The cry
of the barrel screams
Screams resound across the earth's
Great Expanse
Expands from the lowlands of Vail to
the valleys of Los Angeles to
the depths of Oceania to
the oceans of death and,
after incessantly increasing,
incredulously stops.

Except not really.

Really, to most Valians,
he was just a name in passing,
fluttering past consciousness just long enough
to get a "poor thing" or a "shame."
Really, his body hit the cement a full
7 hours, 6 minutes before his parents came work
from home, not the other way round,
Saw the alien body of their offspring, then the corpse,
and threw themselves
at lawyers, counselors, and more lawyers
as each professional debated which lover
he wanted as his teammate in the opening of
The Blame Games.
Really, the cessation of Adam's heart
didn't open the gates in exuberant expectation of
The true savior.
His beats stopped when
the world began
The lost change in between his seat cushions
never had just one meaning.
Really, he never thought he would
ever amount to more than a dollar.
Really, the only question that matters,
the only entreatment with gravity,
is, Was he right?

refusal of ignorance beholds the vigor of the human condition;
it is in this repertoire between our minds that this ligature becomes real
we stumble over ourselves in our entreatment towards each other
dearth becomes so substantial that our hearts coil in trepidation
and for the shattered souls, we close the seal
so hold your fathers, and kiss your mothers
for they have bestowed upon you the purest of endowments.

be grateful for that which you can comprehend
for the imbecilic nature of the beast
that we all contest to extinguish
only the sagacity of our spirits can transcend
or tame, acclimatize, at least
and this is how we must distinguish

the idiosyncrasy from allurements
i can feel your pulse beneath my feet
from miles and miles away
i want you to be my heaven-sent,
i want you to be my king.
in your bold winds i will sway.

and for your adoration i will beg
until i am shackles on your legs and
ropes to your wrists
cold as sand in the nights of winter,
i want you to be my man,
where we can find our own portals in the depths of mists
you can call me your angel, your sinner.

i am taciturn in my consciousness,
yet so avidly alive
what are we good for?
you are whole in your somnolence,
yet so passionately sublime
when will i be yours?

In Life, Ephemeral                                                       In Death, Oblique
                                          One in the same
                                          Together Unique

While Life is a series of Twists and turns
                                   Death is a summary of what someone has learned

                                  This is a story of a boy and a girl
                         Who lived their lives in a very small world

The boy had planned on a very long day
                                                  While the girl was eager on passing away
He wanted to travel from place to place
                                                  She wanted to depart with a hurried pace
The man living Life, thought to be immune
                                            As the girl's luck seemed to run inopportune

                                 Both deciding to repudiate
                All the lies they were told, designed to obliterate

The form of his optimism left in his wake
                                   And the shape of her sorrow giving her heartache
Death seems so bleak, avoiding the light
                                               Life a beautiful lie, it’s truths it will not cite
Searching for items from origins of avarice
                                          Seeing the world from her eyes of pure justice

                    Rendering their actions in Life and Death Tedious

His logic, complex and seeming sarcastic
                                                         Her logic, ironic maybe even fantastic
An entreatment for guidance was all that he sought
                                                  A plethora of skepticism deepens the plot

                Their mindsets so morbid, often inordinate
                Hearken the call and quit with the obstinate

Exploring the abstruse way of life
                                                   Creating a way to progress without strife
Life forcing his early resignation
                                                                             Reso­nant in her memories
                                                        ­            She plummets into lamentation

In life Ephemeral                                                               In Death oblique

                                     One in the same
                                     Together unique

Counting blessings,
slowly
re
thinking this
or that is mine to enjoy, take joy
make joy, from… and then
re thinking
what if I think where does this joy
rise from, for it is in me, at the sight
of that seeming right,
the leaves shining, seen, shining green
in front of me, a bumper to absorb
reality and leave me just a bit
to see in foveal clarity for the briefest
time.

Once, upon a time, there was a child
who read a thousand stories of heroes,
by the time he was ten, then
he became an old man, root, branch and
fruit from those sown dragon teeth and dual
whirlpools passed through,
diva sirens and mushroom clouds
from hookah handed down, with golden
crown,
crown of creation,
did we dance to another's music,
or did we all sing one song, some one
heard it first,
what a cost, wiseman saves civilization
and no man knows was he wombed or un.

Do we evolve to sit as caterpillar,
in Dodgson, artful resistor, deacon
with a daemonical twinkle to lucify

nonsense so well it fits his wordswork fine
Jabberwocky, high church, like Rupert,
the ever ringing church bell, do tell,
can we think peace is made up
one mind stretch touch at a time?

I'm apt to say certainly, and think nothing
of knowing if I am certain, I am not the quest.

And you are not the ion, so we sense
nonsense as a mass, message in the mindspace
wave-ishly lapping at the edges of life,
the pearling years of contemplation,

temple time taken as granted, by no diligence
done with more than easy entreatment
being the effect I sought in prayer,
I wished to know the truth that makes free,

no sorrow added, no **** taken,
no fame or riches earned, but accepted
as inevitable as thanos -- our cultural ethos

RIP Stan Lee, what a legacy you left.
We have convergence of all the globes mythic
resources, fitting in fiveside symmetries

too close to images of some life form
to be hidden in truth hiding liturgical ritual

walk the walk,
read the rule, know the story before
you go off half-cocked… multiplexities of
pearling for sheen, see we intend to shine,
by reason of some promises in the first ten
chapters of Solomon's collection inherited

by readers in the American Southwest,
where I was reared, near the Hualapai
and their near cousins along the river,
the dammed river, by then,
when the order of the world was being
agreed to in Geneva, I think I heard,
and fought for in Korea, and Viet Nam,

dams were being bumped by billy goats,
in a song sung by Sammy Davis,
nosense seemed saved by Ben Hur
quite the crazy time to be ten, and literate.

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3345144/when-we-met-in-the-funny-papers-i-took-notes/
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3121608/worth-the-debt/

Whose kinship weighted to the stars?
Whence ‘pon somnolence alone I stood in brazen
As in tumbling ever unto unbecoming
Doth mine feeble mind, eroded, dessicate

Twas thee, elusive child of naught-let whimsy
Whose implorement did expose my pale visage
As in storms of seas, and listless nights,
thine ilk erects atonement

In shattering shackles of perspective
With gentle blades of softest sounds
To render mine enigma commonplace

Prithee, take leave
But frail fate, do not abhor
As it were, an oft unproached night
Beget allusions of entreatment