******. No white guy can say that, right.
People who can truly call themselves ******* can. *****-***** ****, W.O.P.,
maybe they can say ******, okeh. But they say it mean,
knowaddamean.
What'sbout Jewboy?
Can the Kaffen kid say ******?
Sand-******, but not ***** ******. Hecan say ****, too. And *** and *****.

Oy vey, okeh. We can take it. We can take it all. Rules is rules.

That's right. Wanna fight? Wanna be my enemy?

--- Grandpa had a play date. ***- Where's the Fun?
These kids got no guns.
And no enemies. Except imaginary ones.


Greedy little master mind sprouting odd fruits from Pokémon.
Can we make this work? Perfect it, in effect?

Marbles, maybe we can teach that old game and go from there to the funnest parts of FTA... Findtheanswer, like God and Adam played. The rules are some same, bounds, fudges and such. Keepsies, ante-ups and such, too.
Risk is right if-I-can-tation.
Losses can be baked, clayballs,
while momma bakes our daily bread.
Poor kids can make marbles in the sun, since forever, I am sure. Rolly-polly patti and johnny cakes roll marbles into spoons,
Momma knew that stuff. She could shake butter into cream, singin' along Que sera, sera, whatever will be
will be,

but it won't be the death of me,
watch and see,
babu boy oh boy
---
We can play war until we die, but don't tell the children.
They are the price we are to pay. They must believe.

We swore allegiance for security. We thought it best
for the kids to lie.

You know?
I believe, you know. It's unbelieving I need help with.

Can't you see? We swore allegiance and taught it has become the  honor-us-course-us-po-deserve-us ritual. A rite we pass for the protection of the eagles gathered around the body.

We are proud of our children who die taking
the courses called for, we never ask why,
except when we cry. Silently, inside.

It's our role to remember the glory
of our children dying for the IDEA that lives
in the statue of Freedom
under which our laws allow
might is right, if God was ever on our side.

You know what I mean.
Say so. You know the lies are being told.

Stop believing that is okeh, eh?

---
Mussleman dominance meme manifests once more to battle the flood of knowing being re-leased or bought, outright, to aid the seekers seeking the meta game.

F.T.A, remember? Find The Answer. Same rules as Hide and Watch,
"All ye, all ye, outsiders hidden in our midst, in free."

"Send me your- poor, huddled masses",
remember being proud of that idea.
Poor thing, lady libertine, so tarnished now that not even Iaccoca's glory loan could gild the actions she sanctioned in the name of the republic for which she (a proxy mate, feminine aspect of God) stands. Sig-n-if-i-cious-ly.

Seig Freud, we say, with the statue of freedom watching over the legislative body, she stands
quite similar to Diana of the Ephesians,
in her role as mob solid-if-er, if I know my mythic truths been told.
---
Trink, trink, trinkits gits the good good luck,
light m'fire witcha spark and see
a light in the night when the noises pending terrors flee.

Rite, we passed those places ages ago, now we hear echoes, only we know them, for we have been taught,
what echoes ever are.
Our own terrors screaming back at us.

Alot of lies are taught wrong
and a sleeping giant in a child may dream
of other ways to see.
New windows on new word worlds expressed in
HD Quad-processed reality
simulations. You know,
child eyes see right through those.

Exactly that happened. Slowly at first.
Good is more difficult to believe
you are expert enough to try doing than is evil.
Read it again.
This couplet or line, as time will tell.

Don't ignore known knowns,
stand up under the weight of knowing good and knowing evil.
Be good.

We know from conception,
we think,
whatever it takes means
take what ever we think right,
pursue happenstances in the favor of my father's world,
provided for me, the kid.
\
The son, a first-man son,
some several thousand generations removed.
Lucky some body stored the good stuff in the mitochon'orhea, right.
We'd be powerless. O'rhea, double stufft, blessusall.

Otherwise lies are left for kids to learn,
but not to
be left true,
as when they first was told.

Our sibyl e-gran mals tol' em true,
as they knew what they passed through, to the moment, then...

Around the fire, dancing shadows, make them play.
All ye, all ye outs, in free!

See dancing shadows, en-joy my joy, be strong,

long strong, sing along, long, long song

and laugh until you die.
---
Some con-served ideas will land a man in a prison with no keys.

Imagine that. Take your time, it is no passing fancy. Be here,
with me, a while. Pleased to meet you I am, no comma needed.
Now, we may wait, whiling away a time or two is common, in mortal pauses. Are you dead or alive?

Is it dark or light? Do you see in color here, or in gray?

Who built your prison? I built mine. You'll love it, I imagine,

whenever forever flows past those old lies striving for redemption,
recycling-clingy static hairballs and ghost turds
touch, once more,
*** potentia amber atoms in cosmic chili for the soul
of the loaf-giver, warden of the feeding forces life lives
to give dead things. There's the rub.

Spark to fire? Watts to fuel the favor, Issac, can you lead us in a song? A con-serving song for when the cons a fided or feited,
defeat my sorrows and my shame,
let me see Christ take the blame.

Confidencein ignowanceus. Worsen dignitatus evawas.

Blow on it. Soft. The spark landed in that ghost **** you thought you swept away or ****** into a vortex of hoovering witnesses,
if you whew too strong, you blow yer own little light out, and have to wait for lighten-loadin' bearers
to take care from you.

That can take time, too.

It always takes a while to get deep enough to see the bottom.

Cicero, old friend...

ne vestigium quidem ullum est reliquum nobis dignitatis 

[not even a trace is left to us of our dignity]

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dignitas(Romanconcept)>

See, from a single spark,
touching a volatile bit o' whatever,
you may see the root of the Roman canker sore
yomamma kistyawit.
And be on yo way,
satisfied minded there do seem to be a way, each day, just beyond the evil sufficiency we find soon after the morning's mercy's been renewed.

And may, if it may be,
ye see a rich man wit' a satisfied mind
and may that man be me in your mirror, as it were.

Carry on, as you were.
Or walk this way, a while,
mind the limp. I'll set the pace.
It ain't a race, y'lil'squirt.

Wait'll y'see.

Waiting is time's only chore this close to shore.

What manner of men are we, who could be our enemy?
What name makes me your enemy?

What peace can you imagine when no words carry hate?
Can you imagine evil peace?
Cromwell n'em said they could make peace wit' war.
They lied.
Their lies remain lies,
evil knowns
good to know, on the whole.

Knowing makes believing count for more than idle
oaths of loyalty to memes mad
from the first of forever to now.

now. stop. This is the bottom. I know the way from here.
Do you?
You can say so, but you never know,
if you never make the climb.

And that can take forever, I've been told.

Cotton is everywhere,
it's on the ground;
in the ditches,
all brown and soggy like
wet hairballs; in the wheel wells,
the rotor tiller;
the SNAPPER'
the squash;
your wife's *******,
tingling her constantly;
the speedometer,
the pulled pork,
collards,
mashed potatoes
and most definitely
the gravy;
it's in the eyes,
makes them red
and explosive,
it's in the dark loam
and gloam; the unwashed streetlights,
the blue dark
and even bluer
lampposts in the middle
of fields black as oil;
the pink sun,
white clapboards
and redwood siding
of that burned-out homestead;
the cotton is everywhere;
thrown up by the slaves;
a ceiling made just for
February lovelessness
as I pull on my Marlboro
and crook my arm
like the cornices of a power station.

Shadow, you *******;
bead box upended,
a galaxy of beads beckon feline eye;
you’d choke in your bliss
for cheap plastic pieces.
Your toys remain unchewed, dusty;
my pens remain missing, useless.
Four a.m. is for sleeping, not eating;
I slam the door,
no longer listening;
your crying piercing my brain,
deep as the bead nestled in your throat;
They’re never the same again
once the damage sets in;
the special diet,
medication tucked in cheese;
hairballs requiring the kittie-Heimlich,
like squeezing a black, furry accordion;
and then it is I who cries
for forgiveness.

Cat-like lotto being scratched off
Shades dressed to the nines
Cat Women whites and Gray's
Pulling out her men's hairballs

Chatty Patty pancakes hearts
online more calcium her
bone Inn limit
Thank God! its' Friday
However, did it come to
the number 13 Orange
Pumpkin heads
Minus the 4 days she
needed her nine lives
back in bed

So finicky to test our time
Pulling all strings her nose cute
as a  black spot button,
Beguiled black baby cat on
her futon Miss pretty Kitty

He's the Navy Seal
The coach sealing the deal
Having *** appeal from
Heaven to earth 4 For 4
Wendy Tuna smells
Fortune tells the Luna
Cat on hot tin roof tiger print tabby,
The Egyptian Robbie dancer
starry eye glancer in the long
narrow alley Maggie May
The heating cooking up his
finicky paw the last
religious supper huge day
The black cat she's got 
 hot legs I love you honey

Rod Stewart forever young
On the ladder kitten gloves of money

Lady in cat print what
Cat's meow man handlers
Not one flaw over her dresser
Becoming the cat calculator

Fiddler on Roof Lechaim
to Life maybe it's not what
it seems
Hollywood Stray Cats big
bang theory what priority
Black Coach  secrets Victoria
Women like cats in her diary
Windmills of the Gods

The Hail Mary mastery
Tell me your dreams
Don't spill the milk
How love drops sewed me
in silk thread the test of time
We shouldn't test ourselves
like an unfortunate crime
About time knowing oneself
Well the cat got your tongue
Chosen one shelf

Like a book  going stale
We need them
Cat Coach matchmaker
You're the miracle worker
The book speaks without
being told
But how quickly our hearts
could be sold now taking
the bar exam
And your "Miss Kitty"
making her best-baked yams
So illegally you stoled all the pink
His smile is playing on me
His tiger eyes  Cat Coach so tempted
And like hot shepherds pie flicked
It's not bad luck to see a cat
when you had lied
You get what you give
Something gives how fate pulls

Meaning/mission/alleyway/
Dreaming/Cat fusion/Cat Valley-pay
Just love the way he makes you feel
Not in harm's way home cooked meal
Like Independence day cool

Kissing your money goodbye
Two glasses of wine Athens
Greece
Bigger than life Black cat
Demonstrator making her
own world of peace
German tour bus
Sparkling beer and good
cheer black cat like a
good soldier
under the chair
Dark blue sailor
He was in the alley
With cans and faded glory
You would never realize
he had a cat story
The ancient days of Gladiators
All imitators full moon black cat

Came way too soon
Bodies of the women
were sold
Roman EmpireTrump
got hired play trumpets
But darkness prevails
Like the treachery
The California dreaming
but the truth primary
Love wilderness or blind love
wildfire but brings tenderness
She said, my husband,
died happily and the other lady
told her___?
But he was happy to die
From the old world or new
We get cat licked
New world marries right away
An old world  it takes 1 to 2 years
But cats life will be even better
Nine lives you could wait
Are defeat you fall into
his bait
Fairy__tails Cat dynasty
Spartacus like bonafide
Princesses in the Coach
Teaching at the college
Taking a long tree ride
Get roared out Big Tigers
coach Please Papa Preach

When I was little
the hair on my neck
would stand on end
when I dropped my
pencil in the hopes
that I would discover
a hole in the floor
for me to crawl through
and discover something
better than the first grade.
Every time I was disappointed
to find tile and hairballs.

i want to know how you wrote my eulogy
if it took you five minutes or if it will take five lifetimes
to hack up your excuses like dry hairballs
presented at the feet of every person who will ask
why the little turtle dove is dead to you now

OK; I will:

I will drone on and on about this and that
and you won't get a word in edgewise.

Droning is fun! You don't have to
check your mouth
or worry about vocabulary;
you just need to keep talking!
You can talk about sheep,
you can talk about skin lotion.
Did you know that lanolin
comes from sheep shear?
But no one yet has figured
a good use for hairballs—go figure!
I mean, the Scottish figured out
what to do with sheep's intestines;
I mean, the Scotts figured, yes,
I'm talking haggis!
But then again,
the Moonlanding was staged.
It's true!
Evidence of soundstages
for that prank can still be found
in Area 53.
But back to Hagrid —
in the Deathly Hollows
he seemed 3 cm smaller
than he did in the first HP movie,
and I'm not talking about Hewlett-Packard.
Can you imagine Carly Fiorina
as president?
I sure can't!
Did you know that you can survive
deep in the redwood forest
by licking the slime of banana slugs
for needed protein
and protect yourself from hypothermia
by plucking hundreds of fiddlehead ferns
and delving deep inside them…

hey, I think my drone batteries jus

In my emotional womb is where
you were birthed.

You are trapped inside my
scared heart, in twined in
its scar tissue.

You tug on my heart sting's,
with your furry paws and
sharp little claws.

You're purs are divine
and purrfectly defined,
exactly what the doctor ordered.

You cuddle in my heart chamber
warm and soft, leaving your
hairballs like an expensive coat.

You linger on my clothes
furniture and blinds, you
use the litter box like you're
swimming at the beach.

At times you are smarter than
a two year old child
but don't care about a thing,
except for love and cuddles.

Don't forget about the food!

My morning toe nibbles and
rubbing against my legs.

You have a special meow,
that melts my heart away.

Half pur and trill multiple times
saying I love you one slow blink
at a time.

Ginger Beans is my favorite flavor.

©️ 2022 By Amanda Shelton

Just say no to kitten huffing
euphoric hit that ruins lives
it's a path that led to doom
addiction to rice pudding
resist the urge for plush fur
seeking fragrance locked within
it's source of all sin
that covenant broken in past times.

The holy books has it wrong
an apple was not the fatal charm
instead a feline was the lure
for sin to enter mankind's heart
the lying serpent spun his lie
furry kitten held in hand
'it's not right for the boss
to keep nirvana for himself'.

The temptation lay in fur
for the fragrance trapped within
dulcet notes that were forbid
became the knowledge not meant for man
the rest is history to our chagrin
an end to goodness all bemoan
even as the addicts claim
they find God by breathing deep.

Never mind the hairballs coughed
or the new fear of any dogs
the transgression that's ****** us all
is still pursued by high and low
in plush enclaves of the rich
or dank hovels behind closed doors
Lucifer laughs as the trapped
breathing misdeeds into life.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180414.

There was a dream in the head
of the universe screaming
to get out the doors called men
and women are multidimensional
crystal clear moments full of the
rancid grease of experience the
soft angelic smell of experience the
quivering love taste of experience the
dream screaming to get out was born
at 6:15 am in Sausalito, Beijing
Mumbai, Paris, Dubrovnik and wept
for joy at being among the blood and nerve
of sense of it all the soft pink bundle
sense of it all is just such a mystery
unto itself and all of us are like
cavemen and pre-cavewomen
in our understanding so no wonder
we don't know what the hell is happening
right before our very teary eyes
from sadness from happiness from ignorance
we cough up logic hairballs and
worship them boy are we ever wrong
but what the heck it's the only game
in town gotta play or just sit there
in a blue funk depressed mood
schizophrenic universe hallucination
we don't want so we act like we get it
as we idiot mine-detector our way through
this aquifer of vibration hummin human life

everything, like my cat. I'm looking
for someone to scratch my back. I want to
leave my impression  on  them. But it is
the shape of a hand, and the color red -

like a slap on the face. Well, better their
face then mine. But even that brutality wears
off over time. I'm just going to molt. And they can
save my casing to pack what I had into it -

as a sausage link. And tie a knot
at the end. They get so repulsed. It's like
I'm leaving my ***** on the leg of the
couch. So, they open the window -

to air the rancid smell out. I've cough up
enough fur hairballs in my time that if I glued
them together they'd make  a sabretooth
tiger. There's a lot of interesting pieces entangled

between the ***** and spit. Even with the shards
poking out like ****** looking for something to
insert themselves into -
I see them wise and beautiful!