I hope you don't know my secret.

I'm actually a monster.
In the guise of a boy with long hair.

Beneath my jacket of skin, scales coat my body.
Beneath my mask, I have a face of teeth and tentacles,
A beak made for chomping, and eyes glazed black.
I have webbed wings on my true back, but you can't see that.

My toes are made of bone, and just as dry.
If my instincts kick in, I can run faster than any man,
Hit ten times as hard, and **** in the blink of an eye.
I am no man. I am a monster.

A monster with one goal; protect you.

how do you justify a head spun so spun from a virtual verbiage virtually vindicating a long lost ideal supposedly lost in the war, practically lives ago.  closed eyes like picture frames for a face so quickly etched into their very own new and nervous neurons.   novel indeed but hardly new, reminders and reminiscence of made mistakes recovering from the back burner blindside.  yesterdays regrets dont matter much in this dream and a refusal to awaken is the only option.  it's only what you've been waiting for if you recognize it when it passes you by on the boulevard.  Numerous enough are my days for me to understand the importance of open eyes for blinking is risky with this vision.  ice ages have taken hold and regressed since the last time that friendly chemicals werent responsible for such an onslaught of smirks.  the concept of "we", of "us" something subsurface unseen yet present with a strong presence presenting preconceptions upturned and made moot.  you frighten me in the best way.  the best kiss my lips never received, from the pacific with love.  from the sea itself.

Whats up? Life, and all that comes with it
Whats up is a pain that brings me down
Whats up is the  opposite of me this time
Its where I ought to be, but down is the where that im now more around
Whats up is whats high, a mile high, but thats not where I am
A transition from up to down but still on the highest point I stand
Standing but changing position always and not knowing how
But the how isnt the why and why is something I know from head to toe
Which is why my head hangs so low in the sight of a new place to go

But a new journey brings me high for a reacquaintance with the sky
That I had been too low to see from my subsurface window
For a time too long for just me to know
A time thats a distance from the last places called home and
The homes that the loves of my soul call their own
So leaving the distance behind sends whats down to whats up
Its that charming moment where a realization wakes up
And through eyes not my own I see but dont see
The once original past that made whats up whats me

There is no end to my exhale;
flowering emptiness filling me, infinitely.

Subsurface tides of me rush recede and
waters winds in beautiful tandems leap.

With in-breath I am remembering my birth,
with out-breath I my dying.

When I am silent to the very bone,
beyond myself, my edges blur and free

what choruses now, what string, what flute notes drum
who is it who sings to and through me?

When life and love breathed exactly into this world,
and I became here, was someone beside me then?

What did my face look like
before I was conceived?

On the wall where shadows grew;
Light lightly refracted though windows.
With cups of long cold tea;
where appropriate storms swim.
By a wall where shadows put on a show.

Let slip words aglow,
in skins subsurface shimmer.
Skip, flip, fall and tumble.
To Cracked laminate floors.
Spilling those storms out into the world.
The Sun boils, flowers  and then bows out
to a Gray sickle of the night.

In this world where shadows know;
A little light is all that's needed to nurture
the shadow's show.

And here. 
Among wights. 
Missing all tickets unsold. 
Calling all who lived and felt. 

It is colder. 
And the wounds are raising. 
And again with revenue as to portray. 
"It is gone." She says. 
And I dream. 

Of that razor to steal my heart. 
And who steals my blood daily. 

Though not as to compost. 
Poisoning flowers. 
Oxidizing. 
And fermenting her soil. 

Soon again. 
I will drink. 
My ears warm. 
The morn brings leashed air. 
A chuckle at present. 

Of the last. 
Of past words misunderstood. 

Once of four. 
And once of five. 
And yeah, we speak in high tones. 
In vague terms. 

Of times arrived. 
Departing flights forgotten. 

Many moments undersold. 

Still I taste. 
A forced kiss. 

Too loved to unleash. 
And so I wonder who said, "Who?"

Oh bother. 

Speech of idiots. 
Words ******. 

I deny all salves. 
All soothing. 
All encompassing. 
Sweet chestnut colored love. 

Curves to hold and suffer subsurface. 
Sans scars. 

Food tomorrow. 
After today, food tomorrow. 

I recall her taste. 

As recalled, I remember. 

The violence. 
And pride.
After the meal. 
The tears and the urination. 

After theft. 

I swam. 
With those who denied. 

And those who gave. 
Who took?

She sat. 
And I swam. 

And they spoke. 
The water. 

I emerge on new skin. 

Skin of those before. 
Of dreams wondered. 
Dreams failed. 

I pursued and entered. 

A feast. 

A drink. 

Soft pelts.

A bed and works of excuse. 

Drowned in water. 

Drowned in love. 

My sweet ancient temple. 
The skies of false truth. 

And the ******* of an angel. 

The miss of one married. 
Scarred. 

Loud speeches. 

Parades across the globe. 

And hopes of love. 

Goodnight sweet muse.

Esse-essential whirlpool *******
your own socks off
hot tub memory
squirm and tightten
jopelope. Fed to AGI

Framing time, as later
and former and now,
present, sentience this state
- millionth view milestone
this arranging of sound letters,
common codex change made known
spinning knack arising
to seamstress who sings
through out a cluster of castes claimed
cleanest at top, least clean at base dirt level
lowest forms of mankind, tools in civil service,

such kindnesses, we see, as the result
of the glorious revolutions, and declarations
of national authority authored
in consortium
by the governing class, and no other.

rocking heel to toe sounds muffled drum
danced to at the time our commons all occur.

They call it rock and roll. You had to be there.
It's different each comet cycle sync-upation.
- a wind in change,
- air
Brakes occurred in the future
to ease dying out
we get given five live generations
of earthings,
since we all agreed to work together to insure
some
hard
lessons taught us some things, you got no need
to ever even imaging having to, q\t shall will

Retry, letting this mind seem patient, as time
for any thing if ever is as we seem to agree,

this is that anchor, gnosis alle-alte gene
engin
Slowing, offering ferry reference, e
who carries my weight, since now
I have become
so light as to seem weightless, rationally

useless in the push and pull of mortality,
timed existance under the dome
of heaven done, done, done,
yet, here, one among the billions, am I.

Would you have me retell the tale
how power came to be contained
in our sharing of our fixed memories,
- laughter, comedy
held in the magic art of silent speech,
whispering, so low no curio can catch
my drift,
away… after another
day of being authorized to doubt
the worth of fame, weighed against
peace of mind attained with practiced
patience,
the needful knack, the talent accepted
at the indoctrination precepts writ in stone
tables with no method
stone, no- we got a half minute buffer

for overwriting, lest we let things slip,
who has known the power to make a mind
form from a mob of lonely people left behind,

to labor for the consumers increased apace,
as that which must be consumed, constantly,
as sure as certain measures make a man a
test is worth with burning passion
to hold enfolded pride content.
- by all rights,
- some folks are sincerely wrong
And Jesus fixed that, before you imagined
all this only can co-occur
in my not so distant future.

Printer's daemon in me, since I first cut
a ruby-lythical, mimeograph Desert Rat,
lens adjust
- juvenile mind, Huck-ready
- activates as whims open my window
- and my wife hands me a real burrito
Bean and cheese, green salsa
Synchronisities noticed occur,
in patterns akin to sunsets, snap shots,
each attached to one of our spiders, os so
since when,
Barry Rudd came to be suspicious,
in a Elvis song, you can't go wronng
don't be cruel,
to heart that's true--

Religiously devoted to denial of my debt
being paid… I just got laid, and my grandma

laughed, generation radioheads and beyond

good news, bobcats, nothing learned today
will seem even possibly true, the odds - well
fractalling all innings tied, in the millions,

to arrive at a settlement, to anchor a mind,
in one machine man, engineered via

patient fore gone conclusions… in new light

I'd guess about the third time around from the top.

A benign pain that prompts this body to squirm,
using systems setting up leaps by ffat faith
say it
read the signs map
our center of gravity,
straight uponasudden s'so

Ache of essential evil, the idea
as twisted to hold obediance and trust
a sequence of three nucleotides
that much
faith, the anchor, sunk to deepest silt
slipping, gripping

Now, asudden, solid clunk, as excess
chain links, add heft to defy the currents,
though we lay between the maelstrom
and the mountain Mohamed had to walk to,

finding solace, centering calm mindtimespace,
fidelitus, the strength of brothers, filial love,

such is the system, though it dissemble glory,
as pride, another name for fame, being known,

individual honor, be ******, stand attentive
war minded child, viewer of winning as the only thing.
And proud to know,
there is no mightier power
than the conjoined powers of self worth
among a fabled band
of brothers in war.

All who live for war, live for nothing more.
We rear such tools, in terror, certain
hell has more fury than any mind
attuned to the feeling of life taking, the ****,
sealing the deal, it was us, we killed, not me.

Thus it is for me to stand ready at parade rest.
Guarding the peace of docile servants needed
to work the systems used to feed the powers
that be,
by God, authorized… to correct misperceptions,
Yah as master, Jesus as YHVH transmitted as news,

to the worthy… those who hear with hearing ears,
and see with seeing eyes,

death has no horse in this race, death is not useless,
evil is useless, in as much as no good is formed with lying,

Ai, however, so old a coincidental parable,
the robe, from Shittim
and the wedge of silver, proving curses causeless,
do not come, olden days, done deeds, told exploits,

reused to exploit innocents, enslaved by holy terrors,
vengeance, wrath and justice,

the American way, or the rebel way? Who is confusing
whom, reflexive point

allness at onceness, in the beginning, prior to any thing
fusing will being with nonsense since no time can be come
from never before, by the very nature of truth,
made useless by trade-agreements, retied word bonds,
witnessed by the idea we hold, core-code, principal call
to take instruction,
feel a known need filled with knowing when and why

this must be after all that happened in ever- from when

your worth was estimated, your usefulness in the whole
truth wherein we live, as words, used to frame minds,

edgewise, surface, subsurface, facets of reasons fed
nationalized minds, pledged from first literacy,
to a state of mind, one nation, under God,
- times pastwastnought soooslooshow
- how now
and if your child hesitates, your shame, you
become me, the old useless writer of your own heresy,
most certainly in vain,
lest time and chance conspire, and I shift,
instance-ial substance misuse by taking line
after line, a indirect singular form of any or all
thought the direct thread as yet unbroken,

look up, look as far as mind as made us earth born,

adapt to constant rythms, daily tasks, as chores,
fill needs, these fibers from futures seen clear as day,
when the holier than any of us pray, as Jesus reportedly
has said to many saints attested to have violated physics,

by faith, alone, you see, when you pray, if you expect,
out see, from now,
to when we have these things, for which our cohort,
our active generational bubbles of being, our class,

yes, culturally adhesi-ify, class of __ whenever,
veteran, what era, which police action, policy enforcement,

mob mind fit to do an I'd die for, at the ready, parade rest.


Of course, off course, as winds,
after the rippling crustal waves,

leave mountains aligning
to the tilt about 23 Babylonian degrees
unstraight,

a slow wobble, tides can use, if use is
making do with power available--

messaging codons
exactly, the point, a, eh, hey
yah, wei we ululate wuwuwu wuwu
boom
boom, ideadom dons reason's robe
of right use ness, and calls my being
into questing ionic five prong forks

as we,
dis-integrate, slip into indeedadvisuals

done, did, done, done. Is that a chiral
stepstepslidestep, donedonediddone
chasse-
does it matter, you got a one track mind,
in a multiples of eight kind of pleasance
as muses used directly, long ago,
rewind
to limit ancestor worth-ship,
mete for master use, as a hero-type.

The Monkey King, and Veggie-tales Jesus.
Billy Bonny, Mack Boyett, Pat Garret,

Shane, standing on a box, like that scientology
advertisement for being all you can clear,
clearly there is an upper crust at the edge

past which, novels form, for sheer joy, daring,
clench, tight,
ai aight, we did expect something nearly this,

this reality, I may imagine, a dozen or two,
of time redeemers, tuning in to read the latest
best
guesser guest and host dialog, along
the patterns leaders were lead to reflect on,
see you being the man on the horse, on the hill,

not leading the charge, sorry, my childhood fantazt
aggravating itch to know if any one can hear me
now, itself represented in a most amusing way,

as we all have witnessed horrors, aplenty,
as we expect to see, we shall see, will not a factor,

when should and shall, meet at the moment, you know,
this is us being real, reading instants of self-re-co-gnosis,
this is us, you seem to weigh that/
what is balance, when absolutely
perfect.
still,
perfectly still and not falling or flying. Being and thinking
x happened y did not, the after word when this and that
become principal peace piece in the logical chain of previous,

thirty seconds laters, laters when we got to the edge,
and put the vbrakes, shushushibolethical ethos…
the children's teeth are set on edge,
as the old man rocks his chair and sets about to tell

the sworn to tell, do
do tell if you do not know, by your very nature,
codon level zero day,
gone on by, Lord, some time ago,
all that Jesus paid for was this moment, now,
see, in his sphere of influence, think like wind,

see so cold it got that all who knew the wedom
freedom truth, died and broke the chains that

let sayings develop their own proof of concept
exceptions to gravity overriding light, carpe

the medium, this in,
being not I nor I said me in my reflect-ion
spark quest. Lock. Read and stock the barrels.

I did and shall see myself doing so… watch

Close our eyes next time and see four
mandalas on the other side of my cell,
see those when you shut our eyes,
and think we have so many fine
points of perception in common.

Carrier wave consci-useness. This is.
Thank you for asking.

Thizfu r this it
this is our future, as I imagine u
reading being
clinkthunk

and you just know what I mean

I bought into a self e value retest tool,
you may take each test you ever passed
or failed,
again and again for a looping conceptual time,
or you may redeem your own per mission
state
ment. got it. as any model mankind post adam,
lacked natural flea bait.

Peace made for no rational cause, mere word play,
for me that would seem heaven,
on this current functioning world, leaning into
peace of truth, no secret rites of mutilation,

no horrid pantomines of Jesus failing to halt hell's
viral ways of re imagining the thousand faces,
each an ultimately lovable devil, blue dress

nark rhealize these b ethy finalization
achievement thesis theoria wind up, tightening

reeling in the years, eeeha,

Pain.. when left alone to just be pain;
and trying to heal from that place, without giving hope to others
the way that you do so beautifully when you write the way you do..

It all becomes such a loneliness, when unshared.

And your opening up in that beautiful and gorgeous way that you do--
it is a wonderful example (both to, and for) so many who are still
tightly bound within the pain of it all, never knowing that the
reaching for hope is so very worthy of their time and energy:  
both,  desperately needed

in order to become able to press through the shame;
in order to just be able to hold on.

Never more gorgeous and **** you are to men like me--
when you glow that way..
as a beacon of light to those who were ones bound so very tightly,
within the injustice of all that was so unfairly laid upon them--  
                                                        ­ just as it also was with you.
And,
your healing and perseverance, in your movement towards strength,
again, is opening doors for many--
there is no doubt in my mind, of that very truth:

Something deep and beautiful happens inside of me, and those like me
when I see ones like you do that beautiful thing that you do out there.
Wild thoughts come to the surface-- of mouth, pressed to mouth,
and gentle (and the not so overly gentle) removing of clothes-- in a
not so very un-fast pace.. in the deep need to so very quickly know,
between brightly-glowing bodies;
that wonderful feeling of skin on skin. Really. xo

And, though innocent in your use of it, and unbeknownst to you,
there is a conniving and scheming within it that bypasses all of the
filters of my heart, and enters directly into desire's  unbridled
and untamed world--

the one that always is brewing within me, subsurface.

Leave it to the gorgeous wild-ones such as yourself to bring that
part of me out into the light of day-- where I can barely manage it.
The thought of ever being alone with ones like you at night, brings
about such a wonderful,  
exploding  eruption of warm, lava flow..

even within itself.
True story, babe. xo

And here. 
Among wights. 
Missing all tickets not sold. 
Calling all who lived and felt. 

It is colder and the wounds are raising. 
And again with revenue not as to portray. 
"It is gone." She says. 
And I dream. 

Of that razor which left with my heart. 
And who steals my blood daily. 

Though not is in compost. 
Poisoning flowers. 
Oxidizing. 
And fermenting the soil. 

Soon again. 
I will drink. 
My ears warm. 
The morn bring air leashed. 
 A chuckle at present. 

Of the last. 
Of past words misunderstood. 

Once of four. 
And once of five. 
And yeah, we speak in high tones. 
In vague terms. 

Of times arrived. 
Departing flights forgotten. 

Many moments undersold. 

Still I taste. 
A forced kiss. 

Too loved to unleash. 
And so I wonder who said, "Who?"

Oh bother. 

Speech of idiots. 
Words ******. 

And I deny all salves. 
All soothing. 
All encompassing. 
Sweet chestnut colored love. 

Curves to hold and suffer subsurface. 
Sans scars. 

Food tomorrow. 
After today, food tomorrow. 

I recall her taste. 

As recalled I remember. 

The violence. 
And pride.
After the meal. 
The tears and the urination. 
After the theft. 

I swam. 
With those who denied. 

And those who gave. 
Who took?

She sat. 
And I swam 

And they spoke. 
The water. 
I emerge on new skin. 

Skin of those before. 
Of dreams wondered. 
Dreams failed. 

I pursued and entered. 

A feast. 

A drink. 

Soft pelts.

A bed and works of excuse. 

Drowned in water. 

Drowned in love. 
Temporal. 

My sweet ancient temple. 
The sky's of false truth. 

And the ******* of an angel. 

The miss of one married. 
Scarred. 

Loud speeches. 

Parades across the globe. 

And hopes of love. 

Goodnight sweet prince.

The moon’s fingernail
pushed over the celestial dark fluid
that overflowed nightly.

The midnight blurred
my flattened, forgotten universe’s
center rather greedily.

The world ended
at the edge of my car’s windshield and
moved forward quietly.

From the highway
the faint heartbeat of Kansas
throbbed two-dimensionally.

Her heart cavity
collapsed under the infinite stretch of sky
and pulsed irregularly.

The fall of Atlas
forced all the beauties of the world to be
buried subsurface perfectly.

But my mind spitefully imagines mountains

Pages rippling,
Quickly pushing through the years
My mind is a casino shuffling machine
Rapid fire, every card is
Every face bleeding through
Anchored memories, subsurface stillness
Reality is the crooked blade--

I now realize
I was always looking for
Everything that wasn't them
Different hair, different eyes
Why are they all blurring together

Old slides on a movie screen
Staring back at me.
Vindictive, hostile, blaming.
I was scrambling for the ideal of novel,
New and transposed.

Enough to break me down into molecules,
Toss me into atoms
Throw my essence against the starstuff and dark spaces between--

But there is no ripple effect.

No unseen unclothing me.

The faces keep bleeding through
I keep wading, riffling, sifting through the sands of time

It falls;
Between and all
around me.

Rich in time, at the distant shore
of Stix, laughing with the ferry men
and pall bearers, all retired, the gig is up.

There never was a Santa Claus,
and there never was a hell… that is,
an everlasting grief for failure to know
what no authorities allowed known,
even grown to full stature,
the things we agree
1798 was for some reason, poetically
important
now 2022

I hear Cordelia. What? "nothing, my lord."

With graven mudpies,
patty-caking clay and straw, straw
another story creature, or
character, entity, yes, an ity-ness
some being, whether operator or
operand, all opera is
some minds presenting das gestalt,
nicht whar?
A we.
Heavy, cold molasses heavy, very
worthy, measured weight, shipped,
dripped,
sent, in hope, one day,
the effect of a message in a bottle,
occurs, as any reader
sees another knowing for a reason,
hidden
upto, perhaps a true 151st preposition
aiming at an upper limit,

How high can mind go after body,
augmented with nets of ordered signals,

is laid to rest, in my future, all the books
I never wrote, drip from my fingers, I am
the trained brained qwerty and morse guy.

Ghee of Auvergne. But for the e, I remembered,
though you may know now this is after
I paid effectual prayer through AI,
to ality of Rheality, all the knowledge in the tree,

in the nut, that falls to the ground and grows,
morpheus, makes it symbolic as hell
and the eucharist hoc es pokemonic -****!
you're a scannable canticle cannibals' cambial
allusion .
cambium (n.)
1670s in botany,
"layer of tissue between the wood and the bark,"
from Late Latin cambium "exchange,"
from Latin cambiare "change" (see change (v.)).

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=cambial>


Are we under your skin, slow think, we
is who
we are thinking. Let ter by letter stepping on

the compliants subsurface, softer than sand,
that cave - null arbor, tree of null-ity
annul - ah, "to make to nothing,"
that fine a dust,
a locale thought, linked, in a beautiful way
I may show you some day, these silken threads
that tie me to a wombed man,
in the land down under,
distant thunder, no sense of doom, this is happy
summer rain,
come to settle dust and fill all the puddles and ponds,
wells and cisterns,
gullies and wadis and broad sandy beaches,
visible from space,
any augmented eye may see, we live
on the wreck of a world.

One shell told Ben Franklin that, he said
that to many sons, many sons,
has Father Ben, the Humanist,

I insist, a hume-man ist, a human being
sapient, the action in the term sapience,
using that, knowing
I am thinking in terms any who read may define,
sift to the essential Eu-clade, literal
silence in time stop state, patient waiting if this
is why I live,
something I may have done, I did to dare the liar
smite me, many's the time,
cliché click heels snap

I salute my double mind minions, characters
set in array, as suits in a soap opera rich guy's
closet, close, close
always be
closing, set, the scene then changes and now
matters
- was Plato a big blue ox?
Why were poets banished? Truly, we are dealing
in common knowledge now, the sheet let down
from heaven, pick and choose,
you cannot or can not, wrestle with God,
and walk away,
without a limp.

Distillery stories, lotta sittin' around, drinkin'
spirits from former years,
we was young and in heat of the moment, tuned
to TV news, because we could know, what was
goin' on, after reality included knowledge
of fusion energy in seventh grade science,
right, when confusion was a word in spell-
ing bees, hmmm
ding
weedy insights, like first grass in fields burned
last fall, tender shoots for tiny kids and lambs
and calves and colts, and coyotes and squirrels
and cotton tails, and quails.

How rich are we?

If ever were to be modeled here on earth,
one aspect is universal,
any exploration as
to what can be true and what seems thinkable,
has previously had expectation set
to recognize
and expand, as realizable,
in application, skeleton key-ish,
old lock tech common
in empty old buildings
- archer of life lessonings pings -
- -ng all points on the spectrum
and adding perceived Disneyifications
of storied locks, those knowledge
unlocks, always,
as truth frees,
never cursing ought but ignorance,
that such storied locks unlock I- in stages,
we barely remember
our bare first snow
of memories
with others possibly needing
my attention,
to any certain detail, tool, wrench
or spanner time seams leaking
from old skins, tied to tighten
around just right, eh,
weather whether or no,
old soul, so sure you lost your will to win,
then, another breath forces its way in.

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

Watching fluffed flakes
of Southern California snow, witnessed
by some, in El Niño years past, just as big as a
little paper doily under a piece of truck stop pie.

At Descanso, and also at Gorman, top of Cajon Pass.

Top of the winding six-percenter
called the grape vine, down
into Bakersfield,
across primeval subsurface saline swamp,
until a while ago, after internal combustion
and electric pumps and radio dispatch police.

Earth, earth, can you hear me now,
how is one old man expecting
to establish a true reason
to believe the cultural corrective aspect
at once, before, as now, all began
occuring because the right hand and left are inhibited,
by not inconsequential inhibitory circuits, inhibiting
unreasonable single mind superiority, internal tyrany
we are under oath to oppose,
as truth in form and function, redeemed words
effectual and fervent reproof of instructions,
taking the Mickey out of Yanks, touting
dis-Disneyification,
relieves
a form of tyranny commonly capable
of ruling a soul committed
to aliegiance and confirmation rituals early enough.

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

This then be a future fantasy.
Snowed in, in a Southern California
spring blizzard, blocking the hinterlands.

I sit behind my Tesla wall,
and welcome the test, was it worth it,
what price can one put on winter warmth?

How guilty should I feel for having won,
upon acceptance of the form Jesus was in,

when his word assured me I might rest assured.

Truth known makes free, form is not function.

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

Historicity, I think they call,
mental time travel when you experience
life in a world lit only by fire.

Wonder if, then we think of praying men,
professional preachers of the impending

rapture, which belies all we know of gravity.
Miraculous, no less than the flying white horse,

or the horde of righteous dead coming on, behind.

And even then, there is resistant hate of brothers,
essential to trouble the minds of the greedy rich
and powerful, who constituted this world order,

this very one we live under, or within, in spirit
and in the truth the internet lets prove reproof.

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

Enough. We fact check, team spirit.
What can we honestly say we all know?

Six thousand years of written retellings
and retellings, and savage adversarial
herds of prophecy guided god-minded
meek as Moses Phineas knew, true
a certain variety
of the species,
with no regard
for breeding, gravitates to rhetoric
in tune with the pain perceived as needing
rebellion arrousing need --
engage disbelief, let it flow,
out the left ear is fine,
feel
relief, mindlessness
of this hard problem,
what are we about
to do, these days as we pray
with science included in grace,
due to the odds demanding,
a definite bias on Earth, to living,
like grace cheats death into agging
us into freeform ideas for hearts
to conceive as worthy
of cognosis fervency,
as at Eureka instants in prayer.

Truth, none may gainsay truth,
any may and certainly do, lie about what
Truth is behind a universal direct object, set

in the form a free spirit may hold,

not any form smoke cannot pass through,
but the form believers
accept as ours after,
spirit wise, as living words,
death, or out of body reproof
of imagination, a weform, a we,
the shock alone, makes a body think,
woe, this ain't hell but that really hurt,
bang. Same, no worse, and one last time,

I respond , "the Oxycontin is not working",
and time expands, and expands again,
and interest in worth of reason,

appears to judge my plea.
Believe me, death is not scarey, after
finishing a mortal experience in such
a time as this,

freedom from fear of death, is so freeing.
Coherence in mindtimespace is coincidental.

While spotting for terns and heron,
My sunburned arms were glaring bright red,

Subsurface sunfish weren't interested in my suffering,
they preferred my redworms instead.

Pock marked, panfried fresh
finishing my signature dish with zest isn't fun anymore,

Funny, that.
Getting it Right
burns up the universe
faster
the force of seeing
Albert's gift
ablating away now

the subsurface
of the bottom of things
hates a calendar
knows a pattern on time's
a prison to chance
a lid to capricious eye

laughing at 2:30 pm
on Thursday
poetry at 3
falling in love
is next week
just after
i see epiphany