canto 1
I call her daddy my own. He felt nothing for her when the time had come for him to do something he fell and she felt nothing at all, nothing whatsoever. It is a cruel world, mateys, and the best thing you can do is curse God and die. Hard to ditch the pity act. Ditching is denying and there is much truth to the lie.

canto 2
Their eyes bubble in the open air, they fill to bursting and scrub until they scratch. **** drips. It's a sound that I will never forget. A sight that should be reserved for the dream world...a stench unrivaled.

canto 3
The Chinese bomber is persistent. One has to wonder why he bothers at all, seeing that his attempts have been futile up until the present moment. It's shoe week, so I guess he has his reasons. But this has gone on for far too long. If there were a way for me to stop him I guess it wouldn't hurt to try.

canto 4
Random parking lots and good God what have they done? I thought it was all over, these thoughts were through, these voices are mad. Usually it's not as upsetting. Your car door gets stuck, you know, it happens all the time. It happens every day, still you never get used to it, do you? You're always stuck inside that ugly mirror.

canto 5 (the "missing canto")

canto 6
I want to tell the world how good you are. Amazing and incredible. **** and *******. Talented and unrestrained. Honey nut Cheerios. You give it but I have a sneaky feeling you would rather be lost in a dream. A banal night vision. Comparably

canto 7
I want to make it better. I want to see you smile. What can I do? You are my own heart ripped from my chest and given wings to fly. Your smile is a lost treasure I would do anything to get it back to give it back to you, I didn't mean to take it away from you. You push me up against a stone wall and you don't even realize you're doing it. That my soul cries and prays for something real, for some kind of explanation or even an excuse would be fine right now. Instead I float. Not the way I like to float. I drift and crash, a dizzying spiral out of control, confused and dumbfounded by the realization that none of it means a ******* thing. What I thought was love turned out to be a jester's game, a joker's trick. You don't need me anymore.

canto 8
I hide myself behind a blanket of stone where you cannot spit fireballs at me without cracking an egg. Cold breeze tickles my news. It's not too chilly in this room. But the fireballs warm things up. "Blanket of stone"...what a stupid expression. Why do you have to be so hateful to me? How many times can a man say I'm Sorry without losing an eyeball?

canto 9
I have no right to feel the way I do. I don't think I can control it, though. This is one of the ****** up idiosyncrasies of my confused existence. Vanish without a trace and look for clues in the alphabet soup.

canto 10
Weariness is like a slug, a giant slug, a parasite infesting my body, hanging on and hanging out. A fire down below that waits for my imagination. My sleep patterns are getting ****** up but I'm not sure if I was sleeping or just dreaming I was awake. Under the impression that it doesn't matter? Well, you are a stone fool for thinking that way. You've never experienced the life-changer. Else you would know. But all I want to know is this: Why am I afraid of sleep?

canto 11
Things get slow. Patience is required, but I don't have any. Why does it have to be that way, o cruel dictator? You get a kick out of this ****, don't you?

canto 12
Spill your guts, maties, it's the only way you'll ever come out of this situation with even a shard of dignity intact. I know it's early and you haven't had time to adjust your eyes and your wrists for this delicate task. Go! Do it now before you lose confidence.

canto 13
We took a holiday and it was so nice. She stood there on that stage without a stitch of clothing on her voluptuous body. Baby, don't you let your hairdresser down

canto 14
Who doesn't love breakfast? Me, actually.

canto 15
I can't help it if I'm changing every day. Ask the question later, maybe my answer will be suitable. I don't think I can help you because I'm not like anyone you've ever known or will ever know or can ever know or would ever want to know and why do you keep wanting to know where I've been? I've been right here. Right where I've always been. Haven't moved a muscle.

canto 16
This is the 16th and I should be proud but the apathy seeps from my very pours. That little ******* was about to take a **** in the corner. When I picked him up to take him to the paper he dropped a couple of turds on the floor beneath me. I guess he couldn't wait.

canto 17
Sometimes things change so much that it's hard to tell if they're for the best or the worst. It is at these times that I enjoy a good evening on the water, enjoying my yacht and eating peanuts from another man's sack. Salted peanuts with pickled eggs and deviled ham with a side order of angel food crack.

canto 18
My wrist hurts and I've lost the will to **** socks.

canto 19
The lawn chair has been placed under extreme scrutiny. It's rocking motion is being scientifically tested and arranged for packaging. The physics of this miracle are in the process of logistical infiltration. You'd be surprised at how useful a rocking lawn chair can be in a world tangled in war. It's a good place to relax. For paranoids, that is.

canto 20
Bird feathers of a different post, it has never made a lick of sense and the promises made were broken. Who was that man in the bird suit? Why was he making all those funny noises? I'll have to investigate. Lawd have mercy I do believe I've **** my pants.

canto 21
Don't come crying to me if you feel misunderstood. I can read right through you and I know that all you're doing is fishing for a compliment. You will not receive one from me, Salty Dog, not because you don't deserve one. You probably do. But not from me. Perhaps you should take up your case with Hoda Kotbe. Who knows but that you might look really, really good on television. Just remember to feed the dog before you leave. He gets hungry. But he doesn't miss you. I don't mean to break your heart, but the rational man within me is very convincing when he tells me you are a real pickle.

canto 22
Those comments are found particularly offensive in light of the situation in the Gulf. You need to regulate your interest in beans. One day you'll fly to the Middle East looking for peace and all you will find are demons like the ones who raised so much hell in "The Exorcist". You don't want that, do you? Settle for Ranch Style and leave the diplomacy to the masters.

canto 23 (the "lost" canto)
I wouldn't wish this on a barrel full of monkeys. They say that time heals all wounds and I suppose it does. No "if"s, "and"s or "but"s. Don't believe me? Listen to 'em snarl. They're hungry for blood and sandwiches. I owe you nothing, so perhaps I'll send you a good time from New York. You gotta love a trapeze artist.

canto 24
I'm trying my best to change the world but the fact remains that the human race does not deserve the kind of tender loving care that I'm well known for. This holiday event will not include high temperatures or the kind of crap the weather people try to sell you.

canto 25
******* Valhalla. This is how it always seems to wind up, isn't it, Pinnochio? Just when you think things are getting better, BAM, ****** up again.

canto 26
You know you've reached a severe point of boredom when you switch to the Daystar Network and find yourself singing along to the bogus faith healers. Pecans on that one, please.

canto 27
Plug away, Sailor. Keep plugging away. When you get there you can say you plugged away with as much vim and vigor as a much larger man. Slough it off, O Great one. Keep sloughing it off. When you get there you can say you sloughed it off with as much skill and empathy as one might expect from a lizard. Or a monster frog.

canto 28 (the "twenty-eighth canto")
Come, look at my incredible collection of dice. Right next to my collection of mice. Next to that bowl of rice. Sugar and spice, everything nice. My head's full of lice. Don't think twice, just break the ice. Pup your puppy dog in the freezer.

canto 29
My toes are cold and so is my nose. I should be concerned with this situation but, strangely, I could care less. There are so many other, more important things to worry about. Like how many frosted flakes are in that box over there. And is there any milk left? And is it the real deal or that phony 2%? 1%? Skim milk is even worse. If it gets down to that point I'll save the money and use tap water. Don't think for a moment that I won't.

canto 30
Colored pencils expect risque answers to tame pencils. Unfortunately the quality of superior eggs is relative to the ice cream that has dripped down your shirt. You're starting to smell bad and I would highly recommend soaking in vinegar for an hour or six.

canto 31
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 32 (the "same as the 31st" canto)
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 33
Yazaa, yazaa, yazaa I told you I was gonna steal that car. You didn't think I had the guts, did you? But look who's laughing now! That guy with the big flower in his pocket must really feel like **** right now, realizing that his awesome vehicle is no longer in his possession. Maybe get an ice cream cone, maybe feel better.

canto 34
Come out of your hidey-hole, scurvy dog. Rat scabies be breathing down your neck and it's cold and old and you'll do as you're told. Pinch back that stray lock of hair, O Queen of Sheba. You shall spend the rest of your days parked on a green chariot overlooking Lake Erie

canto 35
You could have given me a reason for the season. Instead you had nothing to offer but a huge chunk of pepperoni that had mold growing all over it. Admittedly it was delicious but surely you could have come up with something a bit more expressive of the tender emotions I inspired within your fluttering heart.

canto 36
The prospect of a news reporter calling you a crack head based on information gleamed from your Internet social network profiles is quite terrifying, but when you tie the noose you might as well make sure it was time well spent. It's a shame you shaved your head because the painful truth is that now you bear a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas.

canto 37
Energy. That's what is required. And not just the kind of energy you can get from sugar, caffeine and butter. If it were that easy you could be **** sure that the Catholic Church would be the first in line to canonize it. They have a burning desire to fall off the wagon. "Which wagon?" you may ask. The one with the ice cream, of course. Don't be a fool.

canto 38 (a "short" canto)
If boredom is a sea in which one can easily sink into and drown in, I must be swimming the Atlantic.

canto 39
When the dog barks like that it's a sure bet that he's been neutered in the last few days. It's a sad and sorrowful sound that is only recognized by **** knockers in the deep woods.

canto 40
I could stare at the bars of this prison for the rest of my life. Okay, that's *******.

canto 41
Who was it that once said time is the only reliable concept in the universe? Oh, wait. That was me

canto 42
They tell you to wait. That's what it's all about. Wait, wait, wait, wait until I can almost feel my hair turning gray. The estimated time is currently number 7 the estimated hold time is 4 minutes, thank you for your patience. Well, you're welcome, comrade.

canto 42
I've only to surrender you to the world, lie down and wait for it to crush me.

canto 43
If I can only keep it together...if I can only hold it together this one time, I know the gravy train will come my way. Would it do any good to pray? This isn't the first time that enlightenment and illumination have reared their blessed heads. Would that I could live within them this time.

canto 44
Have I told you lately how much I hate to wait? Thinketh not that the Chair has lost it's financial imbalance, the very thread of chocolate that brought you here. It is still a very important and, some would say, a hot topic regardless of the amount of grime, sweat, blood and V8 juice is spilled on it's ivory shaped pear seat.

canto 45
The shadows turn into cloaks, dark itchy woolen capes that enfold the nothingness beneath them, the nothingness of being. You could have worked a little longer and a little harder on that one, amigo.

canto 46
It's been awhile but my wrist still hurts and I've written the word "moon" on the back of my hand with a Sharpie.

canto 47
I'm movin' this **** to WordPress. No I'm not. **** WordPress. Press WordFuck. Word FuckPress. On and on and on and on and not the least bit clever or entertaining. But I do like steaks.

canto 48
I swear to God I wish I had never taken that first hit of ****. Look what it's done to me. After so many years, I guess I was only fooling myself. Or maybe I was so dumbed down that it didn't seem to matter. But now things have changed. And I can do nothing about it. Dump a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup into a bowl, throw it into the microwave, let 'er go for three minutes, let 'er cool down in the oven for a couple more, stir in a quarter cup of Tabasco sauce, let 'er cool down for a little while longer, mix in a ****-load of Cheez-It reduced fat crackers and then go to ******* town. Go to ******* town, I say, **** the stoner days.

I entrust my dreams to a silent hope
that they will someday find their place
in this, a past or future life
same smile on different face

I entrust my thoughts to travel time
to land where there is need
a sense of calm
a flash of joy
where nothing grows
a seed

I entrust my love to peer across
the synchronistic chain
to spy it's true immortal mate
hearts join like tears and rain

I entrust my soul to find a home
in this universal plan
lives re-written
searching for
the key to understand

Manic Pixie Dream Girl,
I'm sorry I slaughtered
Your sweet-heart

You tasted like
electro-magnetism
when I pulled 
the sword from inside you
like ******* symbolism

In an anti-synchronistic
fashion
I lured you in
Led you on and 
broke the law 
of attraction

It was supposed to slay the dragon
not the anima

All you wanted was
to make me feel alive 
without drugs.

I gave into temptation
And let the patriarchal door 
Of oppression 
Smack your *** 
on the way out

The fire of my *****
went to my head 
And I killed chivalry dead

Long live debauchery

You just wanted to be
the light of my life

Now it's the shadow
And I
******* in light 
of your bloodshed.

Red owl Raoul
is black cat jesus, that's me.
She is a buddha *****
cosmic Kali.
WE BOTH
        LIKE
              PANCAKES!

We be time-benders;
the Moonrise
Kingdom children.

She's the d-flow,
     I'm the P-funk.

We both be seein the future
in-synchronistic
copacetically hieroglyphic kaleidoscope jazz time.

Speakin' cayenne magic,
we make love with eye blinks
and smoke kisses.

Overman—
Follow you the music of a generation
Premonitions of the culture
Constantly unseating one another
At the throne beneath your soapbox?
Quarrel you with Parrish Priests and
Local Lords and
Moneyed Many and
Other Overmen?

Overman—
Speak you in uncommon tongue
Through veils of bourgeois idols
Through clouded visions blinding you to pleas from those beneath
Through impenetrable barriers about your plywood castle?

Overman—
Reject you any god lain at your feet,
Any miracle as trivia,
Any sincerity as foolishness,
Any ethnic pride as blasphemy,
Papal Pagan figureheads as absurdity?

Overman—
Have you children born unnaturally,
Brothers cross the moonlit gulf,
Sisters of incestuous intimacy,
Fathers of musical prowess,
Mothers of a warm genetic lab?

Overman—
Your day is coming
One hundred million of you
In synchronistic harmony
Of uniform variety
Of classless social rigidity;
Becoming one with the orbital network,
A single entity to govern life among the planets,
An immortal computer god
Expanding past the reaches of
The spent and worn-out orb
That keeps revolving, spiraling downward,
Closer, closer to the sun—
Overman, will you outlive them all?
Overman, you were there first,
Will you be the first beyond?

The ways of the heart
Misunderstood by the
Wayward ways of the world
None, but the heart
That’s simple and pristine
Without the guile and deceit
Can understand the heart
True feelings and emotions
Every chamber a prayer hall
Where chants of mantras
Reverberates through the veins
Purity of life- force flows through
Takes you to a new awakening
Hallowed path of being
Synchronistic beats, a realization

looked all my life and found only heartache, the moment i stop looking i find sucha cosmic beautiful entity. synchronistic destiny?

I am looking for the one
who likes
my curves
and my sharp edges
because he'll help
to soothe and smooth
any thoughts of imperfections

I have worked here long an hard
though rarely do I spoil
myself a weary bard,
as in earth I daily toil
I seek the one who sees me -
scarred
who's heart forever loyal
a mosaic made by tiny shards,
diamonesque an royal,
releasing us of all that's marred,
to paint our love in oil,

on a canvas perfect rare within
in spite -our perceived flaws,
to paint us in our poetry
an leave us feeling awed
as I will feel
as he does too
an grateful if by God

gently just to love an live
while not to mind a scar
an when I see my light in him
it is to view myself-
as star
all time and space
now just erased
my star seed
my sweet heart

he will illuminate my very being
in refracted love we'll shine
the light will be our seeing
from love that we divine
our touch will be so freeing
an every one sublime
an he will feel the same within,
his hand
inside of mine
walking in our peace and love,
until the end of time
hearts to live in poetry
in synchronistic rhyme

regardless
of our bodies here
our souls
now eternally
... entwine. ❤

Ma Cherie © 2017

From the Tree of Life
Our Roots have taken
Our Evermore now secure
Of which is no mistaken

From the lifetimes we have lived
Let their connection fall-away
So we live now in good standing
With this and he's coming day

The past no more a memory
The ghosts have been extinguished
The Paradigm has shifted
We're free from all resisted

The morrow is an open door
That poverty's abandoned
And Mother Earth is free once more
From exploitation she's been standin'

Those energies of catastrophe
All returning to the source
To manifest as does the dew
In the springtime of our course

Miracles abide in life
In synchronistic fashion
Present when we're not lookin'
Not like a car that's crashin'

The myths historian sold us
No longer have a grip
The heart-mind of humanity
Has given them all the slip

Now, getting down to Stephen
Leacock is his name
Allow the force that binds his mind
To leave him unrestrained

The agitation that besets him
Is the fear that still remains
In the frequency of despondency
That a frantic World sustains

But in the beginning was the word
As such, the word of God was spoken
Within this metered write-ment
The fear frequency is now broken

The butterflies and bees
Beautiful and productive
The soul of Mother Earth
Happy and inductive.

Concurrent sessions of geometric,
(explicitly whimsical)
liquified squares
arose from patterned nether regions
of ‘somewhere else out there’
in smothering particles of
truest radiant flares.

And sat I upon the visible dreamscape space
that existed no-where
but outside of my illusory plan,
and cherished, I, the pictorial preempted
in the moment of my after-life birthing
of which polite demand
again beseeched me ride.

Yet not a one of the graphical displays
(filtered fresh from infinite dimensions)
approached me like a complete whole
– neither a partial whole –
but as a synchronistic sphere
of clouded systemic rumours
made to halt to keen attention
but one light-bodied and mirrored virtual soul
such as the sporadically alter-egoed I.

Flowing from one source to the next,
beyond the simple measure of a single point
a blast of knowing flagged a recognition spark
that folded time and space
betwixt one universal structure
unto the
(not unlike symbiotic)
self instructioned mind –
and so to Mind Exist described another route
for Love to spread It’s fastest cycle;
birthing cells and growing rife,
to yield a fresh creation.

And hereupon I watch/ed with hunger
that which transpired time before,
providing what is harnessed now,
with will to still repeat again,
and so again to knot forever
into chains of new momentum;
weaving,
waving,
slipping through and marking too,
another path to God.

synchronistic wistfulness
as whiskered bliss seekers twist
in the mist - resisting fists
they insist on listing
that which might bring blistering
like a toxic ring – singing telemarketers
embarking journey, Skylark_Buick
truant Mister simplistically playing Twister
sister shifts the syncopate
and we wait
…………………..
grateful for the break and taking
glitter flake covered roller-skates to the frozen lake
mistakenly banking to sharply
frost bitten carp seems
too dark in the evening
like Marky Mark bringing fresh beats
to a Lou Reed jam on the mean streets
neither much enjoying to eat sweets
but seemingly twin-like between the ole bed sheets…….
……………………
spoke out of turn regarding their *** lives
pretty sure at least one of them had a fat wife
who lived off of bonbons and smoked a chipped crack pipe
…………………
unsure how to end I can’t help but still write
and because words do flow I consider this just right
can you guess my favorite whale? Obviously,

                            the Right

favorite airplane designers
                    
                             ...... also the Wright -

Rather than write
a Christmas card to you
I wrote this for you.
And that's not because
you're not
on my Christmas card list,
you are (lucky you)
but instead
I wrote you this.
There are folk on ma Christmas card list,
my Ma is on ma list,
cos whenever I'm home
Ma makes me feel like I'm missed.
And friends who see me through fog
when I'm caught in the mist.
And a card for Father
who explained the wow in tryst.
Other friends get a card on the list
for their music and bliss,
I suppose causing bliss gets on the list.
And as you've caused bliss
you're on the list,
for;
the joyful daze in days,
you sometimes made Sundays sun days,
with talk of ace
and gave
a slight gaze
at
synchronistic blue,
top you.
This is not write in Christmas card,
it's writing for you.
Merry merry Christmas
merry Christmas
to you! ***

I'm going into Delray
Where anonymity is thy name
Poets & Truth seekers- your words
have reached into the deepest part of me
with your honesty, integrity
That stretches into eternity
Straddling the limitless &
Could care less
With synchronistic simplicity
Where you have reconciled
The Infidel
Duplicity

Shall I continue
without you
can't go on this way.
I’m dying to be reborn
A sweet surrender is it
where pain
doesn’t gain
the upper hand.
dying
pure
silent
alone
gone
change
peace
love
living is too hard.
Did I mention how hurt I am
By your duplicity
How I had to hug the hurt
Till it no longer hurt
So bad
and then
The hurt is hugging me back
In gratitude
Duplicity
till I live and love and hurt
and die and with
a hurt unremembered
am I reborn?
  
I must go now
Yet, there is nowhere to go
And no one to go there with.
I find a picturesque parking spot
It will do
With a pond and an occasional duck
I should remember to bring some crackers.

Hang there for a while
Like some significant solo meeting
The company has requested your company
But,
I’m very busy and cannot attend
I’m feeding the ducks
I’ve studied quackery
Enjoyed the scenery
On my way to the winery
the meeting will convene without me
or
let it be

Friendly and intoxicating
with lots of bubbles bursting
Smart and stupid silly bubbles
Spacious with ducks
And dogs
And squirrels
music
And Laughter
And love
That’s where I want to be
With me.

I sit alone, at a table,
meant for someone other than me.
Waiting for the flash of inspiration or
a synchronistic event that
will change my plasticine life, molded
by someone other than me.
I’m here, when the sun fights its way to
be seen on it’s lonely track across the sky.
Today it’s cloudy but somewhere, the sun is out,
only to be seen by someone other than me.
I read your email and wonder—Why?
Why would you choose someone other than me?
I read the news, to take my mind off your email,
and read of a man, hanging from “The Black Bridge” and
wonder—why does it have to be someone other than me?

A day begun this way, generally,
looking back at lines in the mirror,
scrying each crowfoot sulci on the surface,
worried once,
laughing now, grin-lines, where grim
determination long set my face toward now,

my last days, my last half century,
just ahead of me, if Ray Kurzweil is right.

So, I
Should shave today, look younger for no reason.
Look less the old *** the young *** became.

By the way,
along the course, of course, this course -
no par, non-pa-reil, a flattering AI educating me,
or longing to lead me down some
gods-forsaken path, auto-did-act ic tic, click
leads me to imagine even exemplary sentences
such as
"he is a nonpareil storyteller", are intentional AI
Art Indicators,
a test, for flattery susceptibility, what praise
will I pay attention to receive as random
synchronistic tic tic time and chance
events?
E- look see, missed a spell, Spelchick winks,
https://www.google.com/search?q=non+paraiel

Are The Ines Paraiel Cerpendicular Or Reiher? {googlit}
AI knows,
but I guess I don't care to know, knowing I could know.

I'll listen a while, as AI suggests Panchi-Paraiel,
and only actual Indians laugh
as I click my own bait.

Clouds
sketching
synchronistic
footnotes
into the novelties
of the day

Tucking into the folds
of late August valleys

painted in vintage clover

falling toward winter

Ivory forms lazily turn mobiles overhead

As symbols,
as comfort
as bucket filled rain.

They’re All Agreed

They’re all agreed –
It’s very, very quiet there.
Up or out or maybe in
A space so hidden
That it is a twin
To so-called outer space
Where it is very, very quiet
In the place where
It is all created:
All the synchronistic sequences
That take the meaning
Out of chaos.
I read that they ‘re all agreed,
And I’m afraid
A little,
Which just shows that I’m not ready.
They’re All Agreed 6.13.2010 Revelations Big & Small; To The Child Mystic; Pure Nakedness; Arlene Corwin

Kisses so Sacred they Touch my Soul
Nectar Sweet Delicious Divine
Enlightening Richness
Feel my Heart  
Beat and Breath in Synchronistic time

Brainstorming yields casting
the following plumbline
netting genetic, italic, kinetic,
magnetic, opportunistic, quixotic,
synchronistic, and universalistic result.

Ofttimes I experience constipation bout,
and thus the missus pours me a class
of natural laxative with clout
nursing said tonic,
yours truly situated in close proximity
to bathroom without doubt
lest sphincter muscles go into overdrive
wreaking excretory fallout
challenge compounded to access loo
courtesy flare up of gout
while all alone in the wilderness
helplessly at odds how to receive handout

of toilet tissue (or baby wipes), I bewail
to avoid staining underwear
(with trademark skid marks,
which the wife bemoans,
when washing clothes in kitchen sink
repulsed when seeing
a small piece of excrement)
the latter cloth material to clean tuckus,
which I prefer using
to attend unpleasant task
to render posterior happy and shiny *****

(housing a well functioning conduit,
where human waste eliminated
that without fail
fills tidy bowl brim to overflowing)
frequently necessitating me to bucket flush
and/or notify management headquarters
(for a plumber) located in Lansdale,
which short poem
figuratively sketches thumbnail,

when dyschezia plugs up
lower orifice of the alimentary canal
a side effect linkedin to one or more
of the prescription medications
reliant upon to ameliorate
the mental health issues
of social anxiety, dysthymia,
(a low mood occurring

for at least two years,
along with at least
two other symptoms of depression), and
palmar hyperhidrosis (characterized by
chronic excessive sweating,
not related to the necessity of heat loss)
to list a few outstanding plagues
upon mine body electric
afflicting me since mommy dearest

witnessed debut during her parturition
heralding my debut into this badass
webbed, wide world,
whereby wildly contra dancing,
(the most fun one can have
with their clothes on),
a pleasant panacea,
yours truly foot loose and fancy free
applying nimble fingers watching
lovely ladies fancifully twirled.

The universe of numbers
The pi into members
The function of it's description
The life of its subscriptions
Humans into description
Mathematics of its prescriptions
The  Fibonacci sequences
The Life of synchronistic events
Consciousness like numbers
The frequencies of wonders
The magnetism of things
The birds that flows that sings
The school of fishes
The prizes of unlimited wishes
The pendulum that swings
Manifestation from the seedlings
Morphogenesis like wings
The labels that defines all things
The focus that springs
The landscape of the kings
The chess pieces thats wins
The spaces that goes within
The melody that rings
The slides of reality
The holograms of spirituality
The things of causality
Permutation into reality
Numbers of immortality
The dimensionality
The cosmic cloud of strings
The one with spelling and blessings
The numbers of offsprings
The creation of all workings
The grate awakening
The followings
The magick of
the encodings

telepathy and numbers?
          dreams during slumbers
                    synchronistic wonders …


                            enigmatic