The ways you see life determines what you value,
what you value determines what you learn,
What you value determines what you live for
What you live for determines how you live
So if you see life as:
A poem, you learn words
A problem you solutions
A relation,you learn communication
A game, you learn tricks
A battle, you learn to  fight
A job, you learn duty
A race,you learn speed
A marathon, you learn endurance
A study, you learn logic
An act, you learn emotions
A music, you learn notes
A dance you learn steps
A beat, you learn to dance
A community you learn people
A weather, you learn shelter
A storm you learn strength
A turn, you learn patience
A trade you learn money
A jungle you learn survival
An ocean, you learn to swim
A mountain you learn scaling
A valley, you learn graceful descent
A commitment you learn honesty
A death zone, you learn killing
A mystery, you learn adventure
An adventure, you learn living
A fashion you learn dressing
A competition you learn scarcity
A cooperation you learn abundance
A team work you learn networking
A lie, you learn to the truth
A truth, you learn freedom
The goal to being free is to learn your lies, challenge and face them
A job you learn duty,
When you see life as comparison, you learn envy
Destructive envy leads to priority misplacement,
This leads to value misplacementzthe root cause of shortsightedness and selfishness
So, see right to learn right to live right

even tho the fire was never really lit truly human,
their tousled hair and sad eyed lowland blues owning the fullness of natural emptiness ain’t no crime, like a double negative,
to which no one no cares no objects when spoken

those bad boysenberries radiate a flirty tarty aure, venus fly traps
for those needy to do a saving, the sweets of the the three poems
memorized for wooing, oft another’s undoing, the top button
releasing a burning bush of chest heat
being misleading the  reddening cheeks

was a bad boy once of ill repute, daddies and mommies warning
their innocents of my word of mouth reputation, making me 100%
irresistible, so all forgot when climbing into my two-seater to go
moon gazing swooning,  learning the moves practiced in nightime

bad boys still need saving sooner but usually later, cause
moon gazing is still a thrill for his new audience of grand children,
proof that some of them boys are hiding well enough stuff
beneath their veneer

be the miner of a thousand years, teach these child boys well,
crack them open, let the empty escape and light rays spill in
**** if some of those bad boys grow up
now, just to be  bad poets laughing
at the foolishness of the early days of
discontented shortsightedness incontinence of a soul fumbling

I have trodden many a creature under foot
A few, unbeknownst
The bug has an intolerably short life span
And shorter yet, under foot
Do I traipse out of spite or cruel wonder?
No, it is just my disregard and shortsightedness
For I have been trampled upon,
From creatures smaller than me
They stir upon me, feelings of a bug
A distant rumbling of thunder
As I count the seconds after seeing the flash
There is a heavy weight upon me
Imagine what is stirred in a bug

Here I lie in wake, alone to my thoughts--centered attention on nothingness for so long that it emerges with a startling gasp that stirs the calm waters, that breaks the crippling silence, that disarms my presumptions, that startles the birds from their peace in wing and gives movement to flight in the cold dark out beyond my shortsightedness of the here and now.

A ripple--that's all it was--that prompted my upward condition and seized my focus.

Subtle enough, yet I could not mistake it as London could not pass through a single sweet cool night without a shaky blast off in the distance that likewise stirred the children from their innocent dreams as I have strayed from my ever present seams and still now...

My meaningless nothing may faulter at the so vastly more important  everythingness around me; yet only my perception of these little ripple kisses that stir my soul and give rise to new movement and dance upon this elliptical routine that puzzles me in brick by bricked and stone by ****** can surely pave the path to tomorrow's promise of the again and the trials of what if in such again.

Perhaps no other than I could decipher the value of these thoughts; the merit they hold on my person; and the uselessness they possess on yours.

But that's fine with me...for expression left unexpressed, thoughts left unthought, refractive pulses left unreflected...these play things forgotten in a misspent youth dwindling in the pool of memory and the pull of forgotten woe, surely are worse than the best nightmare on the darkest, most desolate night of lonely sailing in those powerful little ripples that crash on my seawalls and smooth out my wayward projections.

I may push back. I may fight the waves, as futilely as an effort I know it to be. Or I may just accept this future as sure of a past it will ever already be...let that undertow carry me out to sea and swim with the birds and fly with the fish as the Sun whispered he intended for me.

But I may just come right back up again, as breathless and weak as I did before and surely shall again (remaining). For with every breath I surface to obtain, the effort for relief stirs new pains of concentration that only a breathless living may disarm to my liking.

I may not think clearly then and than so more, but my effort to keep my thoughts straight spills attempts out across the floor, and with each further step I further my chances of a clear tower of perceptive accomplishment to stand atop and gaze. Mind my incongruitous follies and shame my liking the name. Am I, I am, the confused and forebane.

Perhaps now, I've infected you? Confused, aren't we? And confused we shall remain. For nothing is so utterly disarming as the mixing of thoughts with no filter to gain. As this ground falls out from under you, just remember the rule for walking: one foot in front of the other for too long and you find yourself right back where you began.

Pick a new direction to gone...I'll meet you there some day, maybe.

Embrace it
Except it with open outstretched arms
Imagine the beautiful silence no one will hear
The taste of ash on dead lips
The sweat smell of decaying flesh
The crumbling monuments of shortsightedness
Finally all will be equal and free
Finally all will be on the same side of the argument
Finally all will have peace and justice
Embrace it
Except it with open outstretched arms
All sins will be washed away in the blink of an eye
Fire purifies all
No more wars or violence
No more overcrowded jails
No more unpaid bills stacking up
No more fuxing lawyers or traffic lights
Black heart will finally have a fitting home
Wretched souls will finally be obliterated
Embrace it
Except it with open outstretched arms
Love the idea of it
Look forward to it
Rush toward it headlong
Push your way to the front to make sure you get a good seat
Help facilitate it
Quicken its pace
Point it in the right direction
And push the big fuxing red button

a small town, inexhaustible,
somehow far from mundane,
a predictable spring followed
by a predictable summer,
and yet nature, per se,
never really allows man
a mortal fascination with it,
a mortal by that I mean,
enclosed in replicas and analogues,
with an extinguishable "self"
to boot, as if in every democracy,
one vote, one life,
the end.

                   not some mystical
ever after,
    either the materialistic
absolute, or the other,
materialistic absolute,
                   if latin could invite
itself into the schools among
which sit Tao, Zen and others...
well, drop the prefix hyphen
and call it Re...

               trill of the tongue
that begat Sisyphus who:
     not having a jailor sit and
with pitchfork nagging...
         somehow... didn't roll the stone
aimlessly...
       but, simply,
sat there, less in love with anything
that might be peered at in a lake,
and more, or less,
       a hole that his "self"
       needed to fill...

                            interchangeable
ad infinitum of:
    cube through a square hole,
square hole with a cube in tow..
cube square hole, cube square hole...
trig. meaning either
from up, to down...

      or, or at least then...
offshoot, in life through and in
death, also through...
     two schools of thought:

1. man stands above nature,
2. man stands beside nature...

comes the audacious first,
with its
Manhattan Project,
     and with Hurricane Katrina
and the fact that lighting is yet
to be harnessed, and... farmed...

   comes the awe-stricken
second, with its naturalists
and... nature without man
will run its course...

   unappreciated,
     it diminishes, is even robbed,
no sooner the suffocating
murmur of prayer,
as soon enough,
           the caged bird prays
an indistinguishable song
to the song beneath
the watchful eyes of hawks...

   yet this is but a small town,
inexhaustible,
and by that I mean:
   the pen is always dry,
the muse is always shackled
    and stands mute,
    th conversations are always
less and more a pity on
an urban chance meeting,
the book is never written,
the pen is always used as rather
a tennis racket in a game of
crosswords...

         and a deep fascination
comes across between a youth
and an old man...
     on the lines of:
myopia - shortsightedness
     and utopia - hyperopia -
farsightedness...
          for the old man sees
a graveyard, as a murky lake
of grey, in the distance
the indistinguishable corrections
of detail...

     without his glasses...
but as he puts them on,
the murky lake of grey becomes
distinct in detail, crosses and tombstones...
         what of the distance?
far away and blurry in zebra
camouflage...
        two-dimensional details
in an otherwise tree-dimensional
yawn...

               optic corrector:
no, not a confusion on my part,
nearing age 80,
    he has both myopia    
   and hyperopia,
namely his reading glasses
    and his: walking around the town
glasses: to add to the details:
that's not cascade:
i. e. respectively.
      
Myopia glasses, id est:
   details in the distance
   culminating in shadows
of trees at noon.
  
Hyperopia glasses, id est:
          details on a piece of
paper, reading.

the inability to convey
an illusion of distance,
or rather the mind, cutting
corners,
    since it was possible for
the early game programmers
to trap a two-dimensional
fern in the first tomb raider
game...

   you would walk up to
the 2D object, and it would rotate
on an axis, very much akin
to the observed and the unobserved
electron...
          
    which, to me, is a bit like
discussing black holes...
    a two-dimensional object
in a tree-dimensional space...
     when observed behaving like
an atom...
     when unobserved behaving
like a wave...
or rather, to muddle,
and craft my own Pavlov exprience
in the watering eye...
    
    through the grey lake mass of
the graveyard... in the distance
no differing contorts but:
Monet... Monet...
    the old man speaks of ills,
hiding the achievements of old age,
a seated life,
   as if: no one likes
the man who doesn't leave
an enigma of some sort...
          
does cancer plague the soft tissued
organs? when mistletoe,
in symbiosis with bark bone of trees
can thrive in the winter sun,
minimally exhausting the tree
in its seasonal coma?

   old man cynic and
the woe of old age...
     but before the story of Judas
and H'eh Zeus (in Spain)...
   came the story of -
   the old man and the sea
(according to Monet);

  old man cynic,
on the rare occasion that the old
are disabled like children
at birth...
  while in most instances,
the privilege of old age
makes them in turn
into born again children...
         but unlike children a priori,
these a posteriori children
are... outside being convincing...
     in at leat some,
of their exaggerations.

Where are the mist gone?
Where are the temperate resting?
Where did the hours fall?
Why fall into disappearance now, and not then?
Where was the sight then when beauty unraveled and was available?

They graves upon a dark mountain.
Not of blackness you see,
But of sweet chocolate and glowing skin of tenderness.
They have rest upon the dark cheeks.
Not of darkness you see,
But of softness and amiable cheeks.
They have been shortsightedness,
Not of you but of me.

It is like a river that runs from the nose of a highness peak,
Falling down like a waterfall of silver lining that create ripples of smile and series of laughter.
This is not a mountain of rocks,
It is a mountain of flesh.
This is not a mountain of dried leaves and dead plants,
It is a mountain of a living heart upon a consumed soul.
It is love.
It is Sholaye's.

Her smiles run through the sea and cause the ocean to fall heavy.
Her dimples is less seen yet drinks the ocean dry.
Her eyes are reflection of the best things that life can give...
A momentum of peace,
A monument of joy and laughter,
A mortgage of what true love is.
It doesn't cry, yet a droplet of tear is carried upon a chariot.

Hola, did I mention her voice?
It doesn't yell, yet it echoes across the valleys.
It doesn't sing, yet everything that falls to her sound dances.
I was blind before, but now I can see.
But what do I see?
A sense of emotion perhaps... Or a fence of what seemed to be loved?

I can only wait at the sideline...
But upon a thousand dreams, I will walk through the shores with you.
I can only have a glimpse of your affections...
But upon a thousand desires, it is most cherished.

Aye, the mist are here.
The temperate aren't resting,
But the sun is rising.
And my sight have caught its beauty.

September 29th 2022 Philosophy

The spavined strumpets of aleatory nimonics stranded in the dimpled pelargic mythos of the nebelwerfers of scansorial elitism burroling the stokehold of pragmatic lurch useful for the progeny of powellisation interned by potichomania for balefires against the throbbing thremmatology of the strickle of jabirus vexed by stunsail argumentation of sumpter sidelong in oblique ginglymus to such a grave extent the thalwegs of contemplation daver in marauded orbit around ceraceous and cespitous thaumaturgy manacled by subservience in sequacious filagersion honing upon stereopsis for nomenclators of high squarson brigadoon fidelity to finessed wheals brackling away at tattermedalion squalor in squirmish facade of brockfaced brockens of wasserman to infiltrate against banjolins the pedigree of berceuse mendaciloquence that the branchiform sedigitation of all sesquiplicated sondage in the barnstorm of whelky during the subterfuge of wallfish cofferdams entrenched in boskets of the deepest regard of bathmism that we might fetch the canicular and cannular talents of susceptible bonhomie to retrace the elemental supralunar chrysopoetics of the transubstantiation of all stellions beyond provincial jansky and above fracklings of disrepute to array never a protervity of loimic stiction but always a sovenance of the highest fidelity to bellarmine briquets that can be sustained by mediagenic diffusion of volplanes of vulpecular vasotribes thereby careworn of future plight by preterition and chronobiology superfused for sporrans calculated for bonanza rather than retching with carpology. In the sustainable calculus of stanhopes and standpipes against the nivellated carnage of many a nivial hotspot grandiose with bruxomania rarely plodged by the subsultus of virgation nor flummoxed into glochidate barbs against the cephaligation of turmoil subduplicated by the gnomics of rebarbative betise flagrant upon caballine taunts of persiflage of percocted vexililogy curmudgeons of companionway spurtle upon cibophobias yearning for yeeps trouncing yaffs in a suitable mascon that trounces the pentapolis for its misfire of finicky stoichometry gradate in the traipse of ginglymus rotated succinctly by a minor machinule degradation of venostastis that the wens of wanchancy never vex or vitiate the providence of prattle of umbrageous stultification whelkied by the patriolatry of foreign observers of the brocade of balbriggan springhares reticulated by grimgribbers of jaunty jabberwocky levying murage with murengers against the trident spodium of overwrought negotiosity spinescent in capacity to deturpate never with a carnassial intent the tribuloid fictions vaccimulgent by reedbucks who learn from stockinette harbingers the calculus of specular redintegration and redhibition that fewer in number are those scollardical taunts of poststructuralism and many more rancorous attempts at chrematistic nurture above camouflets of the vees of vecordy singulting melancholy upon the canzone of cadrans mobilized by motile wafture into cavernous applause that we might witness the secundine generation waft rather than wamble through its throes of goatish goliardy deposed by gonfaloniers of stridor rather than brackle over truculent developments of the lurch of wainage and wantage burroling the constative prisoptometers of tritanopia leveraged by finifugal finesse of stricklers of sifflation that the saffron glow of refulgence is contingent upon the biotaxy and biocenosis of evolved human trust in the stirpiculture of many fascinated disciplines into a chaptalized chapbook of enlightenment above the murky morass of snallygasters of casemate. With an improvident regisseur domineering by the labile fears of neuropynology that understates the mainlined efforts of the nervure against the nesh nessberries of overindulgent popinjays straggling through the stench of sprag winzing in fumatoriums of maieutic latency bored by the tedium of the laveers of the propriety of neolagnium restive because of plumeopicean nidor frowning upon the badigeon of baedekers becoming centripetal to all harmonized gambados seeking the same terminus against the vexatious simultagnosia of the graft between crevices of paltripolitan wrox and the bailivated society we govern better by the rhombos of rhizogenic answers to papaverous problems of chaetophorous vengeance wagered by the groundlings of kyphosis in their idiosyncratic bascules of stentorian elocution that the taxidermy of selenodesic traipses through barnstorms of plurrennial wastelots of cachalots suborned only by the betise and bezique of portentous diestrus fledgling in its inadequacies of torment to roodge any subservience to carpology or any allegiance to the miscegenation of the political yaffingales of plemyrameters overcapacitated by misyoked fears meeting inclement rhigosis that the fortunes of cimelia rather than the boggarts of cimex might enchant future generations to supplant history with a calculated cecutiency that never avoids the boygs of boskets carping by cymaphens of the semaphores of all wheelhouses of wheaten inventions that we might witness the historicity never of sesquiplicated subduplicated biocenosis gorging on the gorgonization of internecine ignorance of varsal velocious cynegetics that the stranded victims of spathspey only in ceremony rather than in supernumerary contemplation that the vigorish vagantes and newels among the badigeons might thrive despite turmoil and the jugodi of broadcloth happenstance devolved upon popular cynography rather than annealed by the ballicatter of avenged samara and samarra that find requital in the wedeln modality rather than nodality of propriety in purpresture rather than crassified demassification of the slore of poltophagous crimogenic procrypsis simileter to all shortsighted gambits of a farsighted batrachian fidelity to nektons suspended among the stunsails of the wager of man to better himself. Because of the motile capacity of thaumaturgy of the wafting baedekers circulated with superfusion incidental to its warped dimensions against thalwegs of strigine configuration that boltropes of emacity swindle from the registry of the coffles of bailivated marivaudage scanscorial in its own moulin capable of entombing the cenote of even the most strident efforts of the nembutsu of gonfaloniers to issue cheer instead of malinger with precipitogenic intimidations of spinescent spiraculated pickelhaubes of porbeagle insights collated from sublime authority because the world awaits not a faineant corpse of morigeration upon the shend of sheol crepitating in heavenly judicature rather than the juggins of notoriety of crambos and crampons that cadge licentiousness that we might all marvel at synechdocial capacities against baryecoia weaponized by a modern bacillicide by blesboks whose candent semaphores of whittled stepneys of swank picaresque by degrees of leverage and largesse taxed by stenometers of pycnostyle elevated because of pyretology that the eventual harbinger of piscary reconnaissance is worth the awaited junctition of all sociogenesis captivated by the selfsame rapture of the chaptalized discovery of a greater biocenosis brockened to rejoice upon decisive conquest rather than backfire in mekometers of coquelicot carnage. The vees of veepstakes admonished by prevenience in vitrail that the fewer casualties of macropicide slangwhanging the brocade of the insular rhotacism of the cannular heist of springald necrologues deposed by cardophagous lies about necrophages so immunized in their stanjant stolinicity boltroped by annealed wheals of endeavor cavorted with portfires of yuzbashi above the petty pedestrian concerns of the spavineds of vauriens of varietism that they can jolt even the jolterheads and surprise with rudenture even the most poikilothermic negotiosities to truckle with a hint of truculence to spare the world from starvelings on the outskirts of spirketti that the scarfskin of the collective endeavors of the ventrad vanguard might resemble the coalition of forbearance for the broadest bronteum of ptarmic awakening ever enjoyed by the vigilance of men and the simity of women against the phallocrats twinged with meritodespotism. When we steeve our way past the mazut of balkanized mazopathia in mercedary wainage rarely taxed by the forefront of  considerate myopia we might celebrate the kalamkari spathspeys in their inordinate caution developed into a nympholepsy splendor of refulgent thrills demassified for the curglaff of generosity upon the crumpled brannigans of wizened applause upon the heyday of saturnalia that the whittawers of willowish repute might barnstorm yet again past the precipice of indecency naively wagered never by the sageships of conciliabule capacity to wheedle their way through their attempts at bacillicide regardant always of the caudles of the past commiseration of privileged cribbles of bathmism rather than repugnant spathodea of retorted pelargic barbarism congealed in oppositive valor to enchant only a regelation of nightjars vigilant in sciatheric darkness that the sondage of siffilated barnstorm might jar the very foundations of heaven and earth that the welkins of those whelking might find the couveuse of attempted blatternophones of past decorum the stridor of many taunted nightmares rather than the precipice of the most copulated acclaim ever registered in the foundries of men above the carcasses of subternatural plebeian mythos that stagnates the world rather than ameliorates it into congenial harmony of concordat against interregnum. The suretyship of so many strictions that the sprahl of sprachgefuhl intermittent with janitrices of stanjant jansky beblubbered by the maudlin sentiments of the many recklings ignorant of stockinette despite the nephroliths against nervifolious demise pregnant with absolution rather than replete with gullywashers of metaplasm in the exposure of ragmatical soteriology jaunty only to elective privilege rather than preserved by the conformed chapbooks of catechumen that our fears incumbent on catastrophism always brackle against the truculence of truckling masses of corpses of infirmity that gimcracks of the pentapolis exalt above the treasury of life itself inviolable. The caverniloquys of the jobbernowls of jolterhead infamy regardless of the purpresture of imperious strigrine secrecy embossed upon the pogroms of caudles rarely commiserating with any enchantment of wanchancy brockfaced in its geopolitical fanfire of the portfire of perendination that swashbuckles with the freebooter flarmeys of past coquelicot catalfalque notoriety always a kilmarge to the boondoggles of syndicalism arrayed in satnav ratomorphism that we might storge our present culture with the heyday of glamour intransigent to the chronobiology of preterition always glozing with glottogonic piecemeal dashpots against catastrophism even when done with metaplasm against metapolitics we can fight together with a unified brigade and sodality against the carping objectionable trends of a momentary amnesia so refulgent it overpowers every other inclination that the solfatara of weatherboards of wethers might convene upon the sumter of clochards becoming vagarish rather than prurience becoming simileter to a popular culture ****** of cisvestism upon the scarpetti of crambazzled crampons of senicide rather than the registries of seismotic impetus roundhousing through jobbled configurations of nimonic harbinger to etch themselves indelibly upon the sociogenesis of bellarmine among men and eutrapely among every other facet of attention never too calcimine with calvous calvers that the bolar of our existence depends on the synclastic momentum of the cynegetic valor rather than porlecking insecurities of babirusa of baboonery. The silkaline improvidence of the many boondoggles of lacking stolonicity or a casemate lockjaw jawhole internment of castrametation created by the pourparler of powellisation entombed in the liturgy that laments the past rather than accelerates the amelioration of the future might wilt because of wilding accidia rather than bonzoline acrasia because those people of nevosity that barnstorm against the nivial haunts of the lionized precipitogenic groundprox of naivety derived never from svedberg of swag of gromatic completion that alleviates all wambling grognards of desperation that we might fetch a new epoch superior to the one we have inherited by our callous poikilothermic poivrades of carnage and carnassial deprivations created by stagnant recession rather than optimized reflation because it behooves us all collectively to inseminate the future for the nitids of troilism rather than argue and pander to the bifids of blackmasters nidificating suboptimal steeves of the bobbinet to storge the inoculated beerocracy davering against the best interests of principality rather than the mainline of bayaderes of bargemasters locked into combat with stevedores from other dimensions of cordial conduct and contact that we no longer cower out of polyphiloprogenitive goals or teleonomic insufficiencies but that we brook and embraced age of praxeology above ragtaggers of retchination that the brassage of squamation can supervise into fluency rather than lurch into internecine schmeggegy that remains and always will be the cynosure of schwerpunkt in domestic manifestation of regal impetus above the detritus of defenestration. We should muster an assault against the plodges of kistvaens and the carnassial carnifician yeltings of wights of widgeons that the wicket of campanile shortsightedness might recoil upon its very foundations of ineptitude to become sempervirent in the sashays of surahs contemplated by the magnality of both mahouts and sansculottes to together forge ahead in commonplace articles of enchantment rather than the reliction of ideation in the swamp menaced by vinegaroons rather than elevated by picaroons who thrive even against snallygasters of importunate jawholes that crave a schoenabatic portfire to distract people from the rudenture of rubefaction in such a finicky way as to alleviate the coacervation of cespitous and cepivorous disdain. The faineant world orbiting around cynosures enjoying sinecures that the balbriggan springhares of reticulose pleonexia designed by veilleuses of brachet serectrium asterongue popularity designated with crass balizes of only bakelite answers of echopraxia to every dented quidlibertarian fascination with their quisquilous periergia floundering because the bathmism of elite pedigree imposes the steepest murage against avenged cachalots that their beziques of betise immolated by the discernment of the capable against the brazen incompetence of hortatory disdain that the thermolysis of sacrilege becomes a better portfire than protective jaundice designated by gamidolatry to perform intorted gambados to soothe the idiosyncratic jobbernowls whose incapacity to subduplicate societal quandaries and correctly weigh the subreption of jannock provides a paralytic inertia to fasten schadenfreude above the tympany of macarism because the catastrophism against the metaplasm correctly brazen rather than cordial only to inauthenticity always bristles at the perendination of evil skullduggery that it might eventually fade from the brocades of supercilious elitism that uses pundonors against mercedary enrichments. Many a time ago already elapsed by the portfire of skalds of jimswingers of sarangousty predicating their vehemence on axiomatic psyiurgic morkins the casualties of many a conflict witnessed by the depredation of morale even when sustained by the puckery of whipstaffs that the fewterers of modern taste deranged by their ginglymus constrained by their thalwegs that sejugate raltention from comprehension might find it incumbent to celebrate never a saiga that berates the many nightjars of saki but rather to entomb novelty because of the pickelhaubes of portbeagles flummoxed by their evaporating fortunes always avenge those who stand in the way of nivial and nivellated securiform and scalariform dementia that is the senicide of many a monocular cause witnessed by barbaric cyclops so intorted in the most pedestrian of antics that his incapacity to even see single borts from the boschveldt and singular leaps among the varsal capacity of proselytism that his ineptitude staggers the stenometers of the most dismal apprehension of his wagered capacity for any kind of stamina in any discipline. These poltophagous idiosyncrasies enjoyed by the oppositive acclaim of those pourparlers of castrametation designed by jabirus preventing stirpiculture of chrysopoetics for cachalots guarded by the blackguard of the ventrad camarilla rather than spayed by the cespitous vinegaroons of poikilothermic aims to plumeopicean ragtaggers entrapped by vapulation rather than informed of bonanza that we might starkly refrain from endorsing majoritarian lewdness as the new credo of a reborn republic constituted around the mahouts of idealism and the magnalities of those who posture in support of the noosphere rather than entangle themselves in the wase of imposture only because catalfalques angry of coquelicot politics might find the calcariferous disdain of pollarchy too much of an enormity to stomach with a stomacher. In the secundine revival of riveted artifacts of sometimes galeanthropic velleity that the skalds of scavons always maraud around to deprive of vehemence the maladroit malaise of the junctition of clitter and clinkstone because of a widespread malcontent that the sedigitated sidestep by every careful lurch on the bobbinet common to resourceless bodaches that we might witness the dying wish of the stellions to become the hamparthia of entire nations cribbling with propriety the bathmism centripetal to the public morale rather than the vacillation of internecine political balkanization in the barnstorm against the security of gonfaloniers to thrive without synsematic declension because of misappropriated vilipended ignorance widespread among those that clamber insistently and with insolence against the gravity and gravitas of the pundonors of cadastre rather than a sublime lackaday morose regret of saturnism waged by sideration in thick boschveldt to depose and derange many. Many tarry because of the umbrage of ultrageous litigation enthusiastically brought with coemption of the celebrated vanguard baldric retinue jolting the enthusiastic boltrope wegotists into the braxy of their shakuhachi of shantung bucentaurs and shenangos emboldened by the vicissitude of the collective remnants of the shambles of sottoportico to assemble with the borts in their possession the wilding zalkengur of absolution rather than the faltering groundprox of phugoid and mugient demands of bolar that laveer silently in the slithers of a puckery night scaffolded by the dashpots of insular providence against termagants of negaholic deprivations of lifestyle and pedigree because of the bradyseismic subsultus against the moya of carpology that is axiomatic in its retched mistetches of ceratoid configuration around the ballaster of schadenfreude enthusiastic in its moribund capacity to disembrangle the better soldiers from the recklings of morose enchantment with lugubrious toil flummoxing all propriety in regard for the sanctiloquence of the present never to result in a future martyrdom of saturnism that would assuredly wipe out the blemishes of portfire from the memory of a disheveled Earth into a shambolic configuration that would result in a nivial morigeration to nivellated conditions of egestuous sejugated cephaligation of nebelwerfers rather than primiparas always lachrymose in regret now pregnant with reactionary desires to coerce change rather than wamble in the ginglymus of sesquiplicated triage around petty boundaries of shakuhachi inviting balbriggan disgrace. In the trismus of crackjaw siderism ennobled by baldric syntalities elective of belletrist in their formative cadges of procatalepsis and jarvey of the intorted blunge of degenerative capacities for meharis combustible only in camouflets of prestige that skirpettis contain by the skinters of springhares of denouement carefully managing larithmics to optimize the mantissa never of a vagarish vagantes venostasis of mottled pternology megacerine because of meleagrine despots of sedigitated attempts to provoke casualties of corbels in the neorama of many sinecures of simultagnosia extorted endlessly by vaccimulgent reedbucks of sinister racemation that the phugoid eutrapely and bellarmine capacity to trounce the sudd that creates the rebarbative bosket of embattled retrenchment in survival ethos because of the macropicide and yirds of many a poikilothermic wretchock of morality to denounce as a denizen of unholy chaptalization that the chaomancies of chabouks between the pleiromorphy of convictions and the moulin of lickerish fascinations of beerocracy of beeskeps of yaraks a commonplace deturpation that finally the pomace of regalia might sustain the mainsail cardimelech and cardiognost capacity of piscary urbacity finicky of any desultory castrametation wagered by sinturong of piscifauna negligent of agapism that their fortuitist regard for humane sanctiloquence that already perished from the Earth might be revived by the vasotribes of the whipstaff of declared decorum vanquishing all tantrels of gambados of gamidolatry so pickelhaube in their dereliction of picaroons that vinegaroons capable like jerboas disguised in the thickets of the night will depose their serendipity and revoke their citizenship from the habitations of the woubits of hell rather than the brevets of widgeons of animadversion propining in every saccadic misyoke of endeavor to find a commonplace destination agreeable beyond the bifids of internecine thalwegs of sejugation rather than assimilation.

Close my eyes
Unaltered,
No faults
A soul full of thoughts
And whims
And musical notes that consist of hymns.

Desperation, perspiration
Fear has left here--
The inhabitants of my heart
Because tomorrow is for a new day to start
To leave behind this mediocrity.

Trails
If you're feminine you're too frail
And vulnerable
You can't follow where your heart wants to take you
Your dreams-- You have to stay home with them.

In many ways our collective intellect is growing
Seeds of reasoning have been sown
Leaving very little left to be known
But sometimes you need to disconnect from your society
And be alone
In order to truly understand
That your mind is your only home.

So goodbye to everyone narrow-minded
Your attempts of kindness were spoiled by your shortsightedness
and your closed hearts
I don't need you
I only need water to drink and air to breathe
I'll set out on a trail and never look back
Only up to observe the sky and the trees
And one day on this journey, I'll find what I'm looking for inside of me.

When that day of reckoning comes
(Hopefully, some light years distant,
As I like anyone else, cling stubbornly if not desperately
To this process of plodding aimlessly along)
Where the book of myself is closed, I have asked,
Though how I plan to enforce the wish remains an open question,
That I am not Cadillac-carted to some incongruous green space
Where some dark-clad and stiff-collared stranger
Bounces pebble-laden soil onto the top of my bedding for the ages.
Much better,  at least to my way of thinking,
That the remnants of my essentials
Are strewn upon some cold Adirondack lake,
Or perhaps if its current residents
Are sympathetic and not particularly litigious,
The backyard of my childhood home
(I have not fleshed out that particular portion of the equation,
As I, like most people, am much less emphatic about my do’s
Than I am concerning my don’ts and won’ts.)

On the odd occasion, I am visited by a curious dream
Concerning my departure from this particular plane;
There is a fire, though not some vast, heroic Viking pyre,
(Even my reveries have a certain reserve about them)
But something less prepossessing,
Like some small pile of leaves,
Such as my father burned when I was a young boy,
And a black-suited cleric stands before the flames,
His face only somewhat familiar, yet still comforting
(A distant uncle or favorite teacher, perhaps)
And he litters the embers with the residue of my corporeal self
With words absolving the folly of my acts of commission
(The stumbling footfalls of the blind; throw them on the fire)
The shortsightedness of my omissions,
(Boorishness of children and fools; throw them on the fire)
The sum of my shortcomings and misadventures
(Victims of our angels and gods; throw them on the fire)
And the trails of smoke drift aimlessly upward,
Toward birds who cackle and twitter unconsciously,
Oblivious to all the machinations below.

i know you used to wake early
and sit in the cold dark
to scribble those playful loops
into the truest of joys,
the truest of pains.
this morning i saw you
as a young man,
a young dad,
with that infectious smile.
your smile could put others at ease
and disarmed the fear we all carry
everywhere, all the time.
i was so closed-off then,
so hard in my belief
that no one understood…
i hope my shortsightedness
didn’t make you think i was mean.
i know watching you i learned kindness,
i learned that warmth to strangers
is a gift to the world.
i know you tried to connect with me
in the ways you knew,
and i want you to know you succeeded.
you are with me now
as i try to do no harm in this world
and live in a way you’d be proud.
you are with me now
as i write these words
in the cold dark.
good morning dad

In between notebooks
writing on the back of bank statement envelopes
My money would be in wise temperance
if I didn't haunt auctions for cursed instruments
I got a bargain baglama in route from Greece
it's just the chase
the replacement of writing songs and hard work
I could at least join the fox hunts
but don't forget coming from those that are forced to hunt
Sometimes envious of that pressure again
but don't resent cause it's just weakness
What I can't force myself to emulate
the neo-Malthusianism of my anointed material condition
_________________­

I'm back at it
running out of space
Might have to switch to that student loan
refinancing scheme from Chase
I won't even open it cause
I'm just waiting for society to value
education as a better use of time than
bailing out bankers gambling on the
backs of the poor and middle class that take all the risk
You swindle their paycheck and taxes too
Worshiping at the alter of the greenback printer
Sell your grandma and your grandchildren's future
__________________

I think I ran out of unimportant mail to write upon
I need to do my taxes so I can stop stressing
about hoarding unopened letters
I'm afraid I'll find some catastrophe like a disease
or a stolen identity
There's too much to fear in the 21st century
Yes, how weird
there's no aristocratic family lording over my plot of land
I'm not even a renter anymore except
to the bank and I get my food from multi-national global kings
Much less personal than the ****** that used to rule our lives
Now they're depersonalized into the corporate body
Escaping heaven's mandate
I suppose
Through layer and layer of fabric reality
the market, democracy, technology
is the belief that this whole world is fake
Ascribing deity to digital creators
Bad faith actors
Pretending it's other than profit you desire
"Profit's just a means"
but you need more means to make more means
What's the real product you're peddling?
Do you not have pride beyond the money making aspect?
Why do you highlight such shortsightedness?

They run from name to names
as if that would make a difference
but contempt knows no names or cares
a disgraced ghost in vengeful pain is a disgraced ghost
in vengeful pain, its really as obvious and apparent as that

They chase words in swirls and twist
in their minds it carries some messages to ingest
I just see the cheapness and desperation of dis-ingenuity
and smell the cloying fear that underpins their weaknesses
just cheap insecure ghosts looking for relevance and face save

They show how innate vapid arrogance
compensates for stupidity and shortsightedness
while tomfoolery dances with immaturity in insipid minds
and most telling is their kak lack of introspection or consciousness
for ghost sees what it wants to see and hear what it wants to hear

They have not changed a jot in me
other than now afford me a keener knowledge
of their hypocrisy, cowardice and their general fallibility
in tautology its evident that ghosts are divinely not human beings
and they all bar very few wear that dishonorable shame with pride

They are so far from my psyche and self
that I feel like shouting directions to piffling anodynes
but who am I to show them the tragedies of bloodless cadavers
who revel in their kak and sparkle in their white robes unaware
they want to bell a cat yet they parade around with the biggest bells
round their long supercilious necks

Is this the biggest tragedy of modern times
for evolution and history has taught mankind nothing!
come **** me and sing a million dirges but know its all about you
but you have also created double a million monsters in your yards
they are all waiting and watching and their diet is cold heartless cadavers......

In the face of waning hope, let me recount,
The failings of humankind, like a fateful fount.
With Hemingway's grace, I shall dare to write,
A somber ode, in shadows of the night.

In this bleak world, where darkness lies,
Men seek solace beneath the starry skies.
For we, the flawed, bear a heavy weight,
Our virtues tarnished, consumed by fate.

Once noble, we stood tall and proud,
But hubris swelled, like a tempest cloud.
In lofty towers of power and greed,
Humanity's essence began to recede.

Wars waged on, with endless tolls,
Mere pawns in games of heartless souls.
Lives extinguished, dreams turned to dust,
Humanity's spirit left to rust.

In love's embrace, we oft stumble and falter,
Leaving behind scars, hearts eternally altered.
With careless abandon, we break sacred ties,
Leaving trails of sorrow, as love slowly dies.

Amidst the ruins of promises unkept,
The failures of humanity, wept and crept.
Trust eroded, like a fortress worn thin,
Leaving shattered fragments, deep within.

Oh, the pursuit of progress, our great folly,
We shape the world with a heartless volley.
Nature's balance, disrupted by our greed,
The consequences, a bitter truth to heed.

We desecrate landscapes, once pristine,
Concrete jungles rise, as nature's serenade is unseen.
Species fade, forever lost in time's abyss,
A testament to our shortsightedness.

And what of compassion, that tender flame?
Eclipsed by apathy, and a sense of shame.
We pass by the needy, with averted eyes,
Ignoring their pleas, as compassion dies.

Yet, within this lament, a glimmer remains,
A flickering hope, amidst sorrow's chains.
For in acknowledging our faults, we may find,
Redemption, renewal, and a chance to rewind.

With Hemingway's prose, I conclude this verse,
A bittersweet reflection, as the shadows disperse.
May we learn from our failings, to rise anew,
And reclaim the grace that we once knew.

What this world so desperately needs is a true conversion
We need a divine healer and, sometimes, a divine surgeon
Right now, so many believe the world revolves around them
And anyone who argues differently, we quickly condemn
For all who miss the bigger picture, there is only one solution
What we need right now is to renew a Copernican Revolution
The idea that we are not the center of the universe
It must seem so backwards, it must seem so reversed
The earth revolves around the sun
And we revolve around God's only Son
For He is the glue that binds it all together
He is the anchor in stormy weather
What the world needs is a change of heart
But the change in me is where it needs to start
With Jesus at my center, I've got a radioactive core
And then there is the glow which is pretty hard to ignore
But not just once, I need it now and every day
I have this true conversion when I humble myself and pray:
I need your love, I need your mercy and grace
I need your presence to fill my every space
I need you Lord, more than breath, more than life
I need you because, without you, I am but dust in the wind
You still loved me even when, against you, I knowingly sinned
Death and separation should be my eternal reward
But in your sacrifice, you paid the price I could not afford
So now I live, not I, but Christ that lives within me
And by the blood of the Spotless Lamb, I have been set free
You are in my heart and in the depths of my soul
So Jesus, you are driving; help me give you all control

Lord Jesus, creator of all the universe, thank you for making it the way you did. The earth and the planets revolve around the sun just as our lives are in balance when we revolve around your Son. So many people in the world today put other things in the center of their lives and put themselves at the center of their universe. As Christians and Humans, we can do this too. Forgive us for our shortsightedness and open our eyes to see the bigger picture. Show us, Lord, that our lives make more sense are more in balance, when we put you in the middle. All things came from you in the first place. You were the beginning; you were the first cause. Help us refocus our priorities Lord and have this true conversion we need. And let us lovingly witness to others this change in word and prayer and deed. We ask this and all things with confidence to Jesus; the Son who is the Center in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen

though he played only a cameo role
helping me secure corrective eyewear I sport

mucho gratitude to all parties involved
including the missus,
cuz she needed to shuttle me
to and from hither and yon,
wherever I needed to go,
cuz entire bill paid
(including thorough examinations and lenses -
the frames repurposed

from one used many moons ago)
courtesy AETNA Medicare Advantra
in tandem with superb
ocular optometrist Doctor Paul Halpern,
that would be an unpaid for plug
touting outstanding kickass knowhow
insync with his offbeat good humor
without making a spectacle of himself.

Many insightful revolutionary breakthroughs
linkedin to gamut of intelligent people,
whose exhaustive mental,
physical and spiritual efforts
witnessed visually impaired
(shortsightedness affected wordsmith
since he entered second grade
at Eagleville Elementary School
circa approximately mid nineteen sixties)
and anticipated him being called
mildly derogatory name four eyes,
thus withheld donning glasses
at the expense of lackluster marks

for that half year, cuz parents moved
to 324 Level Road
initially R(oute) D(elivery)
until Donald Neilson
(if memory serves me
more correctly than spelling
of his surname, and "The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser Than the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More Than Ropes Will Ever Do" by Fiona Apple),
and yesterday November 12th, 2024
happily, proudly, and zealously wears glasses
to see the webbed wide world crystal clear.

Post cataract surgery,
about couple months
after consultation  at Kremer Eye Center
and finally came to figurative juncture
whereat (drum roll please...)
prescription adjusted eyeglasses
now sit squarely on my button nose -
as long as I hold them there with a finger
until cosmetic surgeon affixes a bump
on the bridge of said nose

analogous to the song titled
I can see clearly now the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
(courtesy Johnny Nash,
who raked in quite a bit of cash)
to drive our 2020 Hyundai Elantra
after dark shadows slink and slither
along the edge of night
encompassing an ever widening berth,
where the outer limits
meld with swathes of the twilight zone.

Vision care regarding myself,
spouse and daughters...
(before they flew the coop
affecting momma and papa bird
with empty nest syndrome)
wholeheartedly entrusted to
five star optometrist Paul Halpern.

With more than four decades
dedicated and invested
with ocular familiarity,
I salute you with a yen to be civil.

Eye eye Captain Paul Halpern
(attended The Pennsylvania State University
and The Pennsylvania College of Optometry,
now Salus University,
and earned B.S. and O.D. Degrees).

There are two types of eye drops used to test for glaucoma:
Numbing drops
A yellow drop that numbs the eye and measures intraocular pressure.
This procedure is called tonometry or applanation.

Dilating drops
Used to widen the pupils so that the doctor can examine the optic nerve.
Tropicamide is a common dilating drop.

While head tilted back
gingerly applied drops
in eyes that did burn
during my sixth fifth year alive
cataracts in both eyes he did discern.

No matter parking
(regarding even numbered buildings)
on Haws Avenue in Norristown
angled because to allow
for more efficient use of street space
purportedly cars can pull in and out
of parking spots
without making sharp turns
minimizing the risk of accidents
and maximizing the number

of vehicles that can park on the street,
nevertheless I bemoan being shuttled
(courtesy the missus,
who serves as temporary chauffeur de jure
until yours truly acquires glasses
suited and fitted to nearsightedness
linkedin to a refractive error
that makes far-away objects look blurry
shortsightedness of mine 20/200
without corrective bifocals

thankfully myopia markedly diminished,
(albeit improved to 20/20
wearing frames post cataract surgery,
which noteworthy Kremer Center
located in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania
the go to facility
where consultation took place
found me assigned
to ophthalmologist Aaron Cohen, MD
in practice since 1994,

whom I met,
and immediately felt reassured
routine outpatient surgery
took place without a hitch,
though the only qualm
concerns sizable co-payment
not covered by Aetna Medicare Advantra,
yet I tout insurance with brief pitch
and thus no intent to switch
dental, medical and ocular care.