take an itch, wait
scratch it,
did the itch ax fo d scritch or was that
you
voice in the head of the ehearer
radio, maybe so
maybe so
Frank Zappa, or
Emily Dickenson
or Suzie Creamcheese,
only her words reamain, yet
remain
mainly in my head a phrase
it seems, a phase shift
maybe so
electric trickery, I don't know
can you hear me now, is there reason?
is reason being
reasoned with?
Are we, reasoning together,
and you know not
is it me, it is
maybe so. May is thy word,
in this phase of
your moon
fuzzy light croissant logo,
Batman or is that a cross, and a rho?
Chi Rho praxis nexus Latin lying
demnation time wastin'
funny books, retelling stories
as if it's true, as if
I heard it, I told it, as I read it,
believing every word.
Classic Illustrated.
What good does that do you?
I confess,
Professor, I don't know
if, right or wrong, ification is
done by me or mere
fictional
May, the power, given a go.
I could say. May is my word, now.
May my best wish be,
the quest is,
good beyond reason,
doing that phase shift
electional trick to May,
seasonal reason
for unbridled joy.
Tending, pretending, trending
means more to AI than I.
May I make the difference?
Say I may.
May is your word now.
Worthy of a read, for what reads are worth. What can I say? May is a time word, for a tamer time, a phase relation relying on a tilt toward summer depending on my attitude. Perhaps
