The sweet perfume of gardenias rise,
caress the senses with passive fragrance,
and at their presence my awareness festers-
not by sight, nor by soul, but rather
some subteranean desire

A tap! A stir of that trembling thing,
which lies trapped beneath the skin of man
And with vehemence it rises,
forgotten monster, lost to lore
Old histories that bubble in the blood
Primordial lineage, heritage of wild dawn

Brewing with passion, brood of nature and man,
so burning in the moment,
drunk on manufactured feelings,
With it awakened, all the universe seems to race, to pulse-
and so it sings;
"Spring is coming! The world is alive!"

The flowers blossom with buzzing splendor
Daisies, sunflowers, orchids, dahlias
Colors and hues of joy and delight,
Palette of new-born glee
The roses laying among them,
ruffling their layered scarlet dresses
In hypnotizing swirls all troubles dissolves to affection

Each sit pretty in perfect rows
Each blossom a near plastic complexion
Crafted, subdued, formed, pruned to exact mold
Cultivated to arouse an instinct,
and set illusion to the throbbing urge-
for life, exists within their black chambers
Those petaled maidens sitting in mirror of spring's designs

I feel an ache, my body trembles
to a realization it treats merely a poison to purge
These white walls who echo steady chatter, the rattle of shopping carts,
who have only passing use of Earth's fickle flesh,
who know how pointless all those other things become,
when all consumption awaits
They **** the tacit question, to cool the void of passion slayed;

"How much does it cost to buy spring?"

Profound and striking differences twixt these higher
minds and mine

in kind, we re
cognize our own as we learned we know
the curricula upon which standards
apply pressure to mold
the mind into D0-Bees, don't being litter bugs,
ducked and covered for goodness knows
this could be that cobalt bomb,
I read about
in Boy's Life, my grandpa has a copy of, in this game
he plays online,
choosing
subjects, the knowing of which is to be learned,
and
shall be graded, judged fit for this or that,
for sorting
for the roles rooted in the heart
whence teaching
teaching shall be radiated equally,
ala Alternating Modulation Radio, with the inkwell
filling
filling to over flowing  child's joy en
learning to learn for ever, which is
later.
Unless your grand pa taught you ever is already,
just is, watch and see
---
i have water and a vessle that will not burn
with the heat i can bring at will with a twist of a ****
"we be cookin' wit gas"
I can cook rice any time I have rice,
even if I lack salt, I make do.
---
the role of a star on the silver screen, changed
along the yellow brick road,
but we had black and white tv... I never saw the shift.

until long after the experience the original seers saw,
sit with them
just now they learned of hubble's red shift,
some of them
doubted now the translation of life on the silver screen
pop
Technicolor yawn-gulp, in 1930-something somewhere
over
the rainbow, oh, what dreams may come

--
confusion on the horizon, comin from the west
pushin to the east
smell that smell, feel that feeling, is it still...

an answer, accepted, good is good, all the time

equality as a fact
equality as a result, oops, LBJ, did not mean to say

the nation lacks a voice, amigo *****, we vote
in my realm, this is in the book

this book, where the reader is you.
Two dimensions of self-evidence

what you see is
what you get, if you know how to get it.

Medalion, eh, like in Venice, a license to rent my life,
for more than I think it's worth.

Horus feather state. EH? Light, as a feather,
weigh my words with these,
was the time better spent or better sold writing code?

Enchained melody chant me a chance to

... start all over. Aloud, I say thanks to the creative voice,

we won our liberty, at the loss of all the lies we let
be true,
while dreaming we were watching life
in technicolor dreams imagined by imagineers
with access to to tools
right used
to lessen the bherdon of the feeble minds,
entangled in the mythterious
confus-is-us, Am-big-is-us,

common good, call not that common that or which,
which is it,
really is there a discernible point?

We, the people who hold certain truths, personally,
un alienate-able as well as in-alienable,
if you will, dear reader

do we know the citiz
enship values by which we shall be weighed?
what is my value worth?
what are my values?

dis-passionate-analysis leads to com-passionate-response provoking ideas

my ******-sayin' right is white as snow, come reason me a reason that ain't right.

Done done done, kettle drummed doom

clear the room, the VOG calls strike the set

eat my pearl finish, lick my serpentine sheen, wink and whisper
any name you wish you knew me by

for ever, in my realm leaves us room to expand
hopes past the furthest

reaches of faith alone, past understanding, deep in soft foggy peace

reason? you asked me a reason, or is this a chip, on my shoulder?
does that mean a thing,
like a symbol through generations a meme, passed on in the air I breathed,

knock this chip from my shoulder. why? what is the meaning of this
memorable emulated behavior,

quick draw, fire, aim goes unsaid, no time to spend on a mere word.
both eyes aim

a moving raptor closing on a mourning dove lost in a dove frame of mind
wham
back o'm'knack feelin' ***** 'n' gritty

grandma laffs at m'sweaty necklace of dirt and grime, as it
washes away
and leaves a ring on the tub, that i get to scrub
into a state of total eradication,
rub o'm'head

radish reponds, I'am a root fruit, no seeds in me, eh, never thought o'that?

subteranean sentience is essentially imaginable in the mind of any child and
most game programers who play for the joy of the riddle

bottom line.