A constructed carrier
at rest
this
now state set to seek
next via
next via-ble duct-
--- course, of course, I think
fluid mind wandering, conducting
place in time aware, I am, bleeding out…
then I see
you may be, if I can, see you bleeding real,
stretch the point I make to yours,
touché, eh… shall we by
chance, feel around for a grip
a hold on, seep in, through to sense
some thing sense, sol-idity, I think
I sense seeing sometimes smells good,
some times other… space is the why
since time took my cares away,
suddenly, how is immaterial
so far as any given word
could ever care…
space
you sighed, looked at me askance,
asked me if I thought I could dance.
-------
ductile (adj.)
mid-14c.,
"hammered, beaten out or shaped with a hammer,"
from Old French ductile or directly
from Latin ductilis
"that may be led or drawn,"
from past participle of ducere
"to lead" (from PIE root *deuk- "to lead").
From 1560s as
"flexible, pliable;"
1620s as
"capable of being drawn out in wires or threads."
Of persons,
"capable of being led or drawn,"
1620s.
hardwired, intuitive art… hammered home,
the point of any thing made most honed…
Klang. Echo from ever.
A via duct to hold a thought,
writ once right to left,
then bent this other way,
construed to sense in you,
as you
see time from the underside.
Look up inside the mind you
authorize to come and see,
is this me thinking each line,
are you listening to the real as
ever life
in tumult considered
common sense, edge wisdom limits
felt
thus far, not further, sings the shore,
wait to see, wait to know, wait to feel
the settlement
intent on spreading comfort, safe
and solid, sound somewhat other wise,
at the bottom of it all,
at the very be-gin engineering conference.
What do poets imitate? If the imitators
are the proverbial poets who trouble the polis,
and not pretenders, bent to be other than,
inner getic agoraphobic aggregators
of scattered knowns, organic sword
dust collector on the hearth of Haephaestus,
hanging where my uncle hung the Winchester,
where now my thread of thoughts en now,
I bend in time slowing sent to
signal me, come and see, and I wonder
if you recall the time this phrase formed
this door,
the closed off sense, since when began, earlier
in mindless archaia sorting stages, filters formed
from sticks and stones and shattered bones,
seeing time, from the canyon floor,
the river is new,
the course is old.
All any canyon does is carry fluids down
to the solar pump,
as the world turns, it turns for cold
wishing to be warm and hot wishing to cool,
being never willing to unknow being
the reason things change
on a regular basis,
at all angles off the point stretched
from all sides, to form
a floor, for us to see up from.
A series of days- accrue to the appointed time…
From the instant in thin time,
when the last grandmother with no child, back
in the time
of motherhood's highest value,
once,
as long as
any real story told tellers is real, ago, long
in the state of no begun ending,
sensing ever
unrelated state - single mind stability
life as a point, has an
up, up - on a moment, much like now, though
thicker in some sense, things we knew by rote,
seemed right to some, and practical,
- degated knowledge delegated
- upright walking, one way
- pfft - first act, silent
- pht pht pht, no- yes no\hmmm
- set this straight,
- equal and opposite, see-parted out
- breathing in aaaaaaaaaaaaaa
- perfect balance stop
- I am afraid I am doing no good.
God's only fear, the very beginning of wisdom.
Po-et-try- umph-oommph, feels so
good, hurts so bad, feels so good, oh no
virtual
- creation, in no time.
knowing needed limits, lines,
edges
form -freaking stringy gnosis, know, is not, is, isnot
wiping gnostic snot,
will of me says, this one thing
I think you know,
theory of mind, I think you know
differing
is how life ever matters, well,
and good
take comfort in doing
best nexts, from the penultimate
quest-ion sprung from the fear of failure
to launch.
Chiral sorting started from a way
made to hold two bits worth of e,
outside time's distance inversing rule,
being
is another pose supposed effectual, we
lift up the feeble hands that hang down,
jump and dance,
orantic, antic anticipate, seeing
all hands raised, I know,
a thousand thousand times, I know
all hands, joy bound, thinking
we should clap.
free the non applauded hand's value
each to form a half clap
- shake
hands hindered from the knack needed,
feel the sense, of knowing this the other way,
animus in animated wedom,
hanging from a tree,
see, be the idea that knowing is.
Only the idea, not the constituent parts,
only the knowns
being formed, first seeds of this
said to have been
forbidden tree, bending, fully fruct-
ified branches -
low hung knowns, children's first wish to know
another certain thing,
if you don't mind,
if I had known you knew,
here is beyond understanding,
in the overall we stand beneath,
feeling
CRAZY LOST AND HOPELESS
uplooking each bit of sense, since feeling once
a thought,
a curious thought, a window above a door,
vvassistdas, transom
AH,
architectural acknowledgment of wind
and its will to cool too hot and warm too cold,
touch too much, or none, still as inbetween breath,
not out nor in - ******
being bound and determined to win the joy
of finishing a thought,
caught while fishing in Gods seasons of forgetfullness,
being empty of care.
Unconcerned with misconstruth,
Let all liars be men, and all truth be true
before men could have imagined
knowing as a flow… that piles up behind
those who admit we did say,
I'll be dammed. That worked.
Like putting pepper in your coffee,
a ripple dam, shape of water near the shore,
same as washboard roads after pneumatic tires
became the most comfortable travel imagined,
before memory foam.
What do you think
of quantum foam or in quantum foam, here on out?
What is the softest thought you have imagined?
Note: Peppercorns can mellow an unexpected step into an active logger's flume
down a sulci un exploitted in our mutual time frame
