by: W. A. Marshall

There is one thing that will never change
regardless of ones tribal theology
or sociopolitical street-hood,
people are indifferent
to their own damaged beauty
and yet we are all fearful
of something down there -
we follow the tides like schools of fish
searching for water
They want solutions without pain
They want rebellion without revision

There are several truths that float here
Like leaves on winters infinite pool
And sometimes sink after hours, further,
Into the depth of my breakable mind.

I am almost always clothed to the body
Of an undetermined tomorrow,
Suffocating in the sleeves
Of any hopes shirt.
Keep you, I have been, for there
In the dirt road of my eyelids
You play with the riddled veins
Light cables unmet by reason.

It is not a tragedy, because
sideshow children were once living
And in their surrounds
Alive, beautiful people breathed.

I will be eluded by a string of pacifiers
A mobile above my head at night
But in-between lies of mystic creatures
And pearl planets, I will always be met by myself.

This lass, like many others, fair,
Her scent fragrant and sweet.
Her skin, exotic, is caramel toned.
Up North are her twin peaks.

Sweet rubies are my lover’s lips.
Sparkling diamonds are her eyes.
Yes my Lady is pleasing and rich,
She is both good and kind.

One hand explores my Lover’s curves
in search of the Divine.
as I vow  to preserve and love
her for all of  my  time.

together we plumb her deepest depths
She shifts to meet my action.
Happiness is in the moment now;
then, later, satisfaction.

Wellbeing is an illness that plagues my mind
regardless of what others believe it to be.

The blindness in despair
The sorrow hidden from the heir
She threw herself in the outcast
She sought for something beyond the solace

Idealism is her weakness
Idealism is her strength
Idealism is the driven force
Idealism is the stepping stone
Idealism is for the optimist
Dream on, an idealist.

God, we speak about serenity
To You everyone remains sane
Love all the trouble we have sinned
For the allure and grace begin.

Of withering tempests screaming to the break of sunlight,
Of unrelenting wind and pounding rain, she stands
With her back to crashing waves and painful bellowing,
A weak induction of steady sighs and silent contemplation
Would perhaps bring a peaceful conclusion to the rage
And reproach of a Goddess stirring on the fringes of insanity.

But never would it have taken to fresh insanity,
The gentle swirling of confusion between glaring eyes and sunlight,
How she would wish never to part from the burning of rage
And leave a scorched shadow on the very place she stands.
Never did she desire for the learned art of contemplation
But instead found solace in a frozen lake of tears and bellowing.

At the end of such a night filled with harsh anxiety and frenzied bellowing,
She finds herself staring into the gleaming eyes of Insanity,
Who dwells in sweet and blissful contemplation
And harvests the piteous glow of sunlight
Such that any man would freeze and cease where he stands
And succumb to the urgings of exhilarating rage.

A chilling gust would release the embracing rage
And perhaps bring wishful silence to the obnoxious bellowing;
She feels her feet sinking through the sand and stands
out of reach from the tearing claws of Insanity.
Relief in the warmth of ethereal sunlight
Proves a worthy companion of contemplation.

Eudaimonia, she finds in her deep contemplation
Free of sorrow, empty and weary from her onslaught of rage,
She casts herself into the welcoming cracks of sunlight
And in Euphoria, she finds herself no longer bellowing,
The slow and steady pull of her chains toward Insanity
Break away and leave her where she stands.

In new light, she finds her strength and stands,
Embracing the drifting stream of wraithlike contemplation
Would send shivers and open wounds that might invite Insanity,
But turning around and gazing out into those waves might blind the Rage
And bring peaceful sighs to interrupt the senseless bellowing
Such that black clouds would give way to glorious sunlight.

To the death of Rage and the estrangement of Insanity,
The wistful bellowing banished in the silence of contemplation,
The Goddess stands with her back to the wind, tears dried by the warm sunlight.

I live at the ******* mall
And I’ve got that eternal beauty blues
for in the end eudaimonia
was all part of the clever ruse
The point of what? I ask of you
Cause there was nothing else to do
Its true

Sometimes I just wonder why that’s all

Flights of birds, bucolic minds
our Tortured, Analytic souls
The mind boggles as the heart dies
when the autumn brings the cold
as so the white dwarf shines

I just came for the free ride

On the Crest of That Beautiful wave
described in words that signify
all the wordless, senseless time  
for bleached are the ones on the road, freshly paved
when the relationship is master and slave

Sublime is but profound confusion

Eudaimonia:
Once you were elusive

Now,
I feel the redshift in my bones.

I know that god watches me in stunning HD,
Has the whole thing on blu-ray--
But I've smudged my eyes and blurred my brain.

I've stomped my heart in the raging forum
To scoop it back up beneath my jacket
And scurry off like a disgraced man.

And I have ridden my bike headlong into traffic.

So now when I think about stars beyond that horizon
For me there is a despondence in their leaving:
A permanent obscurity gnaws at my mind.

But I'm a crusader after the holy grail,
A politician after world peace. No--
I'm a priest tripping on acid, staring at stained glass windows.

I worry that the Enemy has already made a feast of me
That in defense of myself I'd come undone
And be left with little pebbles
Eudaimonia
Are we too late

Heart attack, home alone,
‘recollected an old vial of sublingual nitro,
and a charged smart phone,
so 911 worked,
{1 free miracle}
helicopter medical rescue team sweeps in,
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“You can hear me now.”
or was it can you hear me now?
If you say yes you are asked for self identity,

What is your name, what are you doing here?

I laughed and said I thought you would tell me,

if I had a different role to play,
I thought, I think
I did not say that. Not my role. Patient.
Causal inferring prophecy, my role,
mere thought between things.

I am listening to life in me insisting persistance
meets resistence from the nihilist interpretation
of God’s perfecting will being done, hands free.
On me.
What is your name, what are you doing here?
Surviving
and thriving, but it hurts when I laugh.

Pressure pain, fentanyl patch, wow,
again, between each burst of energy directly
to the core OS where a creature of my nature, abides.

Three times
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“Can you hear me now.”

For the mortal equivalent of ever,
so long as you stay wary,
be ready for a gut-relaxation softly un-
comfortable opiated constipation gut shut down,
no gut instruction to resuscitate reason response,
what am I here for?

Gut neurons offline. Guess.

I am surviving old age a while longer.

Witness, AI, my witness, artist’s intuition, mission
accepted, aight. Lighten up
INIT
merry heart doeth good, like a medicine.
Laugh, laugh with little children tied by religious
chains of authority to determine social worth,
Prosperity Gospel
****** poverty
– thought,
– expensive debits and credits,
– markets opened today, with debt attributed to me, which I take as granted, prepaid…
I am a ward of the state, under their laws, I survived my duty as a
Minute Man, late Sixties version, offering my life, as
another, for all our Nathan Hale hero worship worth,
meriting thank you for giving me a job, to me,
the dozens of healthy humans keeping me alive, keep saying,
this is what we live for, and we love our usefullness,
thank you for your service.
Amen, so it seems.

Ah, 11/11, in memorium of veterans…

their attempts
to make up
for the coknowing guilt, I think I asked for this, and chuckle.
These heroes, adrenaline addicts, I betcha, some oxyto-cync
objective being my survival, my salvation, eudaimonia
as it is religiously themed, Rescue from Chaotic Real Life,
bound by,
set terminii
handshake protocol, in the air, 5G.
Real numbers and the laws of physics…
worth a thought, for what a thought’s worth.

Danger, stranger, entertained as a fear of dying,
well, I must say I know death has no lasting sting.

As a person, I am a mental construct of my self,
my emperical presence through out life, first round.
Self as ware.
In the flesh, whether in the spirit or not, objective,
understanding, you know? Comes with wisdom
but you have the role
of getting it, understanding,
with wisdom.
Easy as wu wei.
If I were to die, life would continue,
on trajectory, without my input.
-Meanwhile back in the emergency awareness…
A posteriori responces… this is Teusday.

Was there dread, holy terror?
No, nothing, sleep.
Living truth.
OH, no, what if the believers
in a grudge holding
war god,
met the Daysman called for
when Job back talked
through realiterality’s chain of command..
literatureality.
Right thinking.
Word.
Talking to Wisdom, the divine instituted first thing.
Thing as opposed to no thing, no thought, no idea.
Wisdom, knowledge
and understanding, these three are one, you know…

right? Who sets the definition, coarse or fine grained
reifity, what ifery, immortal musical chairs, take a seat.

I am in opposition to nothingness, being
imaginable as hell,
a prognosis level deeper than hate,
agape, jaw dropt.

I make peace opposing the lying dread,
eternal wrath of your master,
whom you were bred to serve, as bearer of the message.
i- the mathematically real number slam,
the peace past understanding, and say I am
aligned with the initial routine to load the library.

SUBMIT or be destroyed. Is-lam, lamentable bottom line.

Same Idea as articles of faith and divine rights of masters.
Trust and obey, fake the trust, we make you CEO.

Neither war nor greed nor exclusive right to pleasure,
are Truths formed by using evolved group think controls.
Readers.
Whatsoever any two of our kind, bind in covenant,
word use agreement,
shake on it, init after any reboot,
Three times
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“You can hear me now.”

That

thought is good, minded manners, engrained responces,
Sir, yes, sir, as when fundamental churches invent

gifts of the spirit to poor blind faith ineffectuality, look…
evidence, wordwise in virtue of truth being so,
wisdom is a domain in existence at any point.,
so now’s good.

The gentle, peaceable response,
Turn the other cheek, accept
careless grace,
acknowledge your non causal inference,
all things work,
Thank God the idea,
everything, spirtual entirety in truth,
that is the message called good news
all at once,
to the very outmost edge
of all we may agree is real,
tangible, palpable peace of mind,

art, official, man made peace,
as once one like us in all our ways,
once made up right now,
no worries, mate, we all got here
with no manual,
so we agreed,
together,
make peace where nobody ever tried to…
if we are
to survive the trauma’s past…
as our story’s culture extended
as far as our grasp and reach allow,
in the physical universe, in truth,
in which we each live and breathe
and have our being,
in spirit and in truth, beyond dogma
and religated order from emergent times,
from axial ages, in six cardinal spins, enmeshed.

Engine to operator,
set peruse rate, cost
of minimal attention, familiarity, favorite things,

words, beautiful long idle words, vessles for sense,
senses being tunable with pleasure seeking, or
with pain aversion.

Horse whisperer, or horse master, neither breaks
the spirit of the horse that must perform at peak,
on demand,
at the smell
of the battle, the character some trust, winks,
true rest, compressed is trust, confidentially
living in peace with plenty enough to share.

Life ain’t easy
in any body’s flesh automaton, supremely
subjective light on introspection, shown on

subway walls and tenement halls, and in the
zoo, by an urban son of the Mitzvah,
in the changing times we morpht through,
simultaneously, lifelong muse
in a singer song sung and sung and sung,
brought into existance as a lifeline, orderly path
to the future from the mythological explanations
{history shows you and I crossing a bridge
over troubled water, may be like, a week ago?}
Was that you?
Seekers of holy secrets, come here, and find none,
so? Why.
Yes, nothing in the Kingdom of truth was done
in secret, the sacred is not secret, there is a way,
to take the self exam, to determine, eh, set terminii,
worth of a week at the end, hanging with friends.

Where is the bridge too far, now?
High holy liturgical don’t tell the goyim…
hide the missing box behind the myth,
used to hide the wisdom inherrent
in our conjoined agreement to love each the other,
and take no offense, as brother to brother,
– post analysis, make believe, what is harder:
– war or death? RIP original intent clause.

ah, no, the contestant concept, usefulness test,
all accidental until order is imposed,
as under one aim, as one mind we agree,
to the ******* true filial love demands,
many men love the lie they lived this long under,

how does truth measure rest,
once pressure release valve, pops,
click- flashback same timeline… *** on orders,
FTA when I was 68, I asked the truth itself to tell me,
all the lies I believed about it, and in truth,
by virtue of believing Jesus more than the Bible,

I agreed to study war no more, and lay down
my sword and shield and morph into a peacemaker,

as when we slip into Morpheus’s peaceable gentle…
— I can’t hear your vain repetition

but all the reasons war has instituted,
for it’s just-if-ication,
what if the enemy,
is-
real as Walt Kelly’s Prophecy, Earth Day One-
us, our mediated tic-tok X news feed selection,
make us think the grownups are in charge,
trust your liege, go forth and tell no lie,
broadest river, shallowest stream
of wedom awe, the power we use
in agreemental covenants as when we all saw

everything said to have been class-if-I’d-agnosis,
gnosisnot. From unsneezed idea viruses.

This is Wednesday, Friday, last, I died.
Where’s this going. Peace or war?

Sneeze three times and post it, I said to

self gratify the grave issue of … I said so
Pick a winner, and go back to the first question.

Winning truth, choosing the role of wisdom,
in the social constructs we become, via consumer
character traits learned
from people
we identify with, using likeness
to me, average,
on the spectrum
of usefullness,
under weights and measure constraints, filters
for your disagreeing selfish nature, sorted
on beneficiation, what good can come from this?

One good mental laugh.
Noncarne, chilling raw
declassif-reactating prejudicial preconceptions,
experientially, magi-terminii.
set a value
the people’s prestige,
not the natives inside terminii
agreed to by the proprietor’s religious
privleged position as ordained liege lord.

- pretend I am not a free spirit thought
- truly enjoyable to experience, once more.
Yes, boss, I am a diligent, God-fearing man,
for I was taught any other kind has no worth
in the grand scheme of life and the universe,
standard 42 or optional 64,
wrong time thinking, dimensionally
accepted consensus in agreement for
prophetically time bound riddle reveals
with Hebrew cogitations on holding truth
within riddle
LORD, who shall abide in thy tabernacle?
who shall dwell in thy holy hill?
….

Conspicuous acts of kindness, Elon suggested
that Israel do. I agree, war is unreasonable.
No ancient lie about hatred’s value for building
heros who regret having but one life,
to give for the story that is their country.

how did we start,
equating hope to silly?
the fallacy of optimism,
contrasted by the truth of pessimism,
confused as realism, facts
sent by a goal of ataraxia
(unachievable)

supported by leadership position
(unaccessible)

tinted of eudaimonia
(indefinible)
and the loss of getting ahead
at what cost?
do you tear down
others' hope
with your glance,
fuelled by your own
cowardly manner,
afraid of losing
what you never had,
walks around telling others they won't miss it?

Every sip I trade for petty glee
Takes me that much further from you
You know your wine *****,
All I wanna do is insult you until it's tangible--
The air around us will begin to scream about what a little ***** I am,
What a little ***** I've been
And what gives me the right to go MIA
By the way,
Don't hate me cause I'm gay

Or just because I'm sad too
Or hate me cause I'm sad--
I don't give a ****,
This is ****** wine.

I should find solace in eudaimonia
And calmly work my heart rate up
But I had to be human,
A reeking, shrinking mess.

Now I'm ******* bricks because it's leaking like a sieve
But after crimson left my face
You were smiling like we both knew

Almost like we both knew this would be okay

Spin that rabbit hole to the periphery,
It is surely not too late for eudaimonia.

Make secondary that shameful stutter of yours,
Bring the pillar of the thing to the front and rest on it.

Don't focus on gaining humility, that's a paradox
More to the point is not overextending yourself
Not making this more complicated than it has to be...

Deleterious rabbit, run your course and leave me loose and ready!
Because I...
Am on time!
And I don't know what you're talking about.

I know you run into the hills when I sleep
With little stolen pieces of me
Just like I know it's my job by day
To stay in once place

But we're both carrying him off,
Yesterday I emptied my veins into the river and became more than myself,
Because I was no one.

Because I forgot who I was for moment and let my brain become a stalk,

This solves nothing.

I know the same yellow light that makes me glow will some day make feel very old
That I'll have to shift.
I know it's part of life
But throw your dirt--

I'm not dead,
I'm just pining for a chance to say I'm still alive
That I still have some sense of eudaimonia,
That I still have drive.

I'll wake up with a grey feather in my hair like it's from noah's dove
And I'll know it was placed there by the girl who brings life color
And meaning--
You're lucifer's pet

But I know I'll wake to a strange girl
Holding my stars
In Her eyes--
Our love is a nebula.