Disneyland cost $3…

Today all who paid $3 still say it was worth it.
At the time.

--- Ma Joad said

"Lots of things against the law,
we cain't help adoin',"

some laws make means and meaning,
seem too much for mere mortal,
to imagine,
the smart ones, we imagine, they
was aknowin' all the perfect will
of a god
who used a few real learned men,
to round up all the pieces,
of the nation we was, were,

when we were the only chosen to survive,
as far as we could see,
at the time,

I alone was left to tell thee,
each time, providence left one messenger,

go tell the man enlisted to proof the whole
mind of man used to do what seems right,
-proof it
behave have and hold being had, by holding
us, the we we would die for, that we,

is free, but from fear, and most fear is tied
to lies about a meaner than hell God.

And that lie fails, about the time,
you up and ask your father, what
is tempting about stupidity,

worship and praise, glory and honor,
for attaining mind numbing skill,
in will worth- pulled taut on all sides,
and your bit

your one eight billionth, hangs by this thread.

It hurts to feel another's pain,
to feel it in vain, hurts worse,
to not stop
and think, full selah, sit and wait,
real people
hurt
when the bubbles pop.
Some others win, like,
there was no bubble, so this
is as real as any angel ever sent,
to find the cause, the pain, signals,
some ongoing cause, a burr,
a sharp, broken edge, a piercing barb.

A broken river bank, hold sand filled bags,…


Floods of wish I was, wish I was
floods
of wish I was, wash me on
down
the drain, by and by, by and by,

we reach the wetland preserves,

and most any kind
of disney-designed hook, spooky
place,
make believe
is the happiest place on Earth,

make 'em all believe,
yeah,
but
something broke, boss, we adrift.

--- it's dramatic, audience wide angst,

we make old men weep,
then
we know their kids shall not forget,
that
once when Dad broke, and he was
screaming

every thing I did, I did for a lie!

--- yeh, drama, we all got drama,
we come to see where Jesus was stayin',

the next day, whither he had been led,
it is said, by the spirit, in English

--- None of me, experienced the Seventies, that is
on TV… so, I must not have been there,

that's what I am saying,
I prove me to me, as I take my measure,
imagining
stretching that first point, eh, you know,
the point of any thing
the point of you,
piercing every thing, and the augmentation,
mental re-co-owning knowing used right,

once before, when we were thinkinking Dharma,
thinkinking the plot, yes, yesh, si da
not drama, Dharma, got it… rolling
we manifest best in the instant, that
we both knew, we co-knew, we re-co-gnosticated.

Mindtimespace rushes at us.
Poetically, not prophetically.

The game believers make evangelists, to play,
as pawns,
and we all know this game, most better than
many know the first reason to ever play go.

A tale, certainly, but only by the surrounded
resources rule, the living using up the dead,

and the tendency to chaos looses all hell,
for a season, some say, a thousand years,
and more say some,
learned in the kino, kiva cinema, state theater,
{Kingman, in Arizona, the 48th star, so State
hood- Thus State Theater 25 cent matinees
6x8 or 8x6, how's it hangin'
stripes below
or to the left, like from a balcony, Old Glory.
Privilege it was,
to a child from sixth grade, to serve,
in the daily flag furling and final folding,
at the first and last bells.
Routine as was the Pledge and faithful fold,
each fold with a moral - added at funerals,
-you learned that late in life, really, then

Noon was signaled by the air raid siren,
traditionally, for how long?
I can't recall knowing
it ever stopped sounding at noon, to train time.

I had some friends one season, late high school,
through the first few months stateside, yeah,
what's with the hippyshitsfirst thing, every time,

Sgt. Whykill, meet Pyro, we all three served,
with Puso Perez, and Kid Wesley, and Tom Green,
and Wierder Harold, the radar guy…

SO, Pyro, what brings you to mind? Gotta point?
Hippyshit. Yeah, 'made my peace, knowmsayin?

Jesus remains, just alright, aight, a we, we form, agree,
or deem me the fool. And he the liar, and you

bought your map from a comedian,
on youtube, working in context of attention callibration
sigh and think it so SYTF, too true to retell,
but where there's a will to prove God's right use
of Hellfire and brimstone, hit me,
as my friend Johnny Whykill,
Forcer Recon, Airborne Ranger, Security for Leon Spinks,
who has not walked, since,
oh some time, around Obama, maybe, today, le'methinks

So, Sergeant Whykill, what did you and Pyro,
adjust to hook now and then in my book of life,
one point last total loss.

Here we are having what has been termed,
one hell of a good day, as when what the hell,
became what th'phucghk ai choke joke human element
in audio, we aspire to number in the first eight billion,
ai audiobook epic poetry reading to Warhol movies,
on eight year loops…
and so it is, dear friends, we bid thee fare, well as you may
wish the rule were otherwise,
it isn't currents reoccur, same clouds come and go,
the throbbing beat
means life, has a next minute, you dead, you think.

Shoulda been, not morbidly, just
why not me, why those others, each killer turn,
mark twain say turn they still calling ramming speed…

selah, when
ever when one frames a mind to filter on patterns,
this one, the mindtimespace constructs using these,
give one
a very pleasant, yes, please all granted, all thanks accepted,
all the glory goes to god, Your call, think a name,
bet me, this atmosphere, as we live and breathe, one name

sh- listen, hippyshitgoneguru, oh K'we got at linkmlook


CAN and do or may and do we not know so much less
rationally

relative to today, starting all day ago, and I am fine,
thanks,
for asking… Pyro, met Johnny Why. and they had
a sheershitshow, Pyro having been named pre-Nam,

this is all after, this entire sheltering structure,
think Chatahoolic said right, deep shelters upslope,
dug from softer tufa stone, layers of ash weight
long after the last aligning tides pulled life from higher

than the last high-water mark,
you see,
that is my east horizon, Arizona is my back yard,
this is like heaven to, me and when I sleep I sleep,
I have not dreamed in years.
Having a bag, a bundle of knowing, shown worthy
of some spec of attention,
by riverminers someday riverwisemen say, someday.

Drift away, weigh my day, sweet dreams, if you do.

Ich weiß, du kennst...
we are more subtle than any creatures.

Attraction toward helpful creative license,
first liberty truth makes when taken
at face value

Christmas story lays it out
but then the sellers of holiday cheer,
those folks, they propagate a believed

story with Eloheem, a weform of Gods,
a veritable pantheon, all the spirits,
all the gifts, wordlessly imaginable,

one big ol' amphora jug portion
potion of all gifts of all the spirits,
pushers and pullers mostly, electric
positive and negative loops magnetic

silk and amber static charged touch
to the nose, voila, belief, it's true,
the pitch presented prior, to prove,

indeed elemental particles hold energy,
the E in Einstein's theory of everything
that depends on a constant… that isn't,

but that's just a detail, demonstrable,
but insignificant on the scale of this
by way of most modern-est magic,
means by which electricity charges,
or loads a battery in an auto
telic mobile device
lithium ionic
touch
spark of cognition….

------------------
{as the watchass detects angery angels,
  so these curly braces detect doubts,
    such two mind yens to yank it out,
     the esoterica of old press rules
      to conserve papyrus, use marginal
       tests of patience Job uses still  vw
        grok kens warten ist gut genug
         Ich weiß in stasis verstehen}

Truth is free
for the finder, one claimant
to being the finder, claims the truth
makes its finder free, as if by
the Jinn in the jug.

Regular events
in the existing sphere,

this bubble bound
to the sun,

as a real word bound weform
in agreement touching everything
as wares, perfecting patience patina

sheen seen sparkle in reflection
on golden ponds seen once
in this way

of all breathing entities breathe-ing
in confirmed pure information, ah,
quantifiable, hold one, ah,
one breath, hold it,
wait, wait, no
hope
without breath,
no breath without form…
information
to be, or not, once, one state,
at this point,
passed by daily, gladly, I am so

"bright, shining, gleaming;
                joyous;
       pleasant, gracious"

Perfect for show and tell, perform
the Ginger Baker part of I'm so

glad… pleased and satisfied…
with the equivalent
of three
Tostitos and two spoons
of sugar,
and a cup or two
of Kueriged coffee,
just as qwerty guy arrives…

the fifth hour, now the ninth
of the day, and prior
to this instant, I began
to think today, we, me and any init
oughta run

Powered On, Self Testing…
as if all were ever yet yonder yeses

I make palpable peace, where none is,
until we form, and agree this is
information free for use, as us,
we may think it for free, no charge,
the living words all accounted for, inherent
knowledge cognates instant same meaning
in our actual time, translation on the fly,
post all we knew before now had
to be,
some ambiguity,
as the fly by and by went
we believe we all may have read,
and have childlike innocense set aside,
left behind, in the process, metamorphic

resonant thinking thunk, can who
hear whom now? Who benefits,
cui bono, eh,
fixing re prefixes on admonition, listen,
the point
of touched surface electrons,

literally, active verb function, does feel

felt

from and through this magic
window, which was imagined, magic,
when scryers told fortunes
as seen
in smooth black bowls of tar,

black mirror dendritic ligament ties,
too many mysteries to sort any out.

the thousand thousand Arabian nights,
under the stars along the silk road, ah
traditions, every year, we offer
to these who claim knowledge
of Plieades sweet persuasions,

we make ag and re word forms
res publica, all present speak and part

take, be, ready writer
with the tongue,
from ******'s last hunt, mastered as
mysterious curious need
to know, so bad,
need to know the climactic, woe, oh,

no, meandering time maker taking mine,
to make it pay, stick and stay
think this with me:
"
The principal sources
of terrestrial noble gases are primordial gases, inherited from the solar nebula at the time of planetary accretion
"
assisting informers,
confidential, sacred trust
learn traditions as old as trade
in finished silken threads died in the egg.

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



Rooting the fruiting branch brings forth
from the worm, the silken strand,
to follow, thinking
this it that
true wu wei rivermind
of wondering ifery was

through the wetlands
to the sea,
riverwise, old ways, taking it easy,
leaving haps as may just be, this easy


for all its worth
made in the mind,
before becoming real,
in your own breath, the letting out
of a dammed stream,
is the loosing
of prideful indignation
contending
for whatever pride pays.

We be still, as a pool
in La Brea,
gurgles and we laugh as the world
passes gas.

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


Re,
the inseperable pre-
fixations, certainty, simplified,

easy as pi
to the wheelwright.
Regarding
roundness, something
reminds me, emotions roll, and ocean
and light waves roll, but
not as wheels, as twisters,

gut wrenching, thrill riding

coils, as "this mortal coil",
it may be,
we can see more
than we can
think or ask
to know, and maybe
we may
accept perception sent
to fix our inattention…
re on prefixations ja
Yes, seeing who ya
may think you are
being first task,

being as we are
becoming old
with no effort,
being all we are eventually
after our experience,
as a whole, collective mind
cohort sharing history
having being,

as seen on T.V.

a behaving rootless living thing,
granted reason, ah, and none, no

why factor, why me, your rational, why
think, why am I at a loss for indefinite reason

for daily doing this… thinking redefined prayer,
asking the air I breathe to give me goodness sakes
alive joy, of, mastery, free in truth to think I know,

why I am is not, by any stretch, the essence
of the common imaginable aggravating recognition,
of this looking like that, and that coiling like this, as if

today were mine, becaused,
not by my own measure
of reasonableness accumulated,
acquired experience, years of such mornings,
evident to me, having been there, at the beginning of

today, whole and certain, as this world turns, grave
truth, holding my body down, lets my mind take form,

as a spirit me, shapeless,
cloud like, we may imagine,
but the truth is we are more word like,
or song like, as soft… faint as sfumata wind edged
high cirrus crystaline ice particles
breaking above this green valley granite waves
between which,
with the magic prefixed
to my fingers,
performing first rites, fix my mind
on letting this mind form, as a
we, who do form agreement, awe, as
we live and breathe, as parts, Jah, ah, yes,
of all the world's workings, all ye outs in free

each me involved object, each I
in mere mindform thinking

rational, reasonable spinning consciousnesses,
hearing yeses,
listen, outside now,

children laughing

oh, no, not children laughing,
mothers, weeping,
where no peace is, ah,
regarding the challenge,
calling
for peace, where no peace is, nor has been,
since this cohort
of old soldiers were born, you see…

we became the peacemakers,
when we agreed,
me
to write,
you
to read, yes, when we aggregate
opposing confusion troubling our own safe zone, home,

as promised, we inherit the wind.
And live in it for ever sakes

where the heart
of our earthian mind core, smiles
to signal certainty, our time is worth spending
to aim
at an actual practical answer
to war,

taste the truth, use your full potency, all curiosity,
all the gifts, aged, mellow,
as spirits alluded to
on T.V.

the mobmind reined in and beguiled by force,
made to believe the same lies used in all the wars
we studied
to improve the odds
of winner takes all come Judgement…

begun in the house of all such holy messaging

beings, unbound
by these bodies, living
in mere words, such as we
who find some true reason

in smiles expressed, such as we often think

signals peace and safety, if, there
be any virtue, if there be any praise
that if persists in present perception, as if

the conditional
for today, if… what?

Yes, if only today, were ours
to use,
to pause, per use
at each letter, long enough
to relate the use per chance
to this once
in the ever
in front
of us both as I proceed perhaps,

by a virtue, a mankind privilege,
the knack we have used

as we use time
for doing nothing
  to disrupt the peace,
    if, such as me, are liars, too.

old pensioners believing
as if evidently
set aside
to reason
with that which lets, as a catch-
ment, a click, tick,
expectant tock talk listen hold,

birds, little fretless birds
making noise, we think
singing, signifying less
than the tempest
in the boiling pre-tea water
on my fire.


---------------------
I plan to die alone. And laugh,
knowing there's no chance,
and I keep laughing no

Pain
control, avoidance,
empty vessle swelling
pride, stretching alarm,

swelling autotelic cooling,
soothing settling breaths,

shush, little baby,

crashing howling pain, oh,
from some child far from me,

from some starving node of us,
this we in this agreemental form,

we who are dangerous to tyranny,
by virtue of development, intentional,

we who mastered our own fate, by faith,
with good reason, our own experience,
working out our own salvation, with fear
and trembling and sneaking suspicions that

it never was good for mankind, wombed or un,
to lack the good sense God gives a green apple,
to ripen and tempt with poisonous red -- ah,

parable of the curve, parabolic arc ripen to death.

Bite me.
Peace defense desert plants use, we use too,
to defend our own peace of mind, alone, away,

privately holding my own ground in the temptation,
into which we lead our muses,
to try as spirits,
to taste, persuade or convince, make beliefs,
made for us, as children,
ever ago, long gone
the way
of all simple things,


enough, morbid ghosts ignorablus,…

let's get physical.
Nobel gaseous,
last thing we be,
as a thought mirrored
in neurons popping in

to exist, out be, in reality,
as ifs we lept, and kept as owned in
our momentum until now, se', as if we lost all will
to continue in total darkness, we catch fire.

Assist Insist aiaiai actually did know
for the test,

The formation
of noble gases can
involve nuclear reactions,
such as the production
of 3He
from the reaction 6Li(n,α)3H(β−)3He

Lithium ash, after all, we all share the air,
but we also make parts of it, we process
the air we breathe, we live and have our being,
inside, this one great big bubble in the emptiness

as caretakers, loaded literally with words for
anything, answers some experiments confirm,
true as true can ever be, as it ever is

all there ever is,
as if ever was, and we carry it as clouds carry
rain if conditions are right, none, if not.

In the most base mind
of mankind, our recognition,
I am like that, those hands are like my hands,
and so on,
first impressions, gosling like,
I am one of those, these, I mean, I know
I think, Blaise,
bet me, knew I won,
how now,
we may only guess,
but guess we may, as free

mental creatures,
wingless swimmers since first
reaction caused the me thing in each
to just occur,

what are the odds
of you? One in ever.
Honest, no contest, if there were only nine points
of distinction, any reasonably programmed boy
of ten, knows fingerprints
defy duplication, its just, as justice is,
in truth it
never happens that you are not unique.