They wondered why the fruit had been forbidden:
It taught them nothing new. They hid their pride,
But did not listen much when they were chidden:
They knew exactly what to do outside.

They left. Immediately the memory faded
Of all they known: they could not understand
The dogs now who before had always aided;
The stream was dumb with whom they'd always planned.

They wept and quarrelled: freedom was so wild.
In front maturity as he ascended
Retired like a horizon from the child,

The dangers and the punishments grew greater,
And the way back by angels was defended
Against the poet and the legislator.

No, I am not a legislator
of the world*
only a voice
a tiny voice
( vox clamantis in deserto)
but the winds
shall carry the words I write
and scatter them
over faraway fields
mountains and seas
wherever destiny bids

somewhere
somehow
someone would get to know me

just words
words drawn
from the blood of my heart
words I have lived with all my life
and loved like the most passionate lover
words that have made me stronger
than I could ever  have imagined
words that have made me cry

they began so innocently
and I toyed with them
one by one
syllable by syllable
phrase by phrase
sentence by sentence

eureka!
I  have discovered
words are alive
they give meaning
to all that is in life
and above all
they define what I am
and have given me
the building-blocks
of
what is
what is not
what should be
what should not be
how to
how not to
to be
or not to be

the jigsaw puzzle
pieces are coming together
and a clear picture is emerging
( a long drawn-out process
but how rewarding!)

Words I no longer could leave behind
and they would not want to release me
then the day came
when I realised
I became words personified

no, I am not just flesh and blood
any more
think of me then
as nothing else
but words
just words

What Walt Whitman Knew About Democracy


For the great American poet, the peculiar qualities of grass suggested a way to resolve the tension between the individual and the group.


When Walt Whitman began conceiving his great volume of poetry, “Leaves of Grass,” in the 1850s, American democracy was in serious danger over the issue of slavery. As we celebrate National Poetry Month this month, the problems facing our democracy are different, but Whitman still has a great deal to teach us about democratic life, because he saw that we are perpetually in danger of succumbing to two antidemocratic forces. The first is hatred between Americans, which Whitman saw erupt into civil war in 1861.

The second danger lies in the hunger for kings. The European literature and culture that preceded Whitman and surrounded him when he wrote “Leaves of Grass” was largely what he called “feudal”: It revolved around the elect, the special, the few. Whitman understood human fascination with kings and aristocrats, and he sometimes tried to debunk it. But mostly he asked his readers to shift their interest away from feudalism to the beauties of democracy and the challenge of sustaining and expanding it.

Whitman offers one metaphor for the grass after another, and one feels that he could go on forever.

This challenge is what inspired him to find his central poetic image for democracy, the grass: “A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands.” Whitman says that he can’t and won’t offer a literal answer to the question. Instead he spins into an astonishing array of “guesses.” The grass “is the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven”; it’s “the handkerchief of the Lord…Bearing the owner’s name somewhere in the corners, that we may see and remark and say Whose?”

To Whitman, “the grass is itself a child…the produced babe of the vegetation.” “Tenderly will I use you, curling grass,” he writes. “It may be that you are from old people and from women, and from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps / And here you are the mothers’ laps.” He offers one metaphor for the grass after another, and one feels that he could go on forever.



But mainly Whitman’s grass signifies American equality: “I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,/And it means,/Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,/Growing among black folks as among white,/Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff,/I give them the same, I receive them the same.” Whatever our race and origin, whatever our station in life, we’re all blades of grass. But by joining together we become part of a resplendent field of green, stretching gloriously on every side.

Whitman found a magnificent metaphor for democratic America and its people. Like snowflakes, no two grass blades are alike. Each one has its own being, a certain kind of chlorophyll-based individuality. Yet step back and you’ll see that the blades are all more like each other than not. Americans, too, are at least as much alike as we are different, and probably more so. America is where we can be ourselves and yet share deep kinship with our neighbors.

And who are our neighbors? Kanuck, Congressman, Tuckahoe, Cuff—Canadian, legislator, Virginia planter, Black man, all of the teeming blades of grass that we see around us. When you stand back far enough, you can’t see any of the individual blades, but look closer and there they are—vibrant and unique, no two alike. We say “e pluribus unum,” from many one. But who could have envisioned what that would look like and how it would feel before Whitman came along?


MORE IN IDEAS


The grass is Whitman’s answer to the problem that bedeviled his contemporary Ralph Waldo Emerson: how to resolve the tension between the individual and the group. Emerson is sometimes hopeful that the two can cohere. When you speak your deep and true thoughts, no matter how controversial, he believed that in time the mass of men and women will come around to you. Each will say, ‘this is my music, this is myself,” Emerson says in “The American Scholar.” But mostly he is skeptical, believing that society is almost inevitably the enemy of genius and individuality.

Whitman’s image of the grass suggests that the one and the many can merge, and that discovery allows him to imagine a world without significant hierarchy. Can any one blade of grass be all that much more important than any other? When you make the grass the national flag, as it were, you get to love and appreciate all the people who surround you. You become part of a community of equals. You can feel at home.

We can look at those we pass and say not ‘That is another’ but ‘That too is me. That too I am.’

In “Leaves of Grass,” soon after he offers his master metaphor Whitman rises up to view American democracy from overhead. The poem’s famous catalogues of people doing what they do every day are quite simple: “On the piazza walk five friendly matrons with twined arms;/ The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold,/The Missourian crosses the plains, toting his wares and his cattle,/The fare-collector goes through the train—he gives notice by the jingling of loose change.”

This is your family, these are your sisters and brothers, Whitman effectively says. In general, we walk the streets with a sense of isolation. But if we can move away from our addictions to hierarchy and exclusive individuality, and embrace Whitman’s trope of the grass, our experience of day-to-day life can be different. We can look at those we pass and say not “That is another” but “That too is me. That too I am.” Or so Whitman hopes.

Of course, the benefits that Whitman promises do not come for free, or simply by reading his poem. We’ve got to meet his vision halfway, by being amiable, friendly, humane and nonhierarchical. This repudiation of hierarchy is not so easy; it’s not clear that even Whitman himself pulls it off. Isn’t he trying to be a great poet, the first truly American bard? But his effort matters. He knew that democracy is always vulnerable, that the best hope for human happiness could disappear from the earth. But Whitman would not let that happen without a fight.

—Mr. Edmundson is a professor of English at the University of Virginia. This essay is adapted from his new book “Song of Ourselves: Walt Whitman and the Fight for Democracy,” published this week by Harvard University Press.

Copyright ©2020 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved. 87990cbe856818d5eddac44c7b1cdeb8
Appeared in the April 17, 2021, print edition as 'What Whitman Knew About Democracy.'

An Opus, is this. Ai do declare, my works,
my opera, taken in to my self aware, soft
and gentle
- tame the framing window

- as the Mona Lisa in chalk, let it be
So, old man, he says to me, quoteless in my mind;
what do you think of the last linear affect, my wisht
effectual request, quest for reason to will. May we?
Taste, and see.
Firsts are always free,
there, sit and stare at a stump,
…
At the core, before first root, the door
to out is locked up tight, living is hard.
Imagine many hands making light function, easy
shift from one sense to another, by the numbers.
Seed time.
Long time and short time
long lingering memories, short sharp reminders,
freedom, heard touted for all its worth, cost free.
Live to realize you did believe,
this is what we get, on earth, within bounds.
-mindtimespace and maybe Aristotle's four causes.
-there never was a hell those are church merch.

Coknowing, as any reader by now must be, coded,
we know freedom is not free,
we lieve be, it had to be won,
and as with any war,
winning is never done,
until we all choose, yes, or no, use our reasoning,
learn to bolt the rye,
- sift bran and endosperm
life has many
layers, many folds in a flakey crust

set… listen, windy March time flooding prayers,
asking the boss of all the weather, for wisdom
to come
on the folk who rebuilt
on the new sand.
Knowing, high and mighty.
Storms mean less to a house built solid/
broken bricabrac and whatnots galore,
shattered anvilt'dust,
as in the wind, once used to sweep away,
my married mind, unwound, or un raveled
as may be the case, aitia, as accuser.
opera operates deus ex machina

Is he free,
is his task his alone?

May be, may not, who could say?

Science with its native usefullness,
knowing good and evil, as translated
from the idea,
pride.
- Whence comes contention
How much, how little, measured out
so my part and yours, balance, against
all our worth as ones among the many,

duty service warring minds, stealing time

let this be the palimpsest, recovered
from
radical actual chthonic stage
between the rootedly other wise, simpleton
sublime curios spirit, settling soul substance
hope imagined
image, form imagined in motion, in access

the unacknowledged legislator, impotent
in the wasteland populated by the poets past.

Empty of spite and venom, distracted ******,

the dread of failure, is past me now,
I have become a defender of the faith used
to form my bubble of being,
thinnest of walls, translucent lattice seen
closely enough
to discern the marvelous vision, not to be
lied about by one who never watched selecting
portals accept the usefull and abhor the useless.
-cellular ATP [pop]
Freedom
of the press, belongs
to the man, wombed or un,

Take the poet's high seriousness, this
which brings a self forward -duty
to try signaling-- here,
here, exactly, as
by standing acting out that light announcing danger,
dare not come too close.
Mime meme, mea culpa. {as we cross another's line}

"compulsive excavation
of the void inside"

Irinia, HelloPoetry.com said that,
- goodnight, as an exclamation
-  she said that right
Peace, be still.
And I, the old Weaver's fan,
known as Happy, whishing
wafting hot ai
r, we there, as my soup cooler
slips in a Disneyified whatifery
pool where wandering minds wait
recoknowning, groan growing,

silliest little diamond miner
of 'em all… so stupid, he's cute.

And in that way, the hero being
generated, on the pattern
handed down, to be seen

when you gaze in to your
close kin's eye and see co-known,
we were made
for this,

Klang, that Zildjian once again!
Exclamation, thus marked, calls
attention in the mind's contextual
effectuality, becoming
realized,
instant by instant, at first glance,
whose enemy am I, is the game,
truly
win or lose?

End act one.

Act two. In realized ever after that

The Internet exists, and we were here,
to help announce it,
then we made decisions, to make this.
-Opus

Spiking hopes up, we are among
the first billion mind text to text artforms
to survive
the transition to whenever next insight
sets us right, functional, operational
points,
in reality, centers, of shapes.
- of things in mindtimespace
In this medium, this is my realm,
your role,
is yours to define, any time, think ahead,
see if this goes there, what if it does.
Read'm and weep.

Then what do you do? Ever being after
learning enough to come this deep
when
time arrives.

Short time and long time,
made some mutual sense, muse using me,
and me,
I wished for this, that's so,
I asked to know the meaning of certain things.
I third in to knowing grown, as a tiny we
takes form of information in words rye,
or reasonably surprising to confess,
you know, McLuhan says yet, you know
nothing of my work. Awry.
Successfully making pasta with home-milled, bolted flour depends upon an appreciation of the interplay among grain selection, mill settings and bolting equipment. Failing to consider these factors increases the likelihood of making a weak dough and pasta that breaks when cut and/or cooked. Although one can mask the impact of a weak dough by choosing a more forgiving pasta shape (e.g., creating cavatelli instead of making tagliolini or tagliatelle), knowing the interaction of grain, mill and sieve will help you to create the pasta you envision. Google it.
Certainty is madness, has been resaid
in many ways, all the same, nothing changes

until the bubble of all we call awesome, pops.

AND Boom, it's Art for art's own sake, and me,
for my own, as we two witness, here,
this has already happened this once,

upon, operating the game, shame is left
in your -wherever,
compost it, tell the world.

I made nothing of myself.
I made something else, and then
I made U,
my qwerty symbolic friendly stat set,
bound near-letter
to peeling layers from this particular pearl,
today- in the post Everybody Knows, Cohen
sacred making idea in other words
sacrificial artifice,
offering unto that
super positioned we, humanity has set aside,
holy
holy
hoho ** green giant, ma jones, whole earth

Stewart Brand, right worthy former breather,
with us to this day, in word, and you know,
wheres words take us,
a we spirtitually untied, we
these days, depend to the nth degree,
on real estates in mindtimespace, literaturely.

Ben mentioned, awesome,
I did not catch the reference, I see,
I said a third I line pattern stylized me.
I see, I said for the nth dime degree
Phryigian Liberty Lady.{PLL} appearing

on the silver dimes entangled in the web,
of what Bacon knew or did not know,
when he invested with Madoff.
I know.
He did not write the sonnets.
Marking timestretched most point. Here.
right passing the point.
We imagine everything, am I right?
Line upon line, messaging any thing reader
ready, right now,
this is not the act, no novel form
of a sliver of if,
this is not that.
this is vid licet, per missions taken
for granted, as
meaning clearly I believe I have the right to say
reflectively

I know a whole
other story, new to you, but not to many readers
you were,
in previous experiences
in poetry, and books
for lievers being brought online
in due time.

Ever after that. You may, pause, and imagine roses.

Act three Realized mentally

At the end, it is mental ascent, we do form,
in conformity to the commonest of codes,
Berners Lee's Hyper-code, as manifested in hopes,
of artists,
so called by all who knew them, the framing crews
at Aaron Brother's Art Mart Penny-Frame Sales
events for staff, same
kind of crew glue,
as seen any where,
apron clad, badged, same grinning, that's me,
I did that, too. Grind,
locked in midnight restocking

Walmart, yep, #26, Van Buren, Arkansas.

Target on… Cuyamaca, Santee, San Diego New
Trolley End, right, future planned in action..,

I got black dirt cred back to Moses, m'friend,
I am as full blood American as may be by imagining
I am a Union man, distant scion of a soldier
who had a son prior to dying, around 1781.

In the war for freedom of the press, yes, Ben,
my childhood proverb provider, reminds us all,
owning the use
of money is better than owning
money.
Freedom
of the press, belongs
to the man, wombed or un,
the awesome asexual after all we know,
who who followt Jeffy, and yet did not die in shame,
I mean
after all, we know, we think, why any might
be
so tempted to throw in a sorted *** scene
to envoke audience reaction
by invoking spelchekian mastermind.
Freedom
of the press, belonging
to the man, wombed or un,
who has access to HelloPoetry, past all the 502s.

Free, if you will. No yoke. Seat of y'panting/
Ai aiai

This ain't showbiz. It is one act enacting another.

A writing being ready and read, at once, later.

SO, I bet the Diamond Farm.

Friendly local game, envision a vision of your own,
drawn from what you know is good, for food.
Good idea, fishing for everything.
Got one,
governing meat eaters,
keep your gun, pay a meat tax, by
buying a deer tag, which you may use
or put in to a deer harvesting pool.
That pool then gets used
to pay hunters and packers.

Living forests allow humane behaviour.
Be having the right to use the proteins,
- but you must pay the butchers
- as you might pay yourself
- for the gutting and skinning and all

tastes may be acquired,
that is a power, that sense, too any thing
taste
at first, too bitter

resending hate hate hate, thought caught,
infecting all who take free time to think.
Sweet persuasive, tiny
taste, ah
any, ha, may take a direct object status
in any story, told to gurgling gut gladly
reminding us, aha,
food is not imperitive, o see, im per it
-this instant, soon, however, bread's a must
imperit
ive found myself a happy enough
moment,
dopplering blue jay flies by, says Hi.
- I read myself into the game, and call

Back to Bellow, he told of a fellow in Spain,
who spoke of nudists on the public transportation
in Frankfurt, so, I slip in time slime, no crime time,
¿when was that,
in the era Bellow was an adult in,
when I was just a kid… living in those days?

Poker on the Diamond Farm, in the dust,
we swept into play in the after you believed,

what-did-you-get-to-do game?

I got old. After a while.
Actively participating in the spirit
of my time.
And most of my future happened as I did,
we happened to be here,
at this time, reading.
An opus set to end, when the contrabassoon
blow ai ai ai.

Curtain.

I am tired of the summer
With the assumption that warmth is good
Green is better
And a sunny day is the Cat’s Meow

Here is my assumption.
Summer kills when
Angry throngs riot and loot
When one of theirs is brutally murdered by The Man

When the funny man hangs himself
And makes me want to do the same
When intolerant zealots demand -- Convert!
Or else die

When your legislator takes the summer off
Before completing their job
And when monsters
Take an innocent young life out of lust or convenience

It could be that summer really is a murderer
On the other hand, I may take it too seriously
I await autumn and its cool breezes
And less news

Brig. Gen. James Cantey
Born December 30, 1818, Camden, South Carolina
Died June 30, 1874 (aged 55); Fort Mitchell, Alabama
Buried Fort Mitchell, Alabama: Allegiance United States of America
Confederate States of America Service/branch United States Army
Confederate States Army
Years of service 1846–1848 (USA) / 1861–1865 (CSA)
Rank: Union army rank Captain (USA)
Confederate States of America, General; Brigadier General (CSA)
Unit Palmetto Regiment (USV)
Commands held: 15th Alabama Infantry Regiment
Cantey's Brigade
Battles/wars: Mexican-American War
American Civil War
Other work: Painter
James Cantey (December 30, 1818 – June 30, 1874),
was a Confederate States Army brigadier general
during the American Civil War. He was a lawyer,
planter, state legislator in South Carolina and officer
in the Mexican-American War before the war  and
a painter in Alabama both before and after the war.

Joseph Brevard Kershaw
Born January 5, 1822, Camden, South Carolina
Died April 13, 1894 (aged 72) Camden, South Carolina
Buried Old Quaker Cemetery
Camden, South Carolina
Allegiance: Confederate States of America
Service/branch:   Confederate States Army
Years of service: 1861–65 (CSA)
Rank: Confederate States of America General; Major General
Battles/wars: American Civil War

First Battle of Manassas, Battle of Fredericksburg,
Battle of Gettysburg
Battle of Chickamauga, Battle of the Wilderness,
Battle of Spotsylvania Court House: Battle of Cold Harbor
Joseph Brevard Kershaw (January 5, 1822 – April 13, 1894)
was a lawyer, judge, and a Confederate general
in the American Civil War. Kershaw, the scion of (                ) plantation aristocracy,
was born in Camden, South Carolina in 1822,
admitted to the bar in 1843, and       was a member
of the South Carolina Senate in 1852-56.
Kershaw saw battle during the Mexican-American
War, but fell dangerously sick and was
                      permitted to return home.

James Cantey     was born on December 30, 1818
in Camden, South Carolina.      After   graduating
from South Carolina College,    where he was a
member of the Euphradian Society,  he studied
law and practiced law in Camden.              Cantey
was a two-term state legislator in  South Carolina.
Cantey was an officer in the    Palmetto Regiment
in the Mexican-American War,                 rising to
the grade of captain.  
He was wounded during the war. After the end
of the Mexican-American War, Cantey became
                a painter in Russell County, Alabama.

ARTICLE 1
The state consists of a legislative, an executive and a judicial power. The judicial power organizes itself and functions independently of the legislative and executive powers.

ARTICLE 2
The people who are in this country have equal rights and are treated equally in equal cases. The state does not take into account personal aspects such as beliefs, preferences and physical characteristics.

ARTICLE 3
In the event of a violation or alleged violation of article 2, the state investigates the facts and acts in such a way that they are submitted to the judiciary for assessment.

ARTICLE 4
Unequal opportunities are eliminated as much as possible by the legislator, both in current cases and preventively by organising public order in accordance with article 2.

through sixth-sense lenses
built into focused-frames;
the unacknowledged legislator
zooms in on the landscape hidden in plain sight;
to dissect, digest and divulge
an abstract autopsy of societal abnormalities.

disguised in makeup of mythical tales,
the parallel pictures hide in satirical details
dressed in innocent historical fables -
revealing esoteric plot-holes in reality
and magnifying the pore-sized loopholes
onto projections of pundit objections.

in sculpted stanzas
the poet reshapes alphabetical definitions
to portray and illuminate telescopic details
into layman termed translations -
misread by the naked eye in undefined,
unobserved misdiagnosis.

picking up the mantle laid by poets of yesterday's;
the protest songwriter picks, strums and plays
off of the same hymn sheet -
laying lyrical foundations to critical conclusions
on stages set for youth driven revolutions.

making money off of welfare
by speech powers
as obstructionist pursues
debate and vote outside of chambers
this is treason in the legislature
one not elected may not ?
pursue tax and violate rights of ?
the legislator
this is a interest in diverting published journalism works
in process, while speculating and "market street"
incident of exposing witness to crime
while capitalising on loss of speech and a peacefully assembled
legally unchalangeable bill of legislation
"earmarking the fortune of an idea" while in transit and not involved legally in the state legislature.
"holding lobby"

these are legible statements of freedom

in ventura every night you leave us outside
post pandemic with this law
that these people have leveraged
interest into the legislature
we exist confronting a housing collapse,
mortgaged slavery of our seconds
titled as dead parcel's with violated civil rights frames
the assault on the person is this eminent domain
of failed body boundry by the non profits and legislator irwin

thanks for the prison break and bondslavery visits with the hillside stranglers, green river killer disciples and mimics and government corruption fixated and ownership of the lightswitch and realestate  of my country.  i am not for sale

Theories of ancient cultures
were one of the most important
features of the Greek Scriptures.
As sad Greek "heroes" they run
on both sides, a hero of the Trojan
War. However, with age, it is
called an Alma mater and olive tree,
and that the life of the dead should
be accepted as abnormal and responsible
for death, or for the protection of life,
its power given The order to get a command,
rather than a man, is a hero,
but it is less than God, the supernatural
style has given milk and its effects have
become powerful people associated with  
Antibiotics; And he came between the heroes,
it is less definite, but in particular, in the case,
has dropped from Heracles, the city's best
people, but an informal hero from Time 10th
and 9th Century BC. A panic-stricken part
of the Mount of the Greeks These facts show
that the original fundamental traditions found
in Homer was clear. Repeated murmurs
of Durga Sutras are started after opening
at places like Lakhkandi, although the dead
people were buried, Robin Lane Fox says,
"History has begun to bury, to those who
have already believed and decided that they
are not in the old or in the place. "1 Nite
of dissociation, Hero's hero and hero 3,
leader of the four heroes of the state's
kingdom and the other 5 heroic Greek Pandas,
the Virginism of the differences and the basis
of which The public electoral elections have
increased Political life, because the people
of the people are no longer used in Mikon's
devotees, because a man can be found.

Where ancestors of Louis Lewis' local
movement are located, flames can lead
many places and can destroy animals under
Ilym and away from the tradition of bravery
of those organs and according to Mycinon,
it is From the links and ropes for heroes
in Cholesterum. "From Epic Sian
Coldstream believed that the reason
was the fourth mass of Syriac in those
areas where Mayans had a different
kind of devotion before most immigrant
populations." The great dome
of the Mickeyian graves, which represents
a great history, the names of all the men
in Adopeds do not play any role in oil
corners in Lausanne, Louvre, CA. 380-70
BC and AP. The legendary tradition,
in which we portray the lives of heroes,
and not in the form of worship,
the first heroic worship,
due to the assassins of Athenge's
Dagil legislator, BC. In relation
to both the century, the request
was made to honor the local heroes,
they should be in the way of father's
life It is a ritual, but it is a ritual                                      Concept of the texts,
heroes and saints, the graves of the mosque,
or where the ceremonies of the ceremonies
are to be protected,
and celebrate them
as well as to take care of them,
who were awaiting the founders
of stories. It is referred
to the hero because he still
has a local approach
and he has "kept a limited
and narrow part in his life,
a person who claims to help
him, his country around
his tomb Resident, the race
was one exception, such
as "The founder of Robert
Parker and Herculaneum,
when he was still in college,
the reservation was an exception."

When the whistle is translated,
the final is different level,
where brave culture is a co-city,
is a political In the 490 BC,
Marathon's hero, who offers
worship of God, excavates,
and it is estimated that
the Greeks were the heroic
not all of these processes mean
the concept of worship
in the form of Beckett
and Prosperinna and not
because God and Apollo
have hours of complex
food to compliment life.
There is no exception
to honoring both
the heroes and the stupid,
heroes or both the gods
and the holiness.
Others worship heroes'
play with wisdom; Or,
a snake may be sad,
which I have never
seen had welcomed.
One report is that false
Pythagorians are eating ...

Questions linger about whether many of the displaced will return to communities. Also, is the soil healthy? Is the air clean?

For Americans waiting for legislation
We waited through fires with no escape also.  I am an American poet.
My roomkey building was destroyed by the elected legislator of the gerrymandered districts in Ventura
That's an 805 out

Maybe the Thomas fires I remember but we aren't handed newspapers much.

I. Another part of Ventura the roomkey of vagabond inn sits destroyed also

So far words of spending the legislation legally have been muttered, really only creating criminology and destabilizing a finite democracy are all that has been accomplished in California history. The white house cannot provide budget without a finite account for democracy.

Citizens allowance is all we give to the oval in return for free speech

Dedicated with senator time kaine of Virginia to the national archive

The civil wars of rights

1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW
Washington, DC 20500

To those of resolute consternation
And those of irresolute diplomacy
I applaud you

Crook your obedience's and a plug
Perhaps some drum goggles

Joel, the Benito polish at the job?

And in one wrong turn the Israelites went to europe

No more I love you's Kendall

Web certification ring of trust exploit of?
Speculation in market while co mingling and coercively estranging speech of?
Buyout monopolies of space
In transition of penny
Swap model as eliminated discussion in counter argument residual foresight of debate able conjecture with timing of off debate que cards

Market manipulation from non profit as senate in office

Market manipulation from non profit as senate in office
#barackobama #rbreich #mayorofla #cagovernor #elizabethwarren #nytimes #latimes #washingtonpost #dailymirror #bbcnews

Playing English Alexandria

This is government corruption

Kim? Juris Prudence study?

Irish journal

Passive income recovery humble
Kendrick, thank you

Constraint of market cap in price verses
Priced verses usury laws in neglect of Louisiana California resigns quotient
To buffalo gate

Four square chase bank vault clause
In webring of organized crime
Offer retort or rebuttal from what say you?
Examine witness?
Call forth dependent in frame as perjured legislator

The lost pages suggest, journalism

The day Care for life walky talky
Committee of thoughts does not actualize a revenue report

Limit of legislator vs debate in issuance of rights

The preventative measure of speculation day and night as well as means to weigh positive counter arguments and augments chain of command in the progressive movements be they Republican, Democrat or youth oriented labor parties evolving in and out of junior college textiles sectors

I was a pupil who interned with doctor horiuchi tesuro let's say for learning prefectures of japan

Ok Tara, so when the girls in fashion organize the output every season that's textiles there
They bring us New York in the city and  
Mayor us all yet congress is slow here

Ok Paris now let's look at our Tara shrine build

It's too late for me,
I can't grow from dry dirt.
I want to stay,
but I have no one to.
I want to run,
but I have nowhere to.
I stand beside a ghost.
We're following our shadows,
to find our way home.

Real or fancied—
my poor eyesight cannot tell,
but my heart feels the difference.

My promises made rules,
but my writing hand is trying to bend them.
the office of a prison warden
is just a fancy cell.
I'm an outlaw legislator.

I swore I won’t ****.
I just need a place
to bury this last corpse.
His ghost just wants to rest,
but he lost his shadow,
and I can’t trust my own.

I break something once,
but I tell its story a thousand times,
hoping the words could undo it—
every time.

I wished it was your hands
instead of that rope.
I wished that redness
was in the shape of your fingers.

When everyone finds out you are a liar,
you can't lie anymore.
Everything that you ever say
will become meaningless
in every ear—
even your sincerest truths.

I tried to hide it
between the lies.
But you know the truth.
You know I am a liar,
because I promised you.

I ******* promised you...
didn't I?

The poet may not be the world's legislator*
       but what he expresses touches the core of every matter