the ego is a balm
for watching herds--
ezra pound is dead..

withought the ***** to make it rue
of wittier witter aphorisms never trilling forceful to undo

singular muse,
where do you come
in head or tip of head?
elusive beauty, disappear
i act in other barefoot dreams


typos bless the will to mean
of finality
of seem seam flawless be
i **** the emperor of ice cream
with concupiscent "words"
that verb the still to be a yogurt burv


single fractal frog
jumps like rhyme of toggle cog,
cutting grandma's mind

empty cup fills want
with other bristle sip+
eclipse Hypatia naked at the shrine
failure of a form
cones another phage
with peaceful loving bawl

freedom fighters flaunt
masturbatory rights of congress whim and taunt
crackle jackal fire sights
sing single missile lights

do i jest
or do i best,
lest simple techne tumble kite of waiting in the dark
of politician's lark
inventive lewd
of plaintiff plea
and rumble drum democracy

venous cud
of bovine mewing in the mud of affuenza's motherhood
strikes painful cords electric suds
that lather in the lackey's trodden figure's utter
venus aphrodite's *****'s foam

hopkins is at home
manley in the rub of constant loathsome comb
that preens a matish apparition's tomb

hello kind traveler
that takes me by the hand
rolling in the grass has never been as such
the band plays off Genghis Khan
like Gandhi spitting soup
in afternoon reprieve of ignoramOus fun

the meaning is ajar
i know i war with Stevens too to
bear the furry calousness of wartime's endless true
a bond of moneylicsious new accounted even in the dew
that sunders sounds to recreate a farflung brew
of history's adieu
which only sPeares you in the gut
(an existential reference here to trope the nom)
elusive Lear that wanders in the Foolish storm caressing cave to find
another mind
that only someone special kKnew of Kent
encapsulating time in brands that offer (a[0I]ether dust for tolling flight
growing down into the mushroom ground
spanning subtentious fraughtful nocturnes in the night
to bide that meaning's plight i wish i
wasn't altogether through
though happy to be here iwth yew

In the meantime in the Állos kósmos or Ultramundi, Wonthelimar after hearing the speeches and paragraphs of the speakers saw from paradise how Calypso Lepidoptera appeared, approaching in great magnitudes on the dry land on the banks of the blue and golden stones of Skalá. In torrents of rushing from the water-sky with wind-water, by geomorphological hydraulics of the collapse of the irresistible capacity to harass each other in the ears of Seleuco's dialogues, after they piled up in the sneaking curds of him on the island of his speech. Right there it settled from the koelum or sky of the Lepidoptera from the Orofí or ceiling, on the natural arches of aeolian erosion and its devastating plumage, appearing in the subaerial splendor of Chauvet and its gloomy darkness, changing the morphology of the bank of Skalá turned into enchanted turquoise light also with Calypso nuances. From here Wonthelimar obscures the circumflex arc or circumflexes, which pierced and eroded the surface, piling up the ex-generals of Alexander the Great, to skewer them on the stump that was languidly seen supporting them, after the tides of Lepidoptera that avalanche in destined per capita towards the destined underworld of Wonthelimar.

Wonthelimar was separated from everyone by the moat that was separated from the gods of the surface, but now where the supporters of Seleucus were predestined by imbibing themselves in the bilocated kingdom of Chauvet and its darkness, where they were put into agreements of suitability and clarity of words discursive for the eagerness to persuade his major general. But they all fell into the middle of a dark Ultraworld, judging themselves to be dying in stockpiles of biosystems where no one helped them and gave them some indication or diagnosis of being separated from the canopy that drained them from spectral affairs, speaking as vivid visions of benefits and sovereignties that escaped from themselves without contemplation or quietism of the human race, which procreates xenophobia to kings without throne or nation. Under the Attic, calendar were the months here were only eighth, Anthesterion, received them with the name directly of the main festival celebrated in this month, Anthesteria. In goods of name contests in the semester of Pyanepsia, Thargelia, and Skira where they were relatively significant, in some of the greatest celebrations in the life of a Polis, which is not recognized in the name of the month. Some sparkled in the sound of the Great Dionysia celebrated in Elaphebolion (ninth month), and the Panathenaia in which they are only indirectly recognized in Hekatombaion (month one), named after the hecatomb, of the sacrifice of "one hundred oxen" celebrated at night. End of the Panathenaia. This is where the suspicious fondness of both families of Seleucus and Alexander the Great differed in the accent that marks the written line of the infra Polis, where the leaders of Haides or Hades are lost, for the purposes of Aïdes, as not indivisible, but with the presence of Wonthelimar, who is invisible but epically static on his balustrade in all the rings that chorally wore them for each patronage of the diádocos generals, even so he had betrayed the Hellenic legacy, by a Hellenic-Orthodox one in the disappearance of Alexander the Great in Babylon without knowing that it had been rescued by Wonthelimar, surpassing the limits of the rings of stefánes ibix, or Aros de íbiz, as nano kvantikoí daktýlioi, quantum nano-ring that augured to sensitize the dermis of its carpal phalanges, from the eighth, Anthesterion to Elaphebolion (ninth month), minus the one hundred and twenty days of gestation in a month of the attic of imníbiz, that it was of wise advice to receive him in the new engend rivers of Wonthelimar in the depths and bundles of marrow with gestation forms of an Ibex goat, with their embedded bases of stalagmites, filing the meaning of each life that was lodged in the depths of the caves and its opacity. The Eygues of Valdaine was the Acheron, but with half the deceased who sat in rows and unleashed their laurels that possessed poor aids tormented by mandrake root hands.

The underworld was a swamp that covered the heels of the diádocos in the immense blackness of the cavern that wounded them one and the other with its Kopis, by more than a hundred blows and slashes that covered them with mud and moans in their buried half bodies. That they had been intruded from linear entrances to the underworld of Wonthelimar. In the thick musts of the quagmire where objects with ornaments of fear and cavalier materiality lay, such mangrove deserts satiated with gloomy fibromyalgia and amnesia, refiguring in the wandering bones, that sinned in lights and destinies that were adopted in the sub-world with incorporeal needs., more than the exhaustion that tore the skeletal muscle of each one behind the meager compromise openings, in the strong ligaments of the host Wonthelimar that took them at forced steps towards paradises where there will never be consciousness from a Theseus typology, but from a sub taxonomy - Verthian mythological, for purposes and among others that unleash it by propelling self-infernos that are not those born by a Macedonian force or Satrap into puny kings turned into a servile, mute and decayed.

It is necessary, that solitude of all the entrances from the abyss into which they fell, was titanic and of ultraphobic acquiescent inspiration, and in the acid gestures of search of Persephone or Aerse that in random gestures fled from their persecutors, like females who ended fleeing from themselves falling into the back room where the end of souls is never exceeded or Psyché re emigrating from the punishments of a satire or a static that resulted in a ghostly wandering, or in tendentious spinners that tribulated in belated bundles of repentance. From primitive times, subjugations have been longed for in kings who would never think of leaving their cracks and washing their hands behind the backs of others who stood by, leaving the courage to lose themselves in the perversity of a body deposited in the Tartars, having to give them their prehistoric debts and meadows of carpeted debts and caged rooms.

The generals commanded by Seleucus walked barefoot along with the stump that wounded them in seams for their plantar areas, and in extreme distress, they did not dare to ask mercy from the cave host who transported them through the deep pit of perpetuity, where the frigid bullet of angina of Wothelimar, filled them with memories that protected their survival. In unworthy caprice and watery *****,… it ran frivolously down their legs, even after each impulse to recover the flashes of estimating being scared of oneself, after finding dead fruits subsisted halfway, feeling voices from the origin of the abyss that I quoted them.

Etréstles says: "Mashiach allow me to enter this grave, I do not know if I should go to rescue them, because I know what will happen..., I only ask that if I enter with courage, help me to find the same light of the exit, with the same memory of not to waste arrests, and not to lose myself in my entrustment by those who I know will not return”

Behind some Sabine poplars, it is seen how the elytra of the Lepidoptera were opened for those who crossed from the darkness without the appearance of their fruitful eyes that tickled praises of surrender, and not of ibid in the ibid that surrounded them, as if they were violated that heal at the moment when their faces departed from the miracle of privacy, and from the solitude decreed of non-existent company, companionship calming any dogmatic symptoms and hypoxia that the glimpse of the Eygues and the Acheron left them, further behind in which Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth, Reader and Petrobus to bring Etréstles back.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Vernarth go for your brother,… he wants to protect the souls of Seleucus and his comrades, go soon because there is little left to fill them with darkness which will even besiege in their reasoning and anti homelands that will not be from the din of the campanile, out of tune with joy that runs on the graces of the gift that frees you from the worst virus by not being anti-viral… ”.

Vernarth replies: “Etréstles is the slogan of Erebus, perhaps of Bumodos…, I have to stop him for his profession, since the comrades of Seleuco will not return, the effigies of Wonthelimar have made them of his children in Ultramundi, and what is Solstice of the underworld, it is only a small Sun that fits in the buttonhole of the orthogonal slot that confines it”.

At that time Raeder paraded where he before they reached the omega of the gully pit, running swiftly over the eyelets of Wonthelimar, leaving both completely naked, to tear them away from the contrived spell and bring Etrestles back all the way together and running., but both stripped of lightness and acceleration escaped from the centripetal bodies. After the tortured walls of the pit, they no longer supported themselves in their Skotos or Erebo of Wothelimar in such a primordial deity of this theogonic and fantastic event in the bilocated cavern of Chauvet in Skalá. Here all the densities and units of physical genres, from above and below surrounded them in the thick sulfur atmosphere, Ananké in such a goddess of inevitability ran after all who tried to reverse the situation of the diádocos, for the purpose of consenting their paragraphs Hellenics and to save their lives, but the mother of the Moiras went behind Etréstles and Vernarth along with Rader and Petrobus who were basking in the glow of Persephone that imbued them as they stagnated drinking mead with the Canephores who followed him. From this cryptic moment or from the bombastic insignia of Crete, Kanti's trotting from his Cretan figure was felt united with the Lepidoptera Calypso, redeeming Demeter from her crying on the edge of some Bern olive trees, emptier now that the last gradients of the agonic and venous voices in the hilarious of some diádocos that were completely absorbed by the benevolent illusion of Wonthelimar, snowy in the harrowing tenuity of his gestures and of the great Iberian that took them towards the heights of the hillocks and towards the Ultramundi that It turned them into proles of the mountainous areas, and into super aquatic monsters with thousands of loose eyes in the arches of the generals bleating, which transposed ****** subjugations of primal deities, and philastics of phantasmagorical genres of Hellas that is plucked from the peritoneum of their stomachs, and that guttural eradicated them from the blue adrenaline of Apollo.

This odyssey dispelled the orthogonal lines of the poetic affliction of those who could see the sunset and the Spyché ***** that antagonized Ananké's numinous efforts to extubate them, and perhaps exile them to the Theban plains to graze Achaeans of the first degree alongside Shamash. Lamenting of young afternoons and of the abysmal with beautiful hair of the generous of effects, swampy and of feverish Hadesian or Hade's rounds that crippled their districts, they emanated from some Marie Curie junk and vapors radiating this Parapsychological Quantum to them from their own holy final body., for a virtuous and rout of the Ultramundis of Wonthelimar.

I am quiet, I am serene, I am wind and fire, I am, a queen. I am breathe and voice, I am heart and beat, I am sounds you cradle, I am the sole of your feet. I am carrier and word, I am thought and mistrust, I am heat and ice, I am *** and lust. I am fallen and hit, I am, sleep, I am dominant and stubborn, I am crushed and defeat. I am bells that toll, I am a philistine, I am hushed and centred, I am thou and thine. I am pulled, I am broken, and torn, I am consciousness and lost, I am reborn. I am woman, I am words and tongue, I am here and present, I am bullet and gun. I am wolf and fierce, I am protector of all, I am belief and faith, I am short and tall. I am fever, I am skin, and bone, I am a hug at night, I am a place you call home. I am sleep, I am dream, I am sufficient and loud, I am sewn and seam. I am lover and beauty, I am incredible and bereft, I am walk and talk, I am dumb and deaf. I am depth and substance, I am creator of life, I am misdeeds, I am trouble and strife. I am siren, I am power, I am forbidden fruit, I am the choir. I am fear, I am fright, I am creep and gentle, I am sense of right. I am tree, I am creature, I am autumn leaves, I am life's student and teacher. I am stop and halt, I am impe-tuous, I am starving, I am ra-venous. I am pelt, I am growl and claw, I am raven and rook, I am hammer and saw. I am flight, I am graceless, I am mercy, I am faceless. I am duty, I am bound, and enslaved, I am soar and breeze, I am story and fade. I am *******, I am almighty power, I am she, I am the tick, tock, tick, in your hour. I am beseeched, I am judged and shunned, I am a rough ****, I am powder in your gun. I am movement, I am forward, and pause, I am magic and mystic, I am the air in applause. I am brake light, I am crash and burn, I am wanton and demanding, I am 'when will you ever learn?', I am ex, I am honesty, and offence, I am lying naked and marked, I am dreaded intense. I am baker, I am cook, I am carer, I am all you took. I am forest, I am howl, and fang, I am bracken and bush, I am sung and sang. I am heave and sigh, I am a look of disgrace, I am tortured thought, I am disappointed face. I am halo, I am the barren chest, I am fortitude, I am armour and breast.  I am hot, I am spice, and flavour, I am between and in, I am reverence and saviour. I am bold red, I am bright and hue, I am sought and hidden, I am me, not you. I am the edge of forever, I am precipice and knife, I am forged steel, I am husband and wife. I am hedonism, I am beautifully free, I am arms wide open, I am everything of me. I am thought, I am prayer, I am darling, my darling, I am awake and aware. I am the trigger, I am a white flag of peace, I am the mother, I am desist and decease. I am climbing up higher, I am builder of bridges wide, I am swung high and low, I am by your side. I am cut grass, I am burnt toast, I am broken crystal glass, I am what you love to hate the most. I am a lady, I am a lover in the day and the night, I am restart, renew, I am a flame burning bright. I am gay and straight,  I am dual and nigh, I am man-lover undercovers, I am the apple of my eye. I am au-revoir in the morning, I am the last goodbye, I am something untold, I am the last time I cry. I am ******, I am drugged and tired, I am pain, I am high, and wired. I am level, I am calm and content, I am wink and thumb, I am the mortgage and the rent. I am fumble and tumble, I am drop and slip, I am smash and grab, I am slide and trip. I am laughter wide open, I am smile and teeth, I am depression and loss, I am the widow in grief. I am inner child, I am hurt and abused, I am friend and lover, I am wasted and used. I am survivor, I am strong in spirit and mind, I am a force to be reckoned with, I am resiliently kind. I am nature and nurture, I am tribe and race, I am society and people, I am colour and taste. I am within, I am without, I am shadow and hand, I am thought and doubt.
I am but, me. I am not.

and there she is,
known as cruel wicked for speaking.

her hair was tied,
her neck was strangled,
her eyes were poked,
her lips were stapled,
her arms were rotated,
her feet were collected,
and she were dressed into something new.

but she did not like it all,
and broke the strings above her.
they called her a demon,
setted her into fire,
darted her heart with spears,
dragger her into venous snakes,
tangled her with ruling hurricane,
just to let her meet their god, lucifer.

yet she is still there standing,
hoping until her last breath—
after all, she is the woman of god
who died from people she devoted for.

"war may be over— but inhumanity remains" ; @wordsbyhami

White Window's flagstones
are as palms  pressed against the sky, 
venous as tendrils the Garden relinquished,
we thus shiver beside the River Test's temerity.
How can Eve and her entourage partake wisdom,
against lost chances
forever careering on spoilt surfaces.
Solemnity  scorns the whittle
how can Earth then recoil,
faintly procrastinating 
on cold Sundays.

Grow up!
Reach Out!
Become aware,
                      of your surroundings,
Go ahead share,
                          your daily doings,
but first find a spot,
one square foot, not
in the center of a
busy Boulevard,
twelve inches on
all four sides with some or all of both feet inside,
and look down at the ground all around,
then raise your eyes and discover the surprises that
wait at waist level near and far, then take a risk and look
at the distant distance, the haughty horizon
so far away and appear so tall, feel smaller?

Then wait there till the sun is gone and
watch the stars appear one by one and
soon groups and bunches, light the night
does the moonlight make you think on
how it all started, your hunches, might
be yours, hang on to what is right for you,
might be a mistake, maybe genius,
keep breathing or you
maybe missing oxygen like venous
blood flow from your feet which are
now rooted in the one square foot
you stand with your two feet,
life in the square foot is where
you start, start small,
with large amounts of wonder
see the lightening, wind and thunder,
be filled with awe,
like a thirsty cup dusty with time
and emptiness, parched to experience
anything outside the ordinary
inside a square foot of life.

Then walk away plant a seed,
and just remember to tend the
growth from time to time,
the beauty of life in the square foot.

©DWE092013

Nothing can be said from the lip of the sun,
To array with full redress the wind-flayed waters
Of the river-run and the naked broomrape of Spring,
Absolve naiads of their blued minstrelsy in venous scream,
Or pour a yellow songbird from the gold-rimmed cup of war.
Nothing is said in the liver-spotted ground of rain-ghosted gardens,
Where love’s monument is a blot of dried flowers and grayed thorns.

Take copper to restore hair color as gray, white & silver hair are indicative of copper deficiency. Physical copper metal  (& brass to a lesser extent) kills M.R.S.A. on contact.

Don't tell me you believe
that vitamin C in an IV
will cure anything until you've been
crying by a dead child's
side and it's made you decide
at nine years old
that you will spend your life
finding a cure before any more
people you love lie hooked
up to food tubes
morphine titrating
venous dreams by their bedside.
Don't tell me those
expensive diets
or money making schemes mean
anything until you've
slept in hospital wards on floors
or sometimes an armchair
praying to a God you know
isn't there.
Don't tell me the answer is there to find,
that I just haven't tried—
I know I never let anyone die.

I would have laid out the universe

As you laid there, as though invisible.
sending strands of color over you
through me, venous
I watched and listened
your messengers to me
tilted my head
rolled around pushed water out of my lungs
touched you, glanced you barely,
on the knee. nodded slowly, with my eyes open. adored you for an instant

pulled
all things in waves.
pushed

your breath on my neck
hit and left me
a horse feels the water at its ears
and struggles not to drown.

peeled back eyelids
splay venous binding;
snake skin exoskeleton
though not brittle but
woven like rope
stretches its casket,

though tenuous, its
compound dimples
gaze as pupils not
sure where the
sun is meant
to be

I leave
a jilted shell -
afterbirth horror! -
as forgone lifebearer
so that by contract,
unspoilt to be ridden,

a progeny delights
in its own delicacy.

more than a meter away,
I sense the light as if it were a foreign
and endangered thing,
flesh over flesh in flesh under flesh,

and I think that it is only now that I begin to see it well,
only now is it binding as well as it should be,
a matter thicker than metal and heavier than water,
otherwise how could it sink to such great depths?

but what eye clearer than mine sees the light in itself,
with its black veins ready to burst,
darker than a placenta thrown in the garbage,
heavier than mercury when it explodes
and upon seeing it, what eyes will rotate
around it as if around an asphalt bucket?

with an eye such as mine you can’t see the light burning
instead you see its shabby structure,
its weight heavier than that of darkness.
only through the blind and useless eye, you see the unseen light,
the light which rots on Sundays in the yards,
too tired to go away,

the tiny wiry eye flowing after the light
sees what the seeing eye has never seen,
it’s not the matter which is heavy, but the light pressing it,
the eyes that break down are the only ones to see it,
who only sees the light does not see it.

yet who does not see it gathers it in big barrels,
over which they place burdock and stones
and keep it over the years, until it accumulates at the bottom
and hardens like rosin.
one day, in the astronomers’ telescopes
it will look like a dark and thick oil,
which they will use to rub their bodies.

and maybe then the eye, which only brings
bad luck to sight, will disappear.
when he sees with the skin, man will no longer be man
and the religion of retina will have long disappeared.
as long as god exists, he can’t be seen with sight
but then he won’t get away from us anymore.

he is part of the light that
the usual eye can’t see,
yet which my almost blind eyes sees.
from light upwards, things become harder and harder
and while you go up, you can’t go down anymore.
the great difficulty is in fact the easiness,
upon rising, you become the heaviness of the other world,
you crash in nothingness like a bag full of boulders.

man becomes heavy in the other world
because of the light: the venous light
the great luminous Carpathians from under the chest,
the sombre lights which thicken his bones.
who said man is not light?
truly man is light in the unseen,
a clot of lights, very weak ones.
few will be the things which
we haven’t seen because of the light,
this is only because light does not help us see
and anyway I have a bad eyesight
and through my limited glasses
I rather see the unluminous light.
and when the flesh will turn blind, they will also see
the fleshy light because of which we rot.

Ioan Es. Pop
translated by Flavia Hemcinschi

Grave dwellers no more
a funeral stench lingers here for sure
fingers clawing at dirt
a head squeezes out from under the mound of earth
black wiry hair skin a pale gray
venous and peeled from its decay
eyes blankly staring and lifeless
here there is no comfort except the darkness
sickening sounds uttered from its mouth
impossible as it seems
for the dead should not speak
yet its moans are loud
loud enough to startle and scare
to captivate and awe and to make one well enough aware
its body rises dirt falling all around
with an eerie purpose and no sound
the tattered and torn funeral clothes
cling loosely to its putrid bones
the yellowish sneering grin from beneath half rotted lips
opens up to reveal another spine tingling moan that you can't miss
its tombstone behind the animated corpse
makes a mockery of life of course!
somehow cheating death
again returning
for some unknown reason
a corpse not content to sit still
but to wander aimlessly until its had its fill

transparent tremors
venous inlaid filaments
make wings,
blue and gold and many a hue,
segmented body
prominent eyes,
oddity?
dodge, float,
hover, gloat,
near you hand or facing you,
they dance to the music of their wings,
listen closely, the peace it brings
ugly beauty the dragon fly,
mesmerizing the Dragonflyght

The crisp air pressed to the breast of that dewy morn',
A piercing of the skin by the rosiest of thorns.
Thorn to skin, blood to air,
A soft ebbing of life from its lair.

Venous roads and capillarous tunnels,
A captured path in which life is shuttled.
That ****** thorn that interrupts its flow,
Allows life to meet that soft morning's glow.

The bold cupola at his summit reflects
neon lights from bulbs above, crowned
by precious thin silver hair, barely cascading
over a wide and wrinkled forehead.

Two dense detached bushy arches linger
to their original dark brown tone, only a few
white brow hairs are longer, magnified by opaque
thick lenses of plastic orange glasses,

resting on a disproportionately big red nose,
outshining round green eyes in venous sclera.
Falling cheeks of sad old dogs, Dumbo ears
hearing only through pale hi-tech gadgets.

Rotten teeth, some lost to empty spaces,
concealed by infolded arid purple lips,
in the midst of an unshaved beard tobacco
stains, where arch crumbs hide in disguise.

A bloated stomach denotes long lasting
faithfulness to a wife married ages before,
a ring castrating a swollen left annular
as he speaks on an archaic phone.

Dressed in an azure shirt meticulously
ironed, beige corduroy trousers, a maroon
jacket on his forearm, a worn out bowler hat
on the counter. I stare at his hunchback.

He stirs his coffee for much longer
than necessary in search of eye contact,
someone physical to talk to, furtively
swallowing a tablet or two gulping water.

Bringing his handkerchief to the mouth to be
proper, he drinks the boiling hot Italian brew,
with an air of surrender as drops inevitably fall
on his nice and shiny polished burgundy shoes.

Testimony of the Love of Life

Ludwig ...: “Today ..., tomorrow and the day after, will be the today that walking has taught me through the experience of running through the months together with the years, and I have not feared the divine or the unknown. Today I have seen the greatest reflection of light, which enlivens, guides me, and will show me a space of trust, perhaps one of those who come here in summer, and singles are linked together. And possibly the other is the one who does not speak to me, nor does he expose himself like those in the summer, they only appear radiant or multi-stimulating, giving opportunities. Like other times, his inspirational work is repeated with something poetic ...: "And where you are blind, that the light bathes my eyelids with a deep glow ... Just keep quiet and speak with your eyes ...just look at, for the strange and watery feel …and so be the ear who perpetuates the sound. And so it is that in the static, it is impossible to accept ...how ironic that laughter opens to wards arousal ...When you turn on the light, and see the fearful darkness I perceive the new knowledge ... "

Ludwig ...: How many more times will I have to endure changes, such as those that come against my will ...?

But I know well what I represent and what I have to join, and thus alleviate my life and do not disapprove of what I feel in poetry, or perhaps the meaning I see in it seems rudimentary. Above all, the doubtful, the interested, the most enviable thing that a person has, that is multifaceted does not manifest itself specifically, but goes straight ahead to hide the verisimilitude, and only entrusts to others or another the worst armed evil of today ... "The tiredness of the targets, that if they remain close they move away, distrusting the worst cruelty ..." Well, now, get away from me cursed and cruel. Let me let you sleep in the sweet comfort of sleep and finally fight for me. Until I get angry with others, but everything is bearable. I don't want to think too much, I'm afraid to forget, or maybe I don't want to fear anything, I just know that I will ruin the attempts since there will be nothing to cheer for since I was born not to live and build absolutely nothing (End). Almost leaving the same thought, brief in content, but great in prosecution, he feels the voice of a flute and its faithful sound.

Fernando ...: Friend ..., as soon as I knew that you came I was very happy, especially now that, who knows if we will see each other again? The truth is that in a week I'm going back to Germany, I've already confirmed the flight. But make me sad alone, no I want to enjoy this moment of this place with so much bustle, so many hours under the sun and good friends.

Ludwig ...: Life is so short, everything happens so fast and we continue to yearn tirelessly, we continue to tirelessly squeeze memories. Sometimes, I feel that time does not pass later and I would like to grow old later, or if some accident or illness has to come, let it come. Or sometimes, I am interested in childhood, but I am more interested in Today.

Fernando ...: Play the flute today with something from yesterday that is so beautiful .--- Take the flute and play without stopping as if it were falling into the water.

Ludwig ...: I'm leaving Fernando, I hope we say goodbye before you go .--- Fernando tells him logically I'll go to your house to say goodbye. They both go back to their homes, and in them, some desire for company animated. It was the gentle company of the sea breeze. But in Ludwig Antoinette boiled like her attractive spiritual force, which is extensive to explain.

Ludwig ...: It was very nice to see you, and I wish you good luck.
Fernando ...: Thank you, also for you.

They hug and say goodbye. Each one moves away, Fernando goes happily where his parents, while Ludwig has no one, except Antonieta, who would see later and this time in the beautiful landscape at night. He walks and walks, until the crosses of the night of the great lighted city, indicating that he was close when he passed near the Park. As he passed by he longed to see Antoinette at the fountain, but he went on and crossed the underpass and approached his beloved home. Upon reaching the front yard, he saw Antonieta sitting.

Ludwig ...: Antoinette ...! But how can you be out here? We agreed to meet at seven and I know it's seven-thirty, sorry for the delay.

Antonieta ...: Don't worry, it has helped me to know your environment, and how wooded it looks.

Ludwig ...: You're right, I call this the Flower Forest of my Green City.

Antonieta ...: If I understand now, this is very different from everything.

Ludwig ...: Although now I am fixing some parts that remain of my parent's old house. So I am going to repair the most essential.
Antonieta ...: It will be very nice in this beautiful, beautiful and picturesque place.

Ludwig ...: Well, what do you want to do? , go somewhere or stay here.

She replies that she wants to stay and Ludwig tells her that as she wishes, so he takes advantage of inviting her to a celebration of the anniversary of a Film Institute. She tells him that she would confirm him these days, but that she does invite him to a trip to Calypso Lake. Ludwig agreed and then invited her to roast a fish and some salads.
Antonieta helped him and then they ate the exquisite menu, they sat by the edge of the fire to talk.

Ludwig ...: One day I was coming from Sara's house, and on the way, I found a run-over dog, I took it and brought it here, where I assumed the food chain would be. In effect, that way I felt as if it were a clean place, open as a field of ecological habitat, the current city that I have. As you can see here, it is wide, its extension reaches one hundred and fifteen thousand hectares.

Antonieta ...: Your Ecologist city is very big and it also has a lot of beauty. It is an ideal place.

Ludwig ...: Do you know if I die I will donate it to people who wish to cultivate this fertile space.

Antonieta ...: I hope you don't die Ludwig so later, I would like you to always keep your property.

Ludwig ...: How nice to hear that!

Ludwig takes her by the head and hugs her for a long time. He tells her that if he was okay and she tells him that he made her feel that way. He intimately thought ...: “How much I miss running through the hills, sliding down the slopes until I reached the top and raising my hand to cool my phalanxes in the mountain air. But still, my phalanxes are warm hugging her, who shares the peace with me. When he finished thinking, he began to look at the small flames of the stove and suddenly the smoke on his exhale. Ludwig followed the fumarole that lost him, that astonished him. Antoinette was asleep, so he left her stretched out in the fire and followed the walking cemetery smoke. He left behind the pool, the orange groves, the oaks, and the eucalyptus, always following her as if she were an oil stain on the water. But he did not understand the bronze glow, but he did like to get away from the world and he did that in his redoubt. He says ...: "I want him to speak to me, to name this spot, but he makes me follow it everywhere." The fumarole was deposited on a large stone, and it reached here, then it disintegrated. Ludwig reached out and touched her, feeling that she was warm. And he says that what was there was very valuable and that something would come out of it ... After coming back the same way, he felt a certain suspicion on his back, it was how lonely and quiet the forest was, not even the owls cawed, only the cold of the night circulated. Upon reaching the pool, he skirts it to the other end, where he ducks it, seeing that some were there.

When suddenly in the mirror of the water, the aureoles of gray rain appear irrigating the lagoon. He says What a sensational ... what a pure rain ...!Then he goes to the path to his house, where Antonieta was sleeping. Now she was coming back to life, to the jungle, the drops produced the formidable sound of her falling, of the largest waterfall that exists. When he reached the extinguished stove, he saw that Antonieta had taken refuge under the willow tree.

Antonieta ...: How could you let others take over something so yours, right ...?

Ludwig ...: This is beautiful, it has also healed me of many ailments, actually I love it like everything that exists here.

Antonieta ...: What do you want from me ...?

Ludwig tells her that he liked her just the way she was and that she was something similar to what she was extracted from the wooded place.  She says how beautiful it to hear that, and asks him to share as much time as they could .--- Ludwig tells him that she thought like an exemplary mother, he says ...: Don't you know how I like to hear that it be so? Uh ... I think it's time to leave you. You are right, I have to go to work tomorrow, she answers him. They call a taxi, and Antoinette leaves Ludwig at midnight. When she got home it was still raining and the cold was freezing more than ever, Ludwig warns her about the invitation on Saturday. Antonieta receives him like this, but she wanted to say something to him before, Ludwig is left in suspense waiting ..., and she gives him a big kiss, with the same desire to give it to him. When he returned home, the rain was a great spectacle, it was a bit of a joyful feeling and a bit of sadness at the same time. Because that's right, it could be temporary or drizzle, this time it was with the body of a Cyclops with its neck twisted.

Ludwig ...: How I love her! just like that time in that poem after the rain everything seemed beautifully damp, very still, very decisive of harmonious peacefulness. Yes, after it rained, everything is more beautiful ...! He gets out of the taxi, after walking down the sidewalk and feeling the water on his shoulders, he enters a restaurant. In these days of light legs and impetuous silence, he saw how he treasured his gifts on his behalf. The rainy night was majestic and close to a resurrection. Millions and millions of icy drops and Ludwig drank the hot coffee, with thousands of thoughts all alluding to the wonderful watery element. He wanted everything, that is, what surrounded him made him want more, although the distrustful mania, did not let it open Totally, like those sleepless nights, of not being able to reconcile posture and sleep. This night that blackened like ink, made him think about that rock and what would come out of it, maybe everything would be solved with a hammer or a chisel, or that a lightning bolt would transform it. He also prowled Antonieta, Fernando, Debra, Sara smiling, Roberto with his rag, and Víctor with his shyness. He imagined his parents in youth who left them the gift of today to transmit what they lived while alive. He also thought that he was normalizing himself and that he had Antonieta very close to supporting him. In the thought of long analysis of him, he could see how the world has taught him to love and respect, and those things with beating hearts caused the greatest breakdown, the greatest erosion, that which has been abandoned and inactive. So the earthquakes, so the wars, so brotherly hatred, and self-consciousness and let us return to our primitive existence, retreating to humility. Whether it is out of love or envy, destruction marks us, whether it is because of the lust for power, isolation, and whatever remains to happen. He takes the second coffee and goes out to wander without knowing where ...? Walk and walk, pass near the Aula Magna, keep walking until you reach the end of the road, where there is no cement, only the accompanying earth that was coughing from a cold, which assimilated the minerals where death could wait for him and cut his throat, or he would simply walk away. long steps through the countryside. As he traveled the surroundings, along rural roads, when he passed some houses with canopy lights, he saw how they inhabited their houses seeing the smoke in the chimneys. After a long walk, he approaches the escarpment, when he sees that someone was coming to meet him, it was a fisherman who came with his fishing device at a slow pace. And so it happened, the man of the sea only pierced like a dark bolide.

Ludwig comments how strange he was, he seemed an enigmatic being and not a fisherman. Maybe he's a caretaker or an Augur. It was incredible how he was wet, it was necessary to get indoors. With no other alternative, he descends the gorge until he reaches the beach, which now seemed all sea all water, beyond the limit. Now this space seemed alien to him. But what may seem uncomfortable, it was a vital necessity, that he wanted to be alone in his house. Ludwig wanted more than ever to feel the experience. He needed his body to rest, and he wanted to relax, forever he wanted a surprise, and he just appeared done star then another and another, until it clears and the rain stops. Ludwig is amazed at having come so far, looks for some dry branches, and sets fire. He puts the coat to dry and sleeps like an angel, before falling asleep he begins to remember ...: The stone ...?, He crossed himself with his numb hand and wrapped himself in his arms. The wind blew softly, carrying and bringing various aromas, until the sleeping voices with their gnats say good night ...: “Me Ludwig, I will not speak very close to your ear, but I tell you that where you have arrived in our proscenium, is the high observing of the emotions felt and lived. And today you have done it allowing the push of your vague spirit, which pulls you, taking you wherever your spirit wishes, you only accept his opinion. Today dear Ludwig, the immortal issue is valid, and what you have reached is infinite ... "

The sleeping light is gone, along with the others that supported it. Ludwig closed his eyes and said goodbye to the sleeping voices, while his body floated in the warm air and his voices manifested gratefully from his friends. Around her, the wind carried and carried, carried and carried. In the morning she had a fever and looked like a real frosted corpse. It could be helpful if you took off your coat overnight and dried it. Still, the first beams of lights were enough to revive him and begin to wake him up. When he was warming up more, he got up and went back to the city, but this time he did not do it through the rural road, but rather went along the coastal beach, to the sea huts. He sometimes looked back to see where he was. In the sand he saw more than his footprints, he saw a penguin and a beached whale, he saw innumerable algae next to the white of the waves, he saw how the gulls carried minnows in their beaks and the sea lions dove. Beyond some dolphins danced in rounds, one another lined up as if they were children with playful youthful souls. Some with their pigtails beat the foam that would cut like globules of insipid foam. This time the wind brought from all sides, the ceiling was populated with little clouds, with cirrus clouds resembling the angry Oblong milk, and above all this air simulated being freshly made, it was breathable and stimulating. Those species thrown out of their own environment, would not return from their home, they would only be after the last effort to revive, but everything had remained that way. Everything was reduced to footprints and those of the whale was furrowed as if asking to have feet and get rid of the executioner. Over and over again he turned his head to see what distressed his feeling, but he couldn't do anything, even he knew that he was like them dying ... ”When above his face rotted without healing from leprosy, below his legs became thin. This is how death attacks, if not from the center, it destroys us on the other hand ... " And his continuous odyssey, at the top of the crown, he saw the summer cabins, indicating that his redoubt was close by. His house was approaching by leaps and bounds, he no longer wanted to look, or eat, only to gather his little strength to sleep.

When he arrived he did nothing but go to the humus to sleep. The road continued with himself and a long way traveled, without a doubt this path was the one he undertook without asking anyone. All that made him seek more in him, is the agitation of himself, nothing more than losing what has hurt him so much, society, sinister men, slave factories, and the cohabiting environment in general. His emigration is indefatigable, he goes where the misunderstanding has left him, but this time he is very refined without belligerence, only what he has collected from him, which as no one can pay the right to put aside all resentment and accept that we will always be subject to be squeezed like another object in between and people. Maybe, Ludwig, is the one who will each of us go to the link with humanitarian sentiments. How many times will you continue looking for something different, what gives an answer to the intrigue of being normal or wondering ... If we are part of normality ...? Our restlessness takes us very high, sometimes it is difficult for us to descend from the highest, of course, everything goes gradually because everything happens like this, but who takes care of the changes caused by ourselves ...? It was late when another of the sleeping voices made him soak her cornea, still with a sea breeze. Despite the autumn rain, it hadn't dampened the ground and the air temperature seemed to be springtime. In the afternoon he went for a walk nearby, until he reached the Abbey, the one he saw succumb in his dream, the one threatened by the deadly light.

When he entered he saw how the warm and thermal suns lodged in its walls. He saw how they remade the image of Christ and saw how everything in the neat incense, he sanctified. He contemplated how the face of the most sinful person was going to ask for mercy, being able to see that the venous Christian hand was forgiving. Here everything remains the same as Nazareth or Jerusalem because it accompanies very attached to the heart, not only the pious but the well-affectionate. I know that he will not disappoint me, I know that I cannot assure the believer of his Faith, that because of the silence that dwells here, what this sacred place claims to contain will continue to be unfathomable forever. To Christ himself, to the superiority that we all need to have.

Ludwig ...: Does everything seem so still ..., so static ...?, But at the same time you can see dynamism, like pilgrim logs in their pilgrimages, or in that common sob to all, to the need to regret the yearned for. When his smallness magnified him, making him more deified, but as a human that he was, nothing in the world. The pain in the face of suffering is the indecision of our Faith that irrevocably resembles the face of Jesus, which we need to represent the mortal pain common to all humans, called "Sons of the Lord".Of the consequences of the facts is the answer to the others, who wander uncertainly on the worldly path ambitioning the favorite and magical Sermon on the Mount. The feasibility of being relegated by a human being is nothing more than a trifle, it is nothing more than being disoriented. Therefore, everything that comes from another it is nothing more than an abandoned wind. His attitude towards others always dies, when he could not cling to another creed or has been dependent on religious neutrality.

Take copper to restore hair color as gray, white & silver hair are indicative of copper deficiency. Physical copper metal  (& brass to a lesser extent) kills M.R.S.A. on contact.

sometimes love is like a superficial vein full of varicose,
swollen, twisted,
stretched to unsightly, non-existent,
unbearable
sometimes love is a venous collapse that leads to the reduction of veins
cold-blooded, skilled surgeons, we'll remove it like the longest vein
without the leg being affected,
only the blood that has passed through it will slowly change its course
and the saphena, available, will patch a coronary bypass,
pointing at her with our fingers, we'll shout: look at her, she wears a crown,
she became queen too

*dear, who will turn the blood from your sole to your thigh again
when our love will be only a second-degree relative,

So much anger, burning hot sin
Scalding flow of venous liquid
Throbbing my heated skin

To appease the beast it seems,
The cool, smooth silverware
Sinks deeper, demanding release.

In Gods Colosseum imagination was my playmate.
The eyes could almost eat the green things
taking their own individual tour of life.
Slowly, Slowly,
spaciousness sprung and it was venous.

Perfectly petaled perennials ping,
oxygen and nitrogen saturated natures blood to blueberry,
lawnmowers grazed, neighbors swept wicker welcome mats,
inviting old chips of skin to molt off and
birth gratitude into the mind~
to forge the sun into our souls as bright as bullion.

Are we not rich in symbiosis? Thankful for our machinery?
Arms, legs, eyes, olfaction~
a voice saying these things belong to you,
a voice skipping over the one asking
what else there is that there could be.

Sara Fielder © May 2020

Dr Weathers wakes
to a ridging howl,
frostbitten, snowblind,
stumbles rudely ahead
on cold black feet,
& hands that might
belong to another –
they went solid in the night.
He plows white weight
as if underwater, the sun
suppressed behind banks & steeps.
But the mountain also rejuvenates –
he is curiously younger,
an adolescent dismay
of being cut loose and held back,
both at once, as the wind steals
bellows from his teeth.  
And then younger still –
teetering march step,
speech blanches in the throat,
his thoughts mirror his needs.
Imagine what the lower guides see
as he arrives, his face
porcelain in the light -
venous glaze, stony veil.
Imagine his infantile thoughts
as they swaddle him,
so glad to be awake.