Even now I see your face:
That strained yet honest smile,
The deadened twinkle in your eyes
Your deliberate words and style

I've known you for many lives
I felt it in our strolling miles
Brothers for longer than time
I'll see you in a while

Here is the place of death and ash;
Here is the slumbering beast of vileness past.
Look at these barbed wire rows
Guarding scarlet stained poppies birthed in woes.

At the swell of music I can fell the intersection of screaming of voices
They, like me, have been waiting for years
The plentitude of the thousands’ cadences
Are for the hunted, are the hunted
United, we stand in. This is unworthy, unworthy
Bestilled, we are here, standing like statues
Quietly, unquestioningly, indebted to ourselves
They said that, they said that: the mother voice
The mother’s voice
Oh, in the change of meter, she laughs and coos the answers
Your answers: we’re eying,
I’m the umpteenth man. Always. To ask,
Uncontented by the simplicity of the question, or the answer
Struggling for its complications, so, at least,
It can be done, it’s yet complete.
Wish against wishes, a silence doesn’t care
Then again, neither does the noise. Neither does the music.
If it were but love that made the moon rise, the moon rises
The ******* moon rises, it would be sorry night
A sorry state of affairs. Rest knowingly, and endure
The calamities of waning stars, twilight, and the coming day,
Marvel in the complexity of speech, and twine my fingers,
We’ll make it through.

Gone from this body
And flown
To fairer places
With no pain or travail
Gone but for the memory
And love left behind
Gone but for legacy and legend
Gone but for us
The three percent
Left behind

Helpless, when so many have died.
Can we do nothing but hurt inside?
Those can’t go home, no matter who cried.
Yet we never set those guns aside.
We listened while politicians lied
And even when some of us tried
Too many took up the other side
And insisted they were on the right side
The godly side, the intelligent side.
But they too were wrong or just lied.
And fifty eight, so far, have horribly died.

So, who is in the right here?
We ask year after year.
Why do we sell illogical fear
To allow weapons to be sold here
That are not used to shoot deer
Or game for food, but it is clear
They are for shooting people here
In our own country, not in Tangier
Or Kabul, killing strangers for fear
They’ll take away our freedom here
And very much like some King Lear
Trust all the wrong people. It’s clear.

Every eight years, we go insane
And let America’s worst bane
Take over what still remains
Of a splendid land that retains
The intentions and words of the sane;
The founders of our nation, and again
Give it all away “to elect for change’
Without consideration for the pain
That it took; the blood and the pain
To fight those who hate freedom’s name
And then to elect them back in again.

They are only too glad if we ****
And maim and destroy at will
As long as it's the poor we ****
And not their beloved on their hill.
That is too bitter of a pill
For them to take, so they shill
And subvert and always will.
They’ll approve the crazy skill
It takes to sit up on a hill
And shoot people at will.
They never quite get their fill.

So, when will we people get wisdom
And ban those repeating weapons
Being sold ***** nilly in the kingdom
Of hate, greed without sound reason?
When will we see that we are with them?
Just another human like their women
Brothers, fathers and even their children
That can be erased by their bad decisions
To let more nameless, brainless buy weapons
That have no good solid application
Except a bullet to the brain of our nation.

I killed monday with tuesday. Hit it so hard it gave wednesday a concussion. Which apparently made thursday mad since I messed up his **** day. To get rid of our problems and let bygons be bygons we made a toast in the honor of friendship since it is thirsty thursday. Party was insane. I met this fine girl named Friday. We were both a lil wasted and did somethings grown folks can relate too. I met another girl saturday. Equally as fine as the day before, hungover she said she can take care of me and make me feel better with time. I believed her and let my walls down. I was stripped raw of my layers. Did the same thing I did to friday. What a trip, exctasy until I realized, I arrived and could have picked up some extra baggage in my journey to and fro. I kneeled down on sunday praying for forgiveness and to wake up from this confusing dream. My prayers were answered but with a price to pay. knock knock knock police broke down the door within a moments notice. I am encarcerated for ****** in the first degree of a Monday morning, **** of Friday night and drunken driving on thirsty thursday. I pleaded guilty of loving friday, wanting fun on thursday. Only saturday would speak to me for she loved me, while encarcerated she gave birth to twins, in memorium of my sins I named them monday and tuesday. Wednesday awoke from the coma and married the drunk thursday. Friday is still a carbon spitful copy of saturday. And my faith within sunday still lies within my soul. If I die tonight this will be my final memoir and my sons will become *******. Godwilling they will not be mirror images of Kane and Able. But one will most likely be hated. Sadly these are the days of our lives.

Mist chose to linger a while,
though mild air belied October.

Overwhelmed by birdsong,
loud against the abstract silence
of these adolescent sentinels,
stood like arboretum trees
filled with the gravitas
of no age, no age at all.

The year passed as always
with them growing taller,
bolder, a little more aware
of wisdom’s cost
and the one they lost.

My love
She rests so quiet,
Where she speaks to me
In silence,
She rests beside
Her favorite place,
She rests in peace,
We put her there,
My other love and I,
We set her down,
Upon her final bed,
And covered her
With softness,
That we might
Remember,
Where she lay.

I have to
     forget to remember
You

and

Remember
      to forget
the rest

--Kingston Rag--

It's 8 a.m. again,
And my mind reels
In memorium
As I reel up the sidewalk,
Down the street
To the emporium
To eat a ****** bagel
That costs far too much
For the taste of cadmium
That comes like a punch
As I bite into cream cheese.
How much?
Three fifteen?
I only got a dime,
Can you throw
This one to me?
It's not a crime,
I won't tell your boss.
I get tossed right out,
So I guess I'll walk
To the bench
By the bus stop
And hope it stops
To let me on.
If not I'll pawn
The watch my pops
Gave to me (it's gold),
The only thing
He bestowed
Upon his spawn
Besides pools
Of *****
On cool granite
Slabs that served
As a deck
For the wreck
Of a shack
I grew up in,
Plus drunken sins
I had to cover up
For him,
Because that schlup
Could never win.
'Drink up, drink up,
There's no more gin,
But there's mouthwash
In the cabinet,'
But he wasn't havin it,
So I got hit
And sent outside
To sleep on the bench
On which
I now reside
Waiting for this
******* bus
To give me a ride
Back to the Bucket.
**** it.

I see the trees are painting
Graceful scenes for you
The wind slowly whispers
To the sky of grey and blue

The clouds break in silence
Light warms the earth below
The path of ice beneath me
Basks in the morning glow

Leads me to Flanders fields
Your silhouette appears
The crosses of memorium
A deliquesce of tears

The peacefulness resounding
My emotions run away
By the name that greets me
On your remembrance day

I find it kind of poetic
And a little nostalgic

That for one day
Or one week

We can all see
The night sky
Lit up with fire

And the happy screams of thousands
To join the stars

On one day
Of one month
Out of every year

And the sounds
Of the fiery sky

Thundering back
North and south
Back at each other

Like drums
Of sparks

I find it comforting
That a fiery sky

Can join so many
For a few hours

And turn back time

In memory
In memorium
Of 56 men

Who signed a piece of paper
A constitution

And of one man
Who predicted every celebration
On this day
That America will ever have

It is sweet to me
That one day 206 years ago
A group of men
Told America

*We will stand alone.

To Martin in Memorium

There was a moment when you seemed to reach perfection.
When expression, word, gesture, touch, look, understanding,
demeanor and desire coalesced, creating for your friends,
an envelope of hope.

Such wholeness can’t endure.
Nor could we witness, or preserve its force
with meagre words.

But even though the moment, like you,
has passed beyond recall,
One friend at least, remembers when
Your presence altered space, slowed time,
bent sunbeams, so we moved in light.

©James Rainsford 2010

My body is finally letting go
of the home
     I have made in this maddening silence.
           But it is I,
if there is anyone
     to be blamed,
for carving poems into my skin
and breathing a spirit into them
    in the image of you.

The love of my life has passed. I am devastated and ripped. My life seems ended.

To my baby, if only I had one more day.

Even just an hour , I could go on.

DiAnne, my soul mate, i need you more than any breath or water.

I shall remember you and keep you close in my heart as I always did.

What is a daemon?
In computing, a daemon (pronounced DEE-muhn) is a program that runs continuously as a background process and wakes up to handle periodic service requests, which often come from remote processes.
------------------------
Did no one ever tell you, child,
never swear for no excuse,
plead guilty,
confess you was beguiled,
indeed. By some when
back then you had kin, what
made time to preform
the secret baby making.

Once upon a time,
we were always orphans,
from first whipper snappers used
to scrape tar from industrial chimneys.

Songs of Innocense in a new age,
learning old religions decay to mythos,

whence new religions tie memorium,
whence each season we return to recall

our broken spirits, how so and so sang,
lala live for today, la la live for today,

some same stories we recall, links,
URLs, to old sessions recording history,

close your eyes and drift away, listening,
much as winds seem to do, returning
on their circuits from collection
to collection, paid attention tokens, believed
to soften the hull on the gospel seed sown
to a cultivated faith, planted to propagate,

the idea of a secret code Truth uses in spirit form,
the Truth of truths, which, if known, even once,
makes the captive free,

mentally, happy as one can imagine,
under unchanging immutable terminii enforcing
order.

Order, called for, order in the court
of geeky oddball poetic discerners of like or love or not,

Thought traditions trades across epochs forming news,
too much to think about while considering sidereal extents.

Desiderata, poetic license, madejathank, Christian Nation,

Conquistadores were still heroes in 1954,
when the generation first born in the United Nations
victory forever standardization of historical information,
- Boomers stepping aside, survivors come to remember
- first were we to be graded by machines for marks
- made in Number two pencils rounded to one swipe
- width, right answers, only, only, one swipe between
- the lines, esoteric practice for precision aim.

to be overseen by servants of the victorious economy,
as pieces resorting to old formerly used rules of conduct,

smell the wind the strange idea carries,
worth weight, pushing power, pumping umph,

known cost of use, userer's fee, faith, the story held true,

with the evidence in the box, the bag, the sacred bundle,
all but forgotten, faith becomes the evidence of things unseen,

children are told
to hold these truths, those being taught you,
as you line up
in patterns
of proven paid attention, facing the flag

child, you should remember, wordless, for lack of a phraze,
thinking What? What am I pledging, what is pledging, I swear

I mean, I swanee, by golly, gosh ****, shucks, I ghucking did not know.

i've got white skin, and yellow teeth;
he's got black skin, and ivory white
dentures... schmile!
   man... i'm jealous,
and if i said this with enough pioneer
passion in Kentucky...
  i'd be deep-frying my own genitals
        to boot...
   but i ain't... so i'm bound to simply
smear my face with clown make-up
and have a jolly good time...
it's the right time to pretend to be scary,
people are getting too ******
with their use of language...
      better still: it's about time someone
became scary, i preferred people when they
were bearly literate... when they were
barely literate, i didn't recieve this
pulverisation of ****-by-image...
      i didn't need to see this iconoclasm
of words, there was no copyright gimmick
included...
         but i really am... jealous...
black kid with a perfect set of ivory,
  white boy and yella chew...
               i find horror every time i see
a white boy sell me a window frame and he grins
at me like some african... and i''m just waiting for
me to disappear into a dark tunnel...
with eyes closed, and mouth stitched-up and later
asked to open his eyes, and smile...
   what a freak show!
              mind you, i am a newcomer in using
this tongue... i speak what i find...
         i'm just really jealous that black boy indie
has ivory in his chew, and i have yella...
milk teeth... i'm a bit tired that i have nothing
beautiful to offer... that my milk teeth can't talk
baby talk of innocence... that my hair colour
in abhorred... apologies for the fatigue...
     at least the Holocaust happened like
a guillotine... or hanging someone... snap of the neck,
quick... this history of slavery is really boiling
over into a tedium... i don't have the stomach for it...
   at least the history of the Holocaust happened
quickly, there was no grand pyramid to construct...
and so is the history of slavery...
                          it's dragging on and on, and on...
it doesn't ever stop!
                  will i regret writing this? no, not really...
i'm already doping myself with sleeping pills,
my conscience is corrupt to say the least,
   i just one horror more profound than the other,
the unnantural look of white people smiling
their ivory chew...
i can't look at white people with perfect dentures...
  i just get the creeps, shiver like i might be
hiding the corpse of my dead mother in the attic...
i don't know, something creepy...
     and at a time when every use of
language is made political in the western world...
when we live in a time of en mass literacy
that we had to accept the game of politics without
a viable gain of the game being played...
when we are literate and are unable
to say anything about art, when art degenerates
into geometry... i'm still jealous about
the choc with his perfect ivory grin...
  and me... acne prone, anemic and with yella teeth...
at least i can say:
    befriend the language of your enemy...
      friends are covert ponces anyway,
well, the so called friends...
                          oh i feel no need to *****-prance
should a Judas come my way...
      i've got pig-skin and yellow teeth like a cannibal...
and we live in a time when choc-boy with his
pristine ivory gets celebrated... and the post-colonial
society is really so in need of the end to its narrative...
esp. when compared to the Holocaust, which
ended so quickly that it already has its memorium diem
/ memorial day...
      a story that also involes the Aztecs
and the conquistadors... and how we see
the Sioux in Dakota... choc-boy over 'ere won't stop
dunking that rubber *******!
           it really does sound so much more effective
to be coming from a culture where the Holocaust happened...
people have a chance to move on... no one
is trapped in this perpetual nostalgia...
     they really did reinvent zoology and the zoo
with the Sioux... the sacred lands...
                      the pipe-line... it really is a new kind
of zoology...  and this is the bit where i tell you:
i'm not laughing. i've got white skin and yellow teeth...
  and i'm afraid of people that have white skin
and ivory teeth...
            then again, they fear me because i invoke
the idea of cannibalism...
    but that's a o.k., i've taken the catholic communion
in church...
                     a bite there won't mean anything
if i take a less poetic bite elsewhere.
yum yum frenzy... i can't believe western society
is being cleansed to reach the pinnacle of only pronoun
association, a complete lack of noun invigoration...
     and that pronoun hook is being torn about in an ****
game of st. thomas' account of a trans-gender movement
that happened 2000 years ago...
and was buried for the equivalent amount of time
in some ****-hole in the Egyptian desert...
then there's the language of the internet...
with the champions of emoticon and acronym...
which i don't get, i see it as merely
    the inability of writing computer code translated
into pop speak...
                a case of trying to imitate
the complexity of writing code...
                            translated into something i
didn't spend much time trying to decipher...
lol... :)... etc.
                         the holocaust really is like a guillotine...
abolishing slavery and the current american
history is a bit like the execution of mary queen of scots...
it took the executioner about three takes with
axe to chop her head off...
   what do you mean where do we go from there?
i thought that was made clear, with
space travel? oh wait... maybe we ensured
science fiction really does out-pace the actual science...
call it the Zeno affair...
science-fiction being the tortoise...
  science being the Achilles.
     i am conscious of the fact that i might have
said some awful things in my delirious trance....
but excuses are the joker cards in this demise...
       the facts remain rigid...
funny how you made the same effort in reading this
as i made the same effort in writing it...
  and how there was no kamikaze bashing of the head
against the free-ride of using a machine to
encode this... and that we became mutually inclusive,
and excluded the free-rides of the likes of
a you-tube video... or should i say:
  now that i have you full attention...
i'll end the diatribe against no one except myself,
pursuing yet another waking hour to meddle with something,
akin to this: the principle of res vanus,
given that we live in a time of the cartesian inversion,
where people really have to associate themselves with
something, that they need to label themselves as so-and-so...
to call themselves feminists or atheists...
   to stress the "i am", but barely remember
that they also possess an "i think"...
               safe to say, finding god can be as hard as
finding (the) "i think" in man.

Remake the photocrapsh, you have it,
edit, make the moment be that moment

and we redo the steps, the dance
in the process of time come to pass…

Breathe, be a bit aware, the air,
that essential other than I, is there,

all around us, one gaseous natural
substance us and all the other actual
air breathers,
some in constant meditation,
seeking mediation between spirit and

truth that life tests if I can perceive,
the suffocation of a story, conceived
in side my suit of fingers and toes and
bones and blood and meat and sinyew.
--------


Worth any reader's taken time, to make up
for enticing any one to follow a child
in search of lost time, I'd say none taken, none
left to find
usefull, filling a certain vacuum uses fructus
we yoost to take as needed granted. As cheese
from butter blessed with a meaty rancid taste.

Pre-posed, as supposed, positioned
up, above your head, above our eyes looking
up, into the thinning air beyond the morning fog.

Hear a jet plane, and think that noise unignorable,
then remember not hearing it for days, in the desert.

The ignorability established, test if I missed a sense
shut down class, perhaps I am the audience,
in silent meditation becoming one in time difference,
my peace,
I give,
not as the material reality gives, or is the world,
not all the material reality gives?

Wondering wonderfullness, full double el full,

necessary respiring, reselecting next moment
to breathe, re-in-ex-aspir'tual inter mingling me

and thee, the e, in all out joint efforting t'i
to fructify and die to leave seed soil cannot
suffocate.

Suffer it to be so now, thinking imagined touch,
the breath you take and replace with modified air,
humanized winds waft away the stench of our city,

our only physical existence place time sequence,
relative to mysteries too esoteric, by reputation,

if one never learns to use the good, to make good
a hope, a hook, with mystery, a sur-prize, un earned,

posed to be essential experience, once, for you alone,
the prize of personal recoknowsis acknowledged,

it's your party,
you can cry if you want to, but the art involved's
below you now,

as we took your breath away.
-------------

Fun with functionality, feeling your wish
to feel included, fecundity of same sour dough
higher minds than mine let be in thee
some how sure your part's done,
passed, missed cue, or
not.
The entertained remain, unaware… only knowing

the show must go on, and on,
and people,
on the whole, be having life
in the midst of life supporting

reality, recogentle, wise
teach
as trees teach, learn as nuts do. One
touch, one mind, one time to grow old in…

----------------

The daily ef'
fort ification va
vacation
cancelation …
looking away
at you, I think, at you,
I aim a wish, a joyish wish
wisht at a once,

upon which all stories dangle,
awaiting your attention, caught.

In the spirit of honesty, snared,
are we honestly acting strangely
similar,
similar tastes acquired, tasting
-----------

Echo rock effect stone groaning
-digital echo effect edit if you care, imagine
Peculiar order
own self first idiom, I am
become first ideal me, being
as good as
my word, and nothing more
esoteric than a reading mind's
recollection of a beauty envisaged

as an instant too brief to measure,
¿
instance,
in contextuality
stopped, and sensed
as a fly-by why, loosed for use
in curious arts, acadamized, apt
to wink at reasons feeding war,
to prove worthiness, what rule
gives order authorship legality,

in the scattered cosmos, who
orders each star to form from
?-
Point potential pose- d
to be
energy, itself mysterious, as to d
source and precognitionation put to work
as the works of God, the creator spirit entity,
put dhe PIE- put'erthere, core cognizance
in me, my child reminds me, for the duration.
Go is an order not a game.
Dare blame the temple servants, dare
cast aspersions at the spirit speaking,

gibberish, you wisht was peculiar, your query
run with your parameters set,
so your query
pulls from the spirit of timeless truth, a quest,
a duty,
a call to you, personally fit for your benefit,

maleficence despised sufficiently
to pass as white noise under signal. Go.

----------

generic me, reacting temper-mentally,
- getting to the crescendo way on
- down the line

to form a personality, a person like me,
emotionally tied to my character, my role

in your life, I see,
the other in the air out there, at the other
end of this wind

breath of life itself, certainly not all mine,
but I did add a touch of exhalent chaos,
in a laugh,
at recognition,
gnosis lies esoteric more within,
adipisci as if adept apt
at marking old regions lost to religion
- parrot headed afternoon paradisiacal
intentional, estate realization, holy place keeper,
mental, fundaments
minimum augments
happy old form gaseous wedom form,

beholder of beauty shown to set the meme,
look into my eyes, think mere words make minds

adversarial, as proverbial order impositioning,

in your brain, the ***** holding your will, if you
will, imagine another mind, with a habit in effect,

set to alarm me, when you see
the back of my head, and I do not turn to see you,

there you are any way, any in the official plethora
of thinkable ways around the obstacle
ambition definitely a needed virtue,
the will to know there is a good way,
the will to not steal, **** or destroy to make it
true
work applying patient perfection
to your tasked self, assigned early on to pursue, this bit
bait, curious bait, as scentual instunk ready, ready
ambitious ends means in minds, imagined done
is good as done,
Jesus said…

Two or more, you and me, endlessly
actual mental agreement, gentle, peacish
way beyond groovin', we be entering coknowing

eaching out, under our stars, we all know
what they are, they are near enough to feel

we each get this one big judgement day win, once…

ready to rock on, sit in witness position, watching
time pass, feeling memories sprout recollected laughs,
take the time, use your own, it never matters

looking back, from your self awareness instant, slo-most,

snap shot scene manurable, yep, gnoshit, that smell,

bucolic, fancy pants word, for real live process smell,
earth in cogitation, using a cast of billions of cloven hoof,
cud chewers fit to a stall and a milk ******* giant calf,

holy cow, each cow contentedly cogitates, how holy
am I to live in constant motherly bliss, and no
bogus science to make me feel lowly, mere meat maker,

for the sausage eaters needed to clean the windows,
so we all can look in on each other and say hello, did

you know this reality was here,
did you appear on purpose, or were you pre
supposed to be, so be ye do be.
Done.
Or don't, being as how here you are.

The end.
Now we wait. The point being made, when we feel it

really realizably so real holy cow, wow, milch for minds,
blowing past reasons for war, what would a holy city do?

----------------
Make a milkshake and use raw eggs.
Don't die.
Here, contemplation, using your knowing to construct
a shelter for a spirit,
a heart shrine, in memorium,
an avatar, that's the word, now, image made in mind,
non projected, kept bound under covering rules, why,

Gorgons are adapting to our air, as we all imagine
monstorous men leading conspiracies, breathing in teams,

fighting like hell to push back the peace cannabis brings
the furrowed fretful brow, high, low or middle, now,
- pushing back opening cannabinoid reception link
- thinking we all tuned in, is not true,
- the sixties I dropped out of,
- some boomers lived in, to this very day.

we all imagine the excess success allows, and the weight,
we all imagine the schedule, and the cameras, and think,

what, me worry? Will you take the esoterica to task, you

imagine life reset
to win the reasoning contentiousness,
with defined ambits being wills used
to lieve be the truth that Jesus said if
he is, believe it or not, leave go you know, if it were not so,

truth itself wills you know… you asked

let thy will be done, mine, I hold in place, conserving
certain truths fed me as a child, pledged in aliegiance.

Some values from when this world was lit by fire,
some of those eternal flames, never let it go out,
lessons used to arrange children on the pyramid,

few were told by their granddaddies
to laugh ten times today, and take
the long way around the mountains, find a stream
and keep its pace, time through space at any speed,

mellow is mental, mind frames are, as well. We think
we see the world one way, but we see it always good,

inherently good, inside the air we breathe and have
our being in, mind and brain barriers imagined,
fallen
long before the reasons for the ritual, right structur-al
to form as a temple made not by hand in mental form

living stones, I presume, am I standing on your toes?
Redone dances long left go be a fantasy from the cave wall.

- tips in times of self rejection, madness of art
devoted sons, once taken to an alter by a broken father,

God, take him, I'll break him, I'll make him like me,
don't let that be thy will, I'll walk with this limp,

but I'll not lie and claim Jacob's well ran dry.

The sack of values a poor man uses to stay alive, sur-
realize reason for being fine with sufficient suffering,

enough, to let me know, it is part of the process of time,
as recorded to be remembered, once
a prophet told you to pay attention, and as it appears,
to me, from here, my entire wedom did,

pay attention, with passionate joy, no lie, not even
to get by,
get past the poison
through the gifted, take life as granted found in a
willingness to whistle while you work, like a little tea ***,

here's my handle,
here's my spout,
tip me over and pour me out… do recall, do, once, redoness

dance on rare either real or otherwise, riverdancing ductility,

until I run out of breath.
And rest.
Riverwise on the seaside, going down.

When you get old life is as complicated as can be…
so- I fforget some things.
So, they had a saying, in the early day of open nicotine and caffeine,

put that in your pipe, and smoke it. Just let be the function. Peace
happens, seemingly by chance, often in Septembers,

made intentionally memorable for a good reason. We smile,
inner chuckle counts for laughing.
"Surely Feynman was not joking"

Let that be a lesson in legalizing enjoyed ennui, put to good use.

They're lighting up the north east corner of "the meadows"
practice run with low flying pyrotechnics
Sin city reds and globular silvers like coins exploding
against the new born summer sunset night
while the pillars of cumulonimbus thunderheads claw the desert sky
and like sharp fingers that squeeze a water filled balloon
the roiling fronts will burst and its dark deluge will gush
as the lightning flicker behind the gloom
and the boom of the Gods colliding battle  on high
shakes the earth and bones that languish in its boon...

Let the celebration begin, its 4th of July weekend,
let's recall how this great nation got its independence
by each **** of a fellow immigrant from the Mother Queen's scrutiny
cousin with your race & legacy in mutiny

how odd the madness of the power that deludes and controls
commands without minds finding recognizing similarities
in the Simeon faces of fellowships in God
turned traitorous in the name of freedom & love
how high that pedestal we have built to make idols of
slave owning founders with their profundities of words
to make law a movement, verbs for pride and enforcement
of unjustified bloodletting
See how modivated the stampede
as they rush washed of their guilt to take precious
the lives that have fell without having yet learned to live it

Let us get drunk on ale, and dress up in re-enactment
and cheer the invasion of the land not belonging
nor will ever belong to any mortal man
who will lie in its' skin in the end since life is brief
as a musket flash or saber's slashing the breath from their necks
Let us respectfully remember how putrid the blood
and the diseases that bubbled from therein
Let us celebrate that old America who's governing bodies
as white as the wigs worn in parliament
and lingering still the idolatry of such grand fathers
to dismiss the atrocities then
and ignoring the colors that now myriad
our country's racial profile / face / forward / march...

Can we then presume to celebrate the massacres after
the revolution in its greatness and re-written historical text
to condition the minds of our own
still underdeveloped --so as not to question
Gramp's authority,
or question the miens by which the old hatreds bleached
and soaked itself in the common sense

Can we celebrate the truth?
and in memorium of the old world
when freedom that was fought for
against the powers of powerful governments
we stand thankful now with what this world stands for

Let us dance and sing and hoopla
because we have succeeded in making it
creating that dream of total equally
with every struggle for the truthful peace
there was pain and growth of our nation's reign,
with every war never to be won
we find victory in the lives that discard its old ways
of divide and conquer
Because this is your America,
in debt and desperate for a new balance
and refreshing breath without
from within... the thoughts we collectively share
We are human after all
we are evolved and intelligent
and we can take what ever the **** we want
because we have the best immigrant minds
and we're # 1...

I can hear the popcorn firecrackers
with squealing of children's laughter fading
as the storm sweeps in...

if it is the future we reason
that we fight for, why do we celebrate with dishonesty
and deny ourselves the true face
of a miracle that is this current state ...?

It seems that it is and will become too loud
for anything other than exploding glitter in the sky
and doubt with its enemy - faith
is as silent as the thieves that steal dreams
that shatter like

exploding glitter in the sky...
if only awe was as that innocent and meek
when secretly I still wish
"God save the Queen"
and beg for world peace...

My flesh lies on the table
disconnected eyes linger and
detach as I stare in distance.

I am not here, wasted.
Hexed, broken mired in
blackness, darkness,
Gothic daydreams.

I like to stare at ceilings
and invent something between
minutes of gaze, sheltered haze.

Not living nor dead, wasted
depressed, condensed distance,
broken dreams, self loathing -
the yawns from the corner are bothersome.

I lie on the table, I am gluttonous
and well lived, dead alive zombie tree;
Beer and coffee have been my companions
in this forest of blowing leaves, with
the carcass of the sheep blistering the road.

I slumber, I wake, burning blizzard eye
sigh sigh sigh, cracking lies and digested
metaphor, perception of bore, moaning mire.

What a waste, writing in haste one's one
memorium, wake up and do something
poet. Live, or die, just do it well.

Spring is not the same
unless you're in Washington, D.C.
Not one Washington garden is overlooked or overseen

Pink cherry blossoms wave a sweet fragrance in the air
as their branches lift
We hold it in memorium that peace was a sacred gift
offered to us in the form of pink flowers from a country done with war
In Washington, D.C, the color pink means so much more

Frame a dative… spelchekovian science
show me…
for the mind, a recipient, then come the
messenger,
the artist's intuitive hearing silent songs,
long after the alcoholic angst of the victors,

the good old boys, discerning whiskey from rye.

The mean dad's that haunt the fragile heros,
shirking duty to the institutions that reared you, boy.

There was an old boy's school at Los Alamos,
wasn't there, yes, the spiritual making of citizens
had occasion to fall from the annals of America's West.

Hard times don't last. Hard people do.
Too true to dispute, replied the peacemaker on watch.

If you read, you've read this far, making you ready
to rethink why you feel good reading lines ready
to be rethunk, in your mind, at the same time.

As any then in any future with electricity
at cloud of all knowing farthest sofareach.

Readers who write and share ideal viral aspects,
a touch of clear joy, shameless, blameless naked glee.
Such sow seed, we bits alive.
We can resee the scenes of Panic,
and recall manic antics that felt holy at the time,

there are all the good days that ever left a mark,
at your behest, for your per-use knowing, on demand,
ask, any mystery, show thyself not evil, prove my trust,

gnoshit, gnosis initiates are rare theses days,
or so any hermit guru would say if he were you,

have I not access to the cloud, using cred from
God knows when, did I not lay my heart, mind, body soul,
and spirit on the alter with Jefferson, in memorium,
"Eternal hostility toward any form of tyranny…
super positioned right mind measure, mensur,… meander,

sorrow, tomorrow, today we play,
a robocall, potential spam, I answer to anchor. Real time
Tzimtzums, pops can leave a body breathless, in a future else
when then this all seemed ok, not aspiritual, yes, yustsay
aspiring to our higher minds lowest sorted issues,
entertainment
to hold an audience, pending, hooks, we need seven, min-
imum, holy gnoshit boogers of amberised gnosisnotdrips.

Precious memories, how they linger,
how she thought she caught me cheating at her game.

Wisdom won me, wombed man, brought me to my knees,
if you please,
you walk upright, bold as brass heated seven times hotter
than any metal wonts to be, this side of the sun.

Have you never seen the blemishes, sun spots, raging
storms, time and chance, when and where, here we are,

lucky us, we are alive in 2023 before the folly of mass-
education by way of animation, and literature referencing.

Drama has a value, reason allows, making war devalues it,
turns it to **** only members see, select audience,
the seekers first see Vonnegut ******* {;*}

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.

I watched the soldier, fallen
Aloft the absorbent green.
When will I be forgotten?
I once said of memories
They are dead things hung on walls
Drawn from imagination.
How will time, after I fall
Withdraw my memorium.

I once thought the past was dead,
Stiff, motionless in the grave.
I now see the past lives yet,
Onward, unchanging to wave
No flags of dull surrender
Whether or not we remember.
It is not that the song is sung of us
But that we have sung
And we let others sing
While we each have a time
To draw ourselves into eternity.