To be imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea,
by the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words,
provoked brooding that my comprehension of his susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen,
when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen.

By the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words!
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany,
but when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen,
I discerned this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance.

I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and when I discerned that this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance,
I vowed to rectify the imbroglio for my quintessential cynosure.

When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance.
I vowed to rectify my quintessential cynosure of the imbroglio,
and fabricated a denouement to return her to halcyon incipient.

I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance,
until hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply.
She fabricated a denouement to return us to the incipience of halcyon
with ineffable felicity, and I remembered with ebullience my inamorata's words.

Hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply
provoked brooding that my comprehension of her susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen.
With ineffable felicity I found ebullience in my inamorata's words
and was imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea.

If there is something hidden
That is allochthonous,
A tiny, distant shard
Pure and iridescent,
No matter the beauty
Honesty has no place
In this well of confusion.

If there is something lost
That is moiety in nature
A sure, capable life
Destined to go blindly
No matter how bright
Honesty has no place
In this well of confusion.

If there is something inside
That is lost, that is allochthonous
Beautifully, alive & whole
Unknowing of it's fate
No matter that I wish
It was still a fragment
Honest love has no place
In the well of my profusion

When that something
Is not myself, but you.

Tiny fingers and wobbly toes
Boy meets girl with his eyes closed.
As tiny peanuts in shells, inside a glass bubble
So fragile and gentle they grew as a double.
True miracles on earth have been born
Loyal to each other they are sworn.
Children, we welcome you to a bright new world
Mother and father, meet your little boy and girl.

BASILISK-EYES,
GELID-LIPS,
UNDULATING-MANE,
IMPULSIVE-BRAIN,
HYST­ERICAL-HANDS,
UNFURLING-FINGERS,
ASTRAL UPPER-MOIETY,
UXORIOUS LOWER-MOIETY,
TREADING-FEET,
HOLLERING-HEART,
REJUVENATING-PROTOP­LASM:SOUL........

1574

No ladder needs the bird but skies
To situate its wings,
Nor any leader’s grim baton
Arraigns it as it sings.
The implements of bliss are few—
As Jesus says of Him,
“Come unto me” the moiety
That wafts the cherubim.

It's optional
Like the fading of skies
Early, wild, or remorseful.
All the impalpable space in the lights
Scaled in weighty gilt and curls
The locks and gold of sun,
early as it sets on a moiety of moor grey
Brushed by shadows of agonised poplars
on a spiral land of sheer pistachio blanket.

Muffled by lyres played from the trumpets of
convolvuluses, behind spears of the brain-
an imagery commence to carouse
into planet deep.

A promenade atop the tulle of skies,
an optional way to live.
Saunter and fall onto slopes, shudder, meditate
and hit a bee coffin pebble on the temple
Where there are options to live, to bleed.
Like the lurid sunrise sifting on
yellow-green nuts, and dandruffs combed
like granulated sugar
Oh the taste of chemistry
on the shea butter candles.

It's sanguine and optional,
your farewells on laden calendars of poems
A promenade- back into sea of spears and flames
A cadaver veined in pink,
bearing plethora of methanol
down pulverising bone.

Two pieces in the entirety of the world
     exist as separate parts of a single soul.
Together each portion that we are
     brings a clarity previously grasped for.
I taste you in the very air around me,
Sense your presence as it crowds mine,
And though we must eventually part,
know that we,
     the two moieties,
     exist in one rhythm.

I see the moiety as one
The obsequious masses
Blindly burning in the sun
Tell me why
We aptly succumb to the norm becoming bystanders
And why we watch desperately
For the media to report the facets
That have lasted
And most of us still actively do nothing

The world won't stop without us
But we haven't began
To make our footprints in the sand
This world is ours
And as sentient beings
It's ours to protect
by dissecting each other's intellect
And reflecting
And accepting new concepts to protect it
Instead we infect it
The moiety still unifies
To eagerly and obsequiously
Burn themselves in the sun

1586

To her derided Home
A **** of Summer came—
She did not know her station low
Nor Ignominy’s Name—
Bestowed a summer long
Upon a fameless flower—
Then swept as lightly from disdain
As Lady from her Bower—

Of Bliss the Codes are few—
As Jesus cites of Him—
“Come unto me” the moiety
That wafts the Seraphim—

It was most boastful of me to assume that I could be the one to fill your cup
to assume that no other flower could fulfill you in the same manner
who am I to assume that we don't look just as lovely in a vase
and who are you to compare a rose to a carnation?
one whose grace is affiliated with beauty itself
and another that bumbles clumsily along like that of a lost bee
in every flower pressed,
in every poem composed
I seem to grow more tired of describing this ephemeral love
I continue to saudade in pursuit of moiety
leaving myself in a state of perpetual hireath
but in full honesty, I don't mind you switching me out for rose here and then
though I can't help but ponder
if she holds the same warmth in your arms
as one does in mine
and as to whether or not I will always be a stand-in for the next lovely rose to come

-a blissfully ignorant stand-in, a carnation

My sweet evanescent orange
although it has been a quiescent season, our time seems to be running short
As you happen to be a seasonal delight
and although our dalliance has been lovely
it has not been one of moiety
I will miss your
rough skin
dulcet taste
and your slender intricate eyes like that of a flickering leaf
Your bittersweet words had a redulcent undertone,
puzzling,
in the most delightful way
but as examine said parcel of citrus before me
I find a scintilla droplet of lament
for I do not wish for this season to end
I am mindful that it would be quite stingy of me to ask you to obtain till next season
for I do not hold possession of your bucolic tree
nor do I know if there will be a following season
So for the time being I will refrain from harboring jealousy of others who admire you
for although I nurtured and paid homage to this Sinensis tree
I am aware
that I am but a visitor
sitting under a grand opulent tree
enjoying your sweet taste
while we are still in season

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture’s sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right,
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie—
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes—
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To ‘cide this title is impanellèd
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,
And by their verdict is determinèd
The clear eye’s moiety, and the dear heart’s part.
    As thus, mine eye’s due is thy outward part,
    And my heart’s right thy inward love of heart.

Sing softer to me,
Oh fading masterpiece of my own discrepancy.
Let the tremulous vowels resound furtively upon your delicate lips.
Fading swiftly we have only just begun to transcribe the messages underlying this fantastic fever.
So shiver with me in the cold of my own vacancy.
Trust that the smoke that escapes me now is only a product of my own frozen tyranny and that you are the foundation of this great work which I lay down my discrepancies upon;
the alter that I sacrifice my pride at.
These stone monoliths enclose my memories half-constructed,
the other a moiety of truth.

Synchronic simple step
be
yonder, yo, go, no
go, si, go
on and on and on
… so yust so
yust to be we once went

we split, full moiety,
each
ac-
act-
act-ion -jello-timed- lobes
blobs plasmoieted mind
parabolic, by yah,
Arching fly call it, I got it,
call his name, yah who done
did done GOT
caught
the funny parts. Read the books.
Now. At this point, cognitive native
child formed in my mortal moment
per-ifery-wasery rules
secret se- per seance
sacred made knowledge,
state of knowing entered, left

ab-rupturously, grief, lief
left easy, re lief, sigh
good
grief. We were all
we-    are Charlie Brown, forever

interrupted, as if once, however long ago,
we knew we were one thing,
then we knew we were merely

words between things you knew
and did not do.
and you know you imagined this is that.
The novel experience, this side.
Post-done and paid off.
Precautionary. Click.
Why not,
who is asking, hangs, as pregnant pause
über Þe olde excessive easing hook,

who are we, and what are we doing,
we who were to survive receiving
asked knowledge, the easy-does-it tree,
shows us the easy way, this way dis-eased.

The lie and the profundus is merely piercing.
Flatten the spikes, be atop the bed of nails.
Wait. Funda-mental, bottom mind, first
id-ego otherwise mind,
frame a being, be a
one, and not the other,
here, there, there, it's okeh, eh, ok?

E-see easing easy living, being been done,
doing all that old trees do, after all,
we wait to feel the fire beetles,
land and lay their eggs among our ash,
and swollen-cracked nuts,
fire calls them into heat, in season.
Such things we learned
from the ant people who saved us in reeds,
thatching from roofs floating, maybe,
really, lifeboats, but
think a tsunami through,
rush
incursive and excursive.
Lay down a layer of plausibility, evoke applause
clap each hand once.

Curtain.

Different percpectives of the same coin. You see the heads while i see the tales and maybe a little different but we both are a moiety of a whole so broken that each part doesn't recognize another.

The astral maiden, Astraea whom fairly puts
All characters to bed piercing the scales of
The crocodile- The Beneficent Immortals,
Amesha Spentas; for moksha living-out and out-living
Theurgically shaking the invisible numina of
Assiah, breaking darknesses moiety rolling asunder
Claireaudience wisdom using the internal
Monologues of the subtle bodies breath at the
Root of lights vibration. The apparition voice
Of the ritual of silence exciting the Moirai
Formula's of knowledge against the son of night
At the palace of Zeus, uprearing the final justice;
The divine purpose:- becoming visible of matter,
Corporeal, to keep body and soul together upon
Ceiling zero in the presence of the eternal consciousness;
The great watchers of the sleeping souls, loosely
Treading Via Lactea's path attaining
Immortality, burning up and burning out.






ELEETE J MUIR

A PSA:
Everyone’s full of ****
We just call it as we see
Agenda
Conversational propaganda
You can’t convince me otherwise
You aren’t  they
They aren’t me
And you aren’t I

The eyes that see all
Blend the moiety
Of the woke
And these are our ‘leaders’
The ones you call
Sagacious

Thought leaders
Research and retread
Old thought
Convert it to binary
Tweeting in shorthand
To a generation ******
For their lack of thinking
They’ve convinced the youth that

1+1= 2
Only when it’s their truth
1+1=2
No, 1+1=you