I pick this Earthly slide into Summertime, this season to begin, propels forward in all sense of Time, history retrograde, etched in Stone for Centuries, Coded in DNA, programed Circadian bodies, impressions applied geometric thickly glazed coat, generously slathered across my Retinal Screen.

Setup complete for me, attuned to Solar frequencies, aligned to cohesive Cosmic driving motion spiraling Syncopation with all partaking rotational bodies, all timers set to synchronous, all ties to everything celebrating their teamwork well done.

Activity accelerates, as does the heavy heat, both inseparable, together climbing ****** into sunburnt sweat, steaming, sizzling Sunday barbecue to reflect the Flesh boiling together in sympathetic Celebration of our Seasoned Sun.

Longer days accommodate for memories and fun, commemorate the Force of Season, into swing, will soon be swung, centripetal to glaze a different gaze lathered across my retinal screen, reverberate through Atmosphere, redistribute composition, smooth bottlenecking, flowing out yet emptying to take fill of what flows in.

No change of Season, nor change of Heart, no redirection ever knows emptiness, no moment leaves a Void unfulfilled.

No moment when the smooth Transition stutters to a Stop. The sync is in the constant movement bringing balance in equilibrium by shifting tides, Spinning Stars locking in, programmed by Primal Cause, the Synchronicity in Everything, so Summertime comes, this Time in which we rejoice, knowing it's all been planned, beautifully executed by mechanics of Nature.

Trust in understanding a Power much Greater is in Control, we are here simply for the Experience.

...Not to much more, just in attending to the Transitions of Ourselves.

Four quarter moons turn,
Four silver glances in time,
Bound to seven planetary arms,
Rotational orbits,
Spiral and thunder,
Spoke and wheel,
The hammer falls,
Throws the cogs into gear,
Churning out these ghosts of creation,
Violence and chaos bed the morning,
A wedding dress for the sun,
A veil for the moon,
The audience attends in quiet slumber,
Death is merely a rite of passage,
Birth reshapes the fallen ashes,
Carbon feeds the famished soil,
A chain of daisies rise from the scorched undergrowth,
Carving a path through a
Charcoal coated forest,
Life slowly returns to life,
Tender shoots of lavender,
Mint and fern unfurl,
An old woman fills her water vessel
Bent along the edge of the river banks.
Her gentle eyes,
The color of emeralds and honey,
Reflect the shimmering starlight...
Each one shining like a freshly shorn pearl.
A choir of trees sings;
The melody riding on the breath of the wind,
Leaves a lingering kiss like a whisper,
on her cheek.
Beneath the wiry hair of an unkempt  willow
She makes a bed of dry grasses and deerskin,
Sets in for the anothet night beneath this ebony colored canvas.
She lies awake in revelry,
recalling those stories of the great and powerful Gods of long forgotten twilights...
Their portraits drawn in celestial inks of sapphire, crimson and gold,
Transcribed in the blood of her ancestors,
Mirrored in the strength of her spine,
Amplified by the depths of her heart,
She, like so many before her,
Will endure the weight of another days work,
Will continue the dance between Sky and Sea,
Earth and Beast...
Letting the seasons pass without judgement.
Grateful for every scar, every tear,
Every spontaneous bout of laughter,
And for every sweet sigh of relief.

Having never
mastered the
rotational demands
of dancing
I stand alone
in this
forsaken corner,
my toes
corkscrewed
discreetly
into the
carpet

woke up this morning
'feels as if my limbs are ******* on too tight' I tell Dog
And further more ten minutes are needed in the black and witless
So then a hurry of imaginings
& so maybe sparked by the suggesting reflecting of the rotational clock parts
I don't know
wondering purged
but she was like an illusion
i could swear it
And I felt like being inside a movie
but a good one,
when the boy sees the girl
for the dawning moment.
Who know's if it's the soundtrack
hinting at hands to drag heels
wander sometimes

It’s almost gone, but you
don’t even know what it is.
Its capacity— degrees of freedom,
vibrational
rotational
translational,
its essence— energy
measured absolutely,
first by Kelvin.

So know when I say
I’m losing heat, I’m dropping
Kelvins, quantized packets
that could raise my voice
to jovial screaming, flail my arms
bobble my legs and work my tongue
around my lips, eyes lit like dynamite.

Temperature comes and goes
be careful not to lose your bonds,
double
triple
bonds building bridges
to your childhood,
your capacity to love.

We forget how to laugh
so hard we hurt our bellies
deafen our friends
and scare our lovers. We
forget that the public
is just full of people
and find our tongues
are slaves to only tasting.

So I just make sure I’m waiting
for that mechanical motion,
that disturbance to ride
through my every bond
that won’t be breaking
because I’m not rigid.
I’m making sure I’m ready
to vibrate, rotate
and *******
I’ll translate too.
I’m losing heat,
not degrees of freedom.

Her lipstick blossomed against this, particular, shade of white.
It dimmed, as the filter thickened with a yellow stain.
Halfway down the bridge, held the implements saving her sight.
Lost in a back alley while feeling contrite
Privileged enough, still avoiding a handouts gain
Easy enough, held at her beauty’s height.
Unresolved, and drenched in self-imposed pain.
T-shirt’s ripped and garnished in disdain

Caught up with mystics and the art of transference.
Eye line clotted in an ever-thickening paste of black.
Standing upright on borrowed self-assurance
Using a bodyguard as a cocktail for hollow insurance.
Always a rotational position, pulled from the stack.
No more than a figure head to represent deterrence.
Tripped on a bed-rock buried in the track.
Wound up addicted her first time on crack.

I
slow and
rosy fingertips
apologized
to a final strip of pavement
as they brushed the
remaining crumbs of
sunlight into a different sky &

I sat on the porch
for 17 minutes,
recording the halos of thinly suspended
rain, bright and ringed,
dissolving behind each car
until you came outside
to drive me back home

II

"I'm a nomad"8
he exhaled, smoke rising
from the hand not occupied
by the steering wheel.

she looked at him,
and then away.
she did not
watch his eyes.

"I'll come to you."


---------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­----------
&"...The rotational period and seasonal cycle [of the planet NowWhat] are likewise similar to those of earth, as is the tilt that produces the seasons..."

8"Peripatetic nomads, who offer the skills of a craft or trade to those with whom they travel, are most common in industrialized nations."

There is a universe somewhere in the paradigms of space,
out of sight, out of reach and yet it somehow exists.
A reality in which I find you;
time and time again.
A world in which like the elements that compound air and-
aid breath cannot exist without the other.
A world in which the unstoppable force of my attraction
towards the magnet pull of your immovable force coexist.
A paradox, and infinitesimal chance of being.
It leaves,a failed, Newton flummoxed and disgruntled.
Together, or not at all- we promise
in this absurd and meticulous fabric of reality.
A surrealist version of the real in which dreams are crafted,
nightly for the pleasure of those who have failed to envision more.
There are leaps that do not abide to the principles of gravity;
In which rotational asymmetry between space and time creates-
a thousand scenarios unfolding like the fluttery span of butterfly dreams.
There is a world for lovers out there.
As a play nears its end and the curtain descends,
another stage unfurls behind the fragility of red carpet satin.
A dream in which I relive and relish on you.
There is a universe at the end of space and time,
where gravity is inconsistent,
where dreams are real and the tears are crystal.
A world and a space apart-
in which I once again hold you tightly against my side.
There is, undoubtedly, this universe in which no analgesic can placate-
the vacancy of You and I.

Thanks Wiki How!
For those nifty hip exercises

I realize now
That my left hip
Lacked the rotational strength

That my right has
But I am working on this problem
In a few weeks
Everything will be balanced

Hooray

The family pride
goes for the jugular. The rotational
push, dooms the vessel. I
come out in black waters. Night
is pitch-dark.

Riding the tiger, now you
want to come down. There was
no anonymous call to
remember the wits. A buried
myth is ready to romance.

My country bleeds in war
of titans. The secret of the road
was out. It does not go anywhere.
The bottomless pit is moving up
its depth. Nobody will drown in democracy.

don't
walk in the forests
the forests are not made for walking
don't
visit your friends
your friends will be fine without talking
don't
buy too much sigh too much want too much
don't cry why
don't scream or shout when they come
take your rights don't defy
and when the world
spins like a carousel
and rotational force
throws you out on your ***
under no circumstance be late
to your online class

The sky doesn't ache for rain
So much
As the earth
(In all of its cold rotational truth)
Aches for the distant sunlight burn

Stubble face peeks through wishbone click clack
nostrils pinched in book-binder paperback
mini blond boy sky-eyed squirms rotational
shut down with slap without raising of head.

******-Jugend buzz cuts in veal-skin loafers
son of Samsung apps jingle jangle along tracks
voice of G-- speaks scratchy warning, parts the sea
boys too old for hugs depart with fisticuffs instead.

On denim knees bent gentle council breathes
bodies viva voce plush exchange at eyes level
Fabulinus grants boons unhurried flowing rivers
man to boy to man wanderers share a walking stick.