the sunset
even enamors
the clouds...
see?
they blush pink
when he comes
to meet
the horizon
sinking below
in
ecstasy.

Eleven thousand
            three hundred
     sixty one miles away
in a place   I’ve never been,
     you are thinking
          of all the places
you have never   been
     or haven’t   been,
some for seasons,
          some for years.

A Paris   pomegranate   sunrise
     from the Pont des Arts,
     bright     colours     shimmying
at the   pulse   of romance.

The   blood   cell   rush   of Shibuya,
   Tokyo at night among
a river of     strange symbols,
   blinking   TV   screens.
  
Prague dredged in frost,
   feet-chatter   on cobbles
          past the Jan Hus memorial
under a   cool   periwinkle sky.

Glossy tulips in Bilbao,
   metallic curves,
   trill   of   syllables
     by the teal Nervión.

I think of you,          far away,
   same planet, different   spot,
the future washing towards us
   full of scrambled   images
and     white     noise,
a trickle of hope at your   toes,
   through my screen.

Remember
The last time We were
in Dallas together

That place where We met
We loved and We lived
and where We were
so very alive in Our time

There in the beautiful city
Resplendent and Refined
Where we spent Our moments
in love in life
and the quiet vibrant
Love of Life

Remember
That last time
We went back home
to Dallas

On that day we awoke
in the early morning
When I asked if you
were ready to leave

You stepped gracefully
to embrace me
You said We had time
Do you think We might...
please

You knowing surely
without a doubt
you never needed
to plead

We made love
like We knew
that We meant it
We made love
that isn't made fast

We made love
in the joys
of pleasing each other
A love that would always
however still last

We soon then
were on our way
on a beautiful bright
late Fall day

To see someone
back home

You there then
golden and glorious
Happy and smiling
Sipping on a Sunkist
citrus soda

We put the car on cruise
and We sailed away
Slipping quickly from
the rustic western country

To merge swiftly
into the flow of
the magnificent city
Toward the inbound
expressway

Remember the majestic
towering skyscrapers
as we made the loop
around downtown

The red flying Pegasus
still flying on
as the emblem
of Our hometown

Reunion Tower
and the magic of light
The Top of the Dome Club
at the top of the world
Such wonderful times
at the top of Our life

Remember Our date there
when We were yet still young
that lasted the afternoon
Throughout the evening and
all that beautiful night long

For You then my Lady
A perfect Chardonnay wine
For me Johnny Walker
on the rocks

All to perfectly bind
the heart and mind
To a wondrous moment
Overswept yet fixed in time

You by my side as
I always had hoped
Like that very last time
We were in Dallas
together back home

We made our stop
to meet with a doctor friend
He knew what I could never
believe and what I never
wanted to have had
to comprehend

You were gone by measures
You were gone by degree
You were going
and near hopelessly
gone unto me

Yet I still hoped
and believed

The last time
We went back home
to Dallas together again

But still on the way back
from Our bright shining city
to what would become
the darkest of desolations

You still were happy
or so it seemed
You were bright and beautiful
like in a perfect dream

We stopped at a restaurant
I ate a lot...but You did not
You stepped away for a minute
and then I met you at the car

When We got back
to that place
where together
We last lived
We embraced and
You said again...
please

Surely You never
would have ever
needed to plead

We first lay there
together a moment
to recover Our strength
Entwined together
You and me

Then We there
were immersed within
that precious moment
When all of beautiful
intimate art is
expressed in life

And all of love
becomes perfectly
tragic art

There is where
I felt the trickle
of Your tears
as they fell down
onto my chest

And then there
upon my heart

After that last time
We were back
home in Dallas
together.

Remember Dallas.
We always
will have Dallas.

-R.

7/17/17
-LA


-4MAR

It's all so quiet
Silent within its hidden slumber
And dreams a beautiful dream which guides and cools the Windrush on the water.

Its dream song flows through my patterns
Atoms wave like sunkist fields of wheat
So peaceful is its essence
It is silent when it speaks.

Black Mind

It’s more than friendship for us.  We’re closer than that.  we never needed the same blood to call each other brothers.  We bleed similar ideas and thoughts, like telepathy is our only way to communicate.  We’re linked in ways most will never know, See, we’re cut from a different cloth. In our ragged robes we feel like kings because we know we have the greatest jester at our sides. Mind that this is a love poem, love for my friend, my brother, my phone call at 1 am, chatting about everything and anything.  I never walked down streets with such confidence before. his are my guard rail, stopping me from slippery streets and inattentive eyes.  I don’t think we can count the times we’ve defined our code.  It’s not a code of arms, we don’t need to arm ourselves with each other at our sides.  I’ve gone from the boy I was to a man I want to be, thanks to him.  I don’t think he’ll ever understand how much he’s done for me.  It’s been such roller coaster ride, dating best friends and losing loves, we stuck by each other, Spartan warriors would be proud.  He’s like a spider web.  Hidden in small spaces of serenity.  He catches anything that we need to survive and destroys anything that could harm me.  serendipitously our friendship evolved like Pikachu and Squirtile.  We have that Pokemon type of bond, I’ll choose you, every time.   No one will understand when I say, Saving him from SunKist liquids is our defining “broment.” See, in that moment having a bottle rise to his lips, I knew that he needed me to tell him the dangers that lie ahead, as he’s have done for me countless time.  Now, It could have been the time you  told me you hated me in middle school, or the time you tried to save me from a fire breathing dragon. He became the one person I can count on, in a world where a clock ticks too quickly.  It’s you and me against the world, They don’t know what they got themselves into.  We are soldiers, brothers at battle, we start wars with words because our poetic voices are needed in the struggles of a lost generation.  But,  we don’t need to take up arms, we pick pens and write the words that no one has the heart to say.  Our words prove that we never needed the same blood to call each other brothers.  Because it’s more than friendship for us.  We’re closer than that.

My raybans still covered
my swollen  eyes as I stepped
inside the Rite Aid,
in my pathetic attempt to
hide from the neighborhood how much
I had been crying.
Tears of anger and
some of despair and
others of sheer exhaustion
had coated my cheeks
and worn the edges of my eyelids
raw and reddened my
corneas.
I had stumbled out of my apartment
in an effort to rid my body of
feelings, assuming the brisk spring breeze
could somehow sweep up everything
I felt and whisk it away as
quick as it had come.
I squeaked past a couple
******* clad women with
sunken eyes that bore holes
into the glass of the cooler
as they stared longingly at the
rather large variety of
malt liquors, the selection of soft drinks
lesser than the collection of
40s I passed on my way to the
back of the store.
I distracted myself imagining
the taste of the various soda pops,
a wild cherry Pepsi dissolving into my
daydream tongue right before it
turned to Big Red Cream Soda.
Diet Sunkist in hand,
I stared at the ingredients on the orange soda bottle and reread the same words
over and over as he interjected himself again and again.
I made my way to the counter,
feeling ever grateful for my sunglasses
as more tears welled,
and I cleared my throat before mumbling a way-too-weak-for-an-outgoing-girl hello.
Before I knew it my distraction faded
from view, and I turned left down Oak
as his face peeked out in my
rear view mirror in the majesty of
the sunset.
I shook off a feeling of admiration and
reminded myself that even after all this time
he still manages to disappoint me as
he always has.
I murmured something about how,
"He ain't ****" like I'm some bad
***** that doesn't give a **** about a dude.
But then I remembered how deeply I had loved
a man who never loved me back and
never failed to prove it.
My stomach began to drop,
leaving me feeling as empty as the
messages he had sent me in his pathetic
attempts to convince me of ******* masked as
the rhetoric he knew I wanted to hear,
just enough to keep me around for his
(admittedly) selfish reasons.
I loved him and hated him all at once
as I realized 4 months ago when
I told myself (and him) that I was moving on,
it was only my head that had,
my heart still staggering, like a
drunk stumbling off a belly full
of cheap whiskey,
And as I later drowned my sorrows in
TV dramas and artificial sweeteners,
I vowed to get that last piece back and really let go...
I'll start tomorrow
when I sober up.

Layer upon layer upon layer,  it is too cold for skin
and my sunkist days pull away, while I reach and grab for a hand to hold.  

Missouri is a surprise party for someone who hates surprises.
Missouri is a cruel joke, handing you the ripe-to-the-very-second
sweetness of a strawberry summer and snatching it away at the
last second to watch you fall to your knees and beg for mercy from the
biting wind and your stinging lips, no chapstick to be found.

Layer upon layer, sweater under coat,
socks over socks under boots made of steel.

If there is one upside to this brutal chill, if there is
it would be peeling back this extra skin, this shield of
fabric, to reveal steaming pink underneath.

It would be that
cold weather
makes ***
even better.

I’ve got better things to do
Than not drink orange soda
My winter is long enough
Without that summer in a bottle

It’s the taste of my youth
That magic orange soda
Fanta, Crush, or Sunkist
They all take me there

Carbonated sweet sun
This icy orange soda
Every sip is a portal in time
Take me back, take me back

Last night in bed we spoke for days
We made big bright plans for a life that we’re yet to see
The house we will buy and what our children's names will be
We drew dreams of honeymoon nights and days soaked in ecstasy
Sunkist hearts, smiles as warm as fireplace flames on Christmas eve
Years gone by and our big bright plans have taken sail across the deep
Where the tides rage high and the winds blow by
I guess our big bright plans have died at sea

Home
Is where the heart is
Where warm arms embrace me
When glorious food filled the table
With beautiful wallpapers giving it life

Home is not only shelter
But it has all the love everyone needs
Comfy beds and childhood toys
Holding all the memories filled with wonders

Stepping out of my home
My eyes glow to the sight of
Sunkist skies on a Monday evening
Puffy clouds roam along with pigeons and larks
Clean pavement with nothing but dry leaves dancing
Old and new cars and an outgrown mango tree
I enjoyed every scent around my home.

When the day falls into darkness,
Shimmering stars shine upon me.
As if, I was the only one admiring their beauty
Walking beneath them is an honor
With every light steps,
The stars and moon watch over me,
Never leaving my side...like family

Now that I am no longer home,
Happiness has disappeared
Creases on my forehead increase
Being a vulnerable person out in the world
I became an easy prey, target
To be the one to absorb all the negativity
Possessed by city-born humans

Love is not around anymore,
Stars and moon shy away from the skies
Hidden behind the grey crowd
Filling humans' lungs
And causing disease
Adding on sadness and despair

I miss home.
Where love originally came from.

Let us run to the beach,
Through the night's navel, lichenous
Inflated by escape and something new
For just the rush / the sensation

Like bodies aloft from kiss
the brevity of laughter
Of youth / full / of mischief.

We'll leave the night a peeking eye
while in the meditation of surfers
Early sparring with willful morning  
Waves / puppets of gravity & moon

So wax upon fingers of great monsoons
Should the tides ride high it's might
and fly to god's white laughter too soon
At least we've glean the world between
With wings of sunkist sailing heights
Dreams unfurled in gold morning light

Hurl toward the awe of love for life
Completely free as one with chi,
Let this be an ode, an unscripted history
a mandarin and blue backdrop scene

And I will be perched on the shore
Shakespeare's heartfelt pen / pining ardor
Adoring the balconies and open doors
of such romances / daring devils for more

Tho' a grain of sand to everything
Now just a set of eyes

Audience for the world and skies

Belisimo !

I applaud as fish and man fly
Nod as the sun sets the stars to night
As in twilight to midnight
As the moon smiles

Bravo!

Through the belly of the unseen
We have crawled
Now we are in the poetry of awe
Watch onlooker as the stage curtains
Paints it's strokes
Blood rose clouds and deep
Blues from burning
Pinks

Magic show in a wink

This deserves a standing ovation
I lift both hands high
This must be love
I cannot deny

Some kind of wonder
Full of infinite and muse
All epic and classic
Watched without shoes...

In all these things
Time and motion
(In a seashell)
Listen to the ocean.

(alternately titled GENESIS RESPLENDENT)

The ability of corporeal (once arboreal) beings to adduce, contemplate and exhaust gray inner knobby matter oft times finds this clothed apish chap entertaining gamesome insight. How did this, that or another thought spring forth per mine consciousness? This conjecture might be a shrunken modus operandi how life began, which query mankind scrunched brow throughout **** Sapiens history did contemplate.

---------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------
This veritable stranger sends what he hopes you consider to be

a most pleasant unexpected note

allowing further discourse (communication) a boot

ourselves, and maybe fledgling acquaintanceship

will positively resonate akin to a magic flute,


whereby digital life jackets donned in virtual trump petsmart boat

perhaps if weather inclement, an additional slick trojan raincoat

to help stay dry until destination reached

perhaps landing upon a north Carolina island


resembling hill Billy goat, whence springs germ of sum re: idea

takes root exhibiting potential va lance lives strong

when juiced sta stp away from ma super ***** violating

tender tinder and tumblr ova vulnerable shoot.

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

To search for source that gives rise enabling **** sapiens to think

this ace of spades heart felt (albeit diamond in the rough poet)

digs shallow sometimes force fool lee with light club

to emulate spelunker easing into ***** of Gaia,


or shine laser focus into chasm teetering on the brink

hunting down gamesome elusive dodging idea sunkist,

dogged catlike whimsy doth elusively, and we silly out pace

yet hi yam ready with whorled wide net to capture alive


agile rat scorpion fink unseen quiet as mouse notion

gives this hardy laurel a *** vine run for his money

quite a chase - bank king analogously viz monkey and weasel

scurrying thru microcosmic burrow of cerebral size manhattan

sky scrapers at a blink quarry arising whim of mine


vanishes without a trace quick as mental cogs & wheels

generated riveting link, perch ants connected

to previous pondering within cranial place, or appear

as some random non-sequitur conscious kink

distracting ability to latch onto awesome fleeting mind space


inducing minor frustration at lack of ability

dag nab bit (albeit painlessly) steely zinc

shimmering insight cognizant

ability likened to ode Grecian urn vase frieze

depicting close capture thought process cold playing life


spans shorter than a wink via third eye blind

of this comfortably numb, yellow brick walled

beatle browed face, whereat he espies verdant

pastoral themes that billow and flow

- - - - - - - - - - - - -
across terra firma hallowed ground

sanctimonious from immaculate mother Earth conception

synchronized in a symphony with terrestrial

fauna and flora which life forms abound

via natural laboratory qua nature,


especially at seasonal dawn of spring tide

where multitudinous existence can be found

carving out a figurative zoological niche

in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds galore

idyllic melodic musical sounds


artist palette of rainbow blended sights

which twin manifestations of restorative and natural calm

assuage auditory and visual sense pleasures respectively

serve as psychic balm against global threat

of life, liberty and happiness triage psalm


rampant in the form of diabolical deliberate deeds

bred in the soil of deep rooted hatred

kudzu resistance asphyxiates human camaraderie

democratic state attacked with no qualm

malicious and terroristic plot methodical map


blueprint leaves catastrophic trail of red

dire prognostications constitute doomsday scenario

no rocket scientist mentality requisite

grave misfortune writ large for all life!

A bottle of opened sunkist soda,
A couple sips missing,
Wincing knowing there's chocolate in the drawr.
Wishing the nightstand would disapear,
Praying the guilt will go away.

Spurred by mother dearest
as well as other politesse
drummed into her second born
fobbing blandishments as incentive
tumbled off fingers of prodigal son
tripped wordsmith to splutter forth
forthwith the following lines.

Back in the day
quaint summertime of yore,
the following popular refrain reverberated
within hallowed halls of school.

"No more pencils,
no more books,
no more teacher's/
teachers' ***** looks”

Never did exotic vacations populate
those twelve weeks
when doors flung opened
at Henry Kline Boyer,
whence score years ago yours truly
now (June 8th, 2023)
approximately same age,
when mine paternal grandfather visited
me, and other members of family
at then Route Deliver #2
Collegeville, Pennsylvania,
the home of mein kampf.

Figurative eons ago
bygone innocent childhood of mine
oblivious to progressive political issues
easily delighted, liberated, tantalized...,
especially when Sunkist grandpa Harris
(Aaron) indulged yours truly
jais nais sais quois
kibitizing lovingly, mirthfully
naturally offering pleasing qualities,

surrendering slender tanned arms
where upon left wrist dangled his
venerated wristwatch (analog),
I ecstatically fingered, prized, and toyed
with said object fascinated
at the linkedin craftsmanship,
which yielded general squealing zealousness
from an ordinarily
non emotionally expressive lad.

This towheaded grandson,
extremely excited when me daddy's papa
came to this figurative rural outpost,
(despite his chastising behavior
ridiculing favorite progeny's children),
where traces of early twentieth century
still evident when manicured formal gardens
pegged, limned, harkened... back
to a supposedly simpler time

when this elderly family member
(who only completed eighth grade),
whose birth benchmarked, coincided
and demarcated with late
Industrial Revolution, whence
Philadelphia birthplace noisy with
horse drawn carriages competing
with early model automobiles
crowding thee busy thoroughfares,
where the streets have no name.

Lemme return back
to the previous topic,
and explain how
I felt eager to interact
with cranky, yet doting old man,
which showcased chained metal links
wore a temporary imprint
upon his bronzed aged skin – dog
head lee remaining
gently persuading him

to delay when departure time arrived
for favorite boyhood relative,
twas pure heavenly glory
conniving, finagling, inveigling...
our favorite grandfather
to situate myself on right side
and toy with the wristwatch (analog),
winning three way verbal tussle
between yours truly and two siblings
(an older and younger sister),

which when a kid
also exhibited glee at occasions
treasuring said older folk gave me a frog
tiled toy (sliding puzzle)
that required dexterity
moving pieces fastly secured,
which when complete
always left me agog
and this, that or
some other gewgaw, souvenir, trinket

(plus a bit of chump change given to me)
spurred mine late mum
to spark me mental cog
to say “good morning”, “good afternoon”,
“goodnight”, “thank you,”
or when eggnog proffered to this
most senior chronological guest,
who sat at the head of table,
or blankly watching television
like a bump on a log

while chided, forced, induced...
to parlay social graces
from this mere pollywog,
who (much as delight arose fussing
with trappings worn
loss on atrophied flesh),
a skittishness found me
averse to follow orders
as if I happened to be a petsmart dog.

At that time
Florida orange juiced industry
touted, popularized, and linked in
with Anita Bryant -
American singer, political activist,
known for anti-gay activism
and 1958 Miss Oklahoma
beauty pageant winner,
and a brand ambassador
from 1969 to 1980
for the Florida Citrus Commission.

Thee paternal grandfather
oft times visited our then rural abode
at that time one sturdy estate
(originally called Glen Elm)
wildlife twittered, jibber-jibber, crowed...
within the plush wooded tract
even then blueprints drawn up
land deeded, mapped, parceled,
and slated to explode;
our then eco-friendly family averse
to witness expanding commercialization

across wetlands horizons
(Canadian Geese flocked to pond,
which liquid haven courtesy Donald Nelson
got the plug pulled
and drained watery basin)
asthma late mum didst lament
misfortune of flora and fauna,
nevertheless chided me
against even thinking
about sabotaging property

after I played  devil's advocate to goad
conspiratorial natural forces
to undermine cookie cutter
look alike slap dashed, ticky tack
shoddy tinderboxes (vinyl city) growed
on formerly untamed, uber ****** woods,
perhaps early boondocks getaway hoed
and plowed, but indomitable
(naturally enshrined eminent domain
abandoned since pioneers

bushwhacked rustic habitations)
nature relished reversed
grape seeded tracery etched
yet 'pon reflection,
I ponder how early occupation knowed
no habitat foresaw wreckage
when decision via wealthy Leipers,
(original residents plus wealthy owners of
The Bell and Clapper)
unanimously custom made crafted mansion
actually originally a summer getaway.

Self imposed endeavor
to indulge drafting literary effort,
though methinks love's labor's lost
hunt and peck typing  
across qwerty keyboard
and captcha characteristics
unique to house of my boyhood,
whereby selecting alphanumeric
and/or special symbols  
instantaneously generate electronic signals
electronically communicating,
subsequently transmitting

byte size data packets description
to respective ip node
(to create document courtesy OpenOffice)
analogous how modus operandi
to build stately
sturdy summer country villa,
(circa early 1900's)
which property whittled down
to 324 Level Road demesne comprising
about a half dozen acres
eventually acquired by Boyce Harris
February 28th 1968 -

for x number of years mortgaged he towed,
a near singlehanded undertaking
to gentrify house as elements of style
witnessed once ship shape
wrought architectural structure
weathered, subjected to degradation,
naturally deteriorated
him (in vain) to enlist by force if need be
grunt laborious services of singular son
the author of these words,
who houses the ineradicable genes
and chromosomes of August Aaron.

Dire prognostications
(terrestrial inhabitants blithely heeded)
with contemporary age
fortune tellers foretell day of (w)reckoning,

sans total mortal kombat annihilation
when human (and many) other innocent species
(stalwart cockroach adept to survive)
pitch headlong toward critical limit stage.

That eleventh hour fast upon mankind,
(as Earthlings speed headlong)
on a bee line irrevocable debacle
portending apocalyptic gloom

sprung, where weapons of mass destruction,
this from fusion and/or fusion of atom
(way smaller than an ant)
would severely impact global proliferation,

the vectors clearly delineated
sans urban jungle population boom
Plus billions of people occupy ground zero,
viz the only planet in solar system

how zing cheek to jowl **** Sapien life,
but Western Civilization may become
a footnote in cosmic history
(a justified exemption,

and rational acceptable excuse
for going doing homework),
unless immediate measures taken
to (yet rather ideally)
reverse nuclear destruction.

A multitude of flora and fauna would
no longer constitute biological niches
established via survival of the fittest
each animal and plant
(re: species and genus),
a catastrophe unto themselves

reducing genetic pool to zero, and subsequently
availing breeding ground for well sea sunned
microorganisms, perchance even a select
few critters immune
to radioactive oblate spheroid

dominating, flourishing,
occupying, et cetera #terra-firmae.
If screaming, slamming, strafing atomic, hydrogen,
neutron, bombs do not spell immediate demise
of the supposed brightest Primate put forerunners

handed figurative baton from Neanderthal
to modern man heating up human race,
the endangered qua extinct list,
the greenhouse effect from spewing
pollutants sky high,
with punctured Ozone layer as serious fallout

the latter revving into overdrive
squeezing Mother Earth Sunkist love
visiting via burgeoning population explosion
each respective year, those once dubbed

marginal lands will be exploited. Inclusive
fragile ecosystems (atolls coral expelled,
rain forests slashed and burned, wetlands
drained for another crowded house).

Once over population passed the tipping point
(possibly already surpassed),
a flagrant, ignorant, poisonous re-agent
will decree death-sentence, define desolation
deprive materialistic existence
no amenable longer fashionable, sustainable.

Abortion doth buzzfeed as controversial issue
among many simian members
(some well coiffed) of human zoo,
yet regulation regarding reproduction
the only surefire solution
to sustain quality existence
while livingsocial people occupy planet Earth.

Summer like all good things,
Must come to an end.
She is bathed in golden light,
Swathed in yellow and red
Light breezes and soft green leaves,
Are the pallbearers of her black ash casket.
There are no more rosy smiles,
Hidden underneath beach hats and sunglasses.
The air is no longer perfumed by her ocean breeze and the faintest smell of honeysuckle.
Summer no longer blooms in her sundresses and sandals.,
There are no more shorts and tank tops,
No more sunkist skin, peeling from time spent in the sun,
No more kisses shared under the trees,
Hushed laughter as you and a friend
spend the night in the tent your parents set up in the backyard,
Always insisting on camping at the house,
Though you are both old enough to go camping for real.
No more lemonade stands run by your neighbour,
On the corner of the street you’ve lived on all your life.
Spring heaves great sobs, the kind that wrack a girl with such a thin frame, longing for her sister
Winter wails, holding onto Spring and shaking,
Missing her antipode
Autumn sheds a glass like tear,
but her eyes deceive her actions.
There is no sorrow,
No remorse
Only grim satisfaction
The killer always shows up to the funeral.
For now there will be jeans and hoodies, paired with some warm drink,
Leaves crunching under boots,
school year starting,
kids mourning the death of the girl they all loved.
You miss her dearly,
The memories she brings back,
When there’s a gust of warm wind,
Making the wind chimes clink together,
Reminding you what you have lost,
As you
Walk to the bus stop,
on the corner of the street you’ve lived on all your life

(alternately titled  GENESIS RESPLENDENT)

No matter the calendrical/official onset of vernal equinox takes places Tuesday, Mar 19, 2024 and transpires until Thursday, Jun 20, 2024, an intimation sensed (predicated on above average temperatures for February 21st, 2024) that season of blooming plants will override any assertion of Old Man Winter.

The ideal, general, ethereal ability of corporeal (once arboreal) beings to adduce, contemplate and exhaust gray inner knobby matter oft times finds this clothed apish chap entertaining gamesome insight. How did this, that or another thought spring forth per mine consciousness? This conjecture might be a shrunken modus operandi how life began, which query mankind scrunched brow throughout **** Sapiens history did contemplate. Origin of life ascribed to the big bang, but then the question begged what preceded that cosmic event, which question came crashing into inquisitive mind of yours truly (me) after reading  a book titled Angels and Demons by Dan Brown; He also wrote the Da Vinci Code, and The Lost Symbol among other book titles.

This veritable stranger sends
what he hopes you consider to be
a most pleasant unexpected note
to thee unknown reader
allowing further discourse
(communication) a boot...
footwear ourselves, and
maybe fledgling acquaintanceship
will positively resonate akin to a magic flute,
whereby digital life jackets
donned in virtual ******* up petsmart boat
perhaps if weather inclement,

an additional slick trojan raincoat
doned to help stay dry
until destination reached
perhaps landing upon a north Carolina island
resembling this hill Billy goat
(christened Beverly),
whence springs germ of sum re: idea
takes root exhibiting
potential valance lives strong
when juiced sta stp away
from ma cheaply tricked
supertramp violating
tender tinder and tumblr
ova vulnerable shoot.

To search for source that gives rise
enabling **** sapiens to think
this ace of spades heart felt,
(albeit diamond in the rough poet)
digs shallow sometimes
force fool lee with light club
to emulate spelunker easing
into ***** of Gaia,
or shine laser focus into chasm
teetering on the brink
hunting down gamesome

elusive dodging idea sunkist,
dogged catlike whimsy
doth elusively, and we silly out pace
yet hi yam ready with
whorled wide net to capture alive
agile rat scorpion fink unseen
quiet as mouse notion
gives this hardy laurel
a divine run for his money
quite a chase - bank king analogously
viz monkey and weasel

scurrying thru microcosmic burrow
of cerebral size manhattan
skyscrapers at a blink quarry
arising whim of mine
vanishes without a trace quick
as mental cogs & wheels
generated riveting link,
perch ants connected
to previous pondering
within cranial place, or appear
as some random
non-sequitur conscious kink

distracting ability to latch onto
awesome fleeting mind space
inducing minor frustration at lack of ability
dag nabbit (albeit painlessly) steely zinc
shimmering insight cognizant
ability likened to ode Grecian urn vase frieze
depicting close captcha
thought process cold playing life
spans shorter than a wink
via third eye of providence
of this comfortably numb,

yellow brick walled
beatle browed face,
whereat he espies verdant
pastoral themes that billow and flow
across terra firma hallowed ground
sanctimonious from immaculate
mother Earth conception
synchronized in a symphony with terrestrial
fauna and flora which life forms abound
via natural laboratory qua nature,
especially at seasonal dawn of spring tide
where multitudinous existence can be found

carving out a figurative zoological niche
in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds galore
idyllic melodic musical sounds
artist palette of rainbow blended sights,
which twin manifestations
of restorative and natural calm
assuage auditory and visual
sense and sensibility pleasures respectively
serve as psychic balm against global threat
of life, liberty and happiness triage psalm
rampant in the form

of diabolical deliberate deeds
bred in the soil of deep rooted hatred
kudzu resistance asphyxiates human camaraderie
democratic state attacked with no qualm
malicious and terroristic plot methodical map
blueprint leaves catastrophic trail of red
dire dystopian prognostications
constitute doomsday scenario
no rocket surgeon
nor brain scientist mentality requisite
grave misfortune writ large for all life!

years gone by now with a ****
constituting one garden variety generic goof
bolle yours truly sprawled himself aloof

The celebrated sailing frog
     from Montgomery County
     went a court'n, or so the tale iz toad
to a grand ole mansion built around 1910,
     and e'en 'pon

     being razed ~2012 ah no dummy
     sea worthiness still plainly showed,
twas February 28th, 1968,
     when my father
     bought the house at 324 Level Road

majority thrice score plus deux years,
     rush back with unfettered exuberant zeal
this aging elf spent psalm tranquil
     May days sung sotto voce
     atop memorialized, prized,

     shingled out, ship-shape valued,
     venerated, vip voted faux ****** demesne
     "Glen Elm" named private
     100+ acre wooded common weal

many a pitch perfect spring day
     found yours truly
     frankly basking atop the spacious roof
oft times begging the cosmic force

     irrationally lyft ting this Earthlinked bing,
     this uber dreamer (uplyfted Dharma) ***
     willingly taken with "****"
(magic amazing dragons)
     presuming my absence,
     would not be missed and whereabouts
     no cause for alarm,
     but the usual antics of a contemplative goof

ball, and aware
     a minor for hair (Sunkist) gold
Helios innocently beckoned,
     this then sole Sol tanned
     within the solar raised fold
surrendering while atop
     the multi acred roof where any cold
melted away, whence became bathed
     like a bronze statue of auld.

Zip pose zing the weather forecast
     donned wafted air
fragrant with flowered flora
     visibility for miles
     if ether crystal clear,
this high da way countless yards
     off the ground presented flare
approximating pristine floral display
     with powerfully poignant immunity
     against cackling, jeering, scowling,

     parents or other nemesis with glare
ring (smoke emitting nostrils),
     an idyll escape for this heir
to the throne of the mountain king,
     (lion share of original tract
     kept by Donald Neilson empire)
     this make believe verdant submerged lair
unwittingly left a gaping hole,

     when Gambone Brothers
     industrial machinery voraciously
     made clean sweep,
     without a trace of former imp pier
     real resilient stately structured heart
     of "Glen Elm" could no longer rear

the well built “grand Etta face dame”  
     helplessly, holistically humbly
     brought to her knees (gory detail aye will spare),
nonetheless more than one pearl jammed shaped tear

trickled down chafed
     sad reddened cheeks,
     whose head must veer
away asper thine subsequently
     blotted out never never never land

     eclipsed by transient rubble,
     thence vinyl city (dis) graced sacred space,
no doubt a great ache,
     when Saint Nick sought
     sought in vain for
     324 Templed throne everywhere!