I shouldn't love you like this. I shouldn't remember the thoughts running through my head during our first kiss. But I do. I remember how nervous I was, but how I couldn't seem to pull away when you hugged me and kissed my neck. How cute it was when you laid your head in my lap and watched tv. Like it was normal.

I won't become addicted to the feel of you. The way you try to kiss me when I'm mad. When your breaths become deeper and I hear the faintest moan when I know you're ready for me. 

I can't leave like this. It's only been 4 months and i wake up with my head in the clouds. And to some that's crazy, young, temporary, unreasonable, and a million other negative adjectives calling me stupid. But to me it's love because love is unexpected. You trade in the "I shouldnts" the "I wonts" the "I cants" for the we wills, the we shoulds and the we cans. 

I don't know if we ever will, if we'll ever be able to, if we'll ever get our chance. But I can't regret anything because you taught me that you find the most perfect things when you stop looking.

Angelic in stature, you're not a master,
You're not my master.
You're my equality spread like butter and jalapeño jam on a toast made to years of success.
Don't forget. It's not what you wished for,
It's not that you wished.

The fact remains that wherever the current decides to line itself and hang wet clothing is a decision made by beautiful coincidence,
So the legless can swim and the legged can spin in parking lot circles, it's the middle of the night and this is how you met her.

Can I pull a fast one? Well you cant pull a slow one, you can only carry it.
So yes, pull a fast one so the decision to put it behind you won't haunt me for the rest of life,
Because I don't want to say I almost did it,
I wanna say I did. I wanna say we loved each other madly in the corner of our parents lives so everyone left that part of the room undecorated, because the posters are ours.

The fact remains that wherever you decided to footstep the Earth is a decision made by beautiful coincidence and the world is friendlier then it seems, there is no need to impose.

Leave yourself to dry along the line set by the current,
We can wait because eternity enjoys itself in fooling us,
Shepherding the cants and wonts into oops I dids,
we believe, we believe, we believe.

I've watched you countless nights and days.
Don't know your name but seen your face.
I've seen you cry and smile and laugh.
You are the One, my better half.

I know your likes your shoulds and wants.
Your musts, your wonts, your oughts and donts.
Your dreams and fears, your tears and hopes.
Your ups and downs, your slippy slopes.

I've heard you breathe, choke up and sigh.
Listed the things that make you cry.
I've watched you work, and rest and sleep.
I've felt your pain like bones deep.

To you I 'm not a that or this.
I won't be a thing you'll ever miss.
A mystery only is what I am.
For you I'm none I'm just a ****.

The doitnow voice

{one in a series of solos while considering multiple personality
mixed chorus tryouts for a spoken opera, ere this a Socratic voice spoke, then
a dialogue of anomalies took shape]
******* has the brackets.
This is a realised simulated happy ever, end prologicspiel
---
This is the way.
{remember Socrates said his voice said don't and sometimes only once.}
test the air you breathe out, that is not what defiles you.

speak light, draw attention, then
---
Do it now, as best you can
and keep doing best
every time
{ggood vibrain-tion tense in tegrity
best I think I can
buckyballs bouncing through the new age
mirrored 'alls of missed aitches}

(Ah, Casteneda, ya'coulda seen it> as the croW flew)

All things work together, every thing breaks,
alone,
everything is working
when any thing is re
al ized
different
Murfeesboro law, if nothin' can go wrong,
it cain't, whether it wonts or wants to, or not.

everything is working at reasonable good
when any thing is re
al ized
different
vibrant
unique, like you. Anomalous you, as yet

a daptible augmented alienated mind,
do you mind?
your integrity has been questioned,

do you now or did you ever
imagine you knew what
Castaneda said he saw and learned to see.

if you can fake sincerity,
it once was thought to mean

without wax
in the fractures,

standing still for as long as I may recall
at this point

the magi seem to miss the connection to true

some seem always to know,
this good out weighs,
unbalances,
any bad.

our best good to gather all our
power

dance around the fire
listen to the lyrics lick the liar

snakey-lick, microdose

two snakes, how shall we organize our structure,

is there a high command in
the organizms living
in my belly

memememememememe
for example
evidence

intolerable, wobble able skepticism
to imbalance the spin within
the wheels wheeling into forever

as far as mortals may care,
my dear.

re-verse engineer those lost religions

if you can't fit one in a word, you know you did not fold it up right.
or it never was the word. The one
Magi and Rabbi both said ineffable in an effable

utterance, singularity of
being
sense data, mundane and ordinary,
miraculous, as their inexplicable existences evince,

in my reality I find
quantum truth is peace ful to a peace maker,

in my experience,
a new voice seldom knows good from evil
if it calls

guilt and innocence
entangled.

Like Mars and Sophia,
who could ever imagine that
again?

The boy knows not the difference,

he was war trained,

too subtle to see from his ration-al

bogus science, theo dose us.

Good is good in every good boy who does fine like minded

A new voice, 30ish stuck near a next gate left swinging in the wind.
whoa, spiritual right used

breathe
who are we hearing?
(watch a comma mean everything)

, teaching 30 something and below
a true Richard Dawkins Disciple
to the novice-nots he preaches, true rest in knowing
I believe there is no god, we, you and me, he says, we know

there is no God,
but we can't stop thinking about him.
{he said that was one of the all things that are possible}
--- you can hear me now? cool, who's the preacher?

An atheist sounds 30, teaching 30 something and below
a true Richard Dawkins Discipline master spiel
to the novice-nots

come on encourage me
and I'll encourage you and
we'll be what ever we agree we are

as far as that can go. Que sera et cetera

idle words redeemed we mean what we mean
every *&^%$#@ and ,.';:"+_-=
as well.
We own Seri and Cortana. We got root!.

we stand to topple every imagination that imagines itself
beyond in every or any
vector from whence truth has been filtered by

{stop their minds are on auto. tongues and interpretation
situation evincing the confirmed's bias

to, exact now}

man's measure of time.

Spirit of truth. If that is, it is because you thought so.
once.
It never goes away.
It can drive you into a wilderness.
Stark-raving-mad thinking there is no reason

in your rational being.

That's nuts, if you really believe there is a reason,
what is it?

I make mere points where a story may
emerge to guide you past
some cultural events
you don't need
to know,

ripe cheese, you may  never know the unspeakable variety of truth there is
in the factual ripe ness of a lactis bacillis cousin community formed in the surplus
lactation left to rot by some human who once learned

some how, to milk a cow.
How'd yew figger that?

Would yew b'lieve a lit'le birdie tol' me?
That would be a lie, but a variety of the truth
by reason of thae tactile way a hand must learn

No clumsy boy learned that alone,
we dreams of certain carnal
joys unbeknownst, we
came with the knowing how, some how, good felt good,

who beguiled whom, the m is so im portentious in such
situations as we

find ourselves in, yin
yanging in eine klein bottle

oh, my, google klein bottle.

I may have poured the last thread to
normal

into a klein bottle with a quark in it.

Don’t tell me you’ve never had an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch a baby
I want to stir up a young child’s fantasy right now so swell
up in my heart this overwrought emotion
to see a little Ivory or Avery running around
matching up Velcro smiley faces with his current disposition
and not have to call mother and home and tell her how naughty he’s been.
Hopefully she cares,
I sure would.

Baby Misha, I’d call her.
and we’d stroll down the banks of the river
the nearest river we’d stroll.
I love you so much
and not just because Nature forces me to.
Nature forces women to have babies
but I still want to
produce.

The ultimate work of art, I’d joke.
The penultimate prize,
my arrow I’d shoot out of my womb
and let it fly, unencumbered by my wants and wonts.
Ha ha, that’s so funny.
I’d nurture the hell right out of my child.
No phone! No i-phone! No phone until seventh grade.
But mama, she’d say.

But mama,
But mama,
But mama,
But what?
You are better off.
You’ll understand when you’re a mother,
and that’s me functioning with the assumption
that baby Misha wants to be a mother.
She’ll feel the same things I’ll feel because we have the same blood
maybe not the same blood type,
she may be positive, I may be negative
but one day we’ll dance like my mother and I danced
and I’ll cry like my mother cries and say
I’ll miss you but I want you to be free.

But mama.
But what?

Frame a dative… spelchekovian science
show me…
for the mind, a recipient, then come the
messenger,
the artist's intuitive hearing silent songs,
long after the alcoholic angst of the victors,

the good old boys, discerning whiskey from rye.

The mean dad's that haunt the fragile heros,
shirking duty to the institutions that reared you, boy.

There was an old boy's school at Los Alamos,
wasn't there, yes, the spiritual making of citizens
had occasion to fall from the annals of America's West.

Hard times don't last. Hard people do.
Too true to dispute, replied the peacemaker on watch.

If you read, you've read this far, making you ready
to rethink why you feel good reading lines ready
to be rethunk, in your mind, at the same time.

As any then in any future with electricity
at cloud of all knowing farthest sofareach.

Readers who write and share ideal viral aspects,
a touch of clear joy, shameless, blameless naked glee.
Such sow seed, we bits alive.
We can resee the scenes of Panic,
and recall manic antics that felt holy at the time,

there are all the good days that ever left a mark,
at your behest, for your per-use knowing, on demand,
ask, any mystery, show thyself not evil, prove my trust,

gnoshit, gnosis initiates are rare theses days,
or so any hermit guru would say if he were you,

have I not access to the cloud, using cred from
God knows when, did I not lay my heart, mind, body soul,
and spirit on the alter with Jefferson, in memorium,
"Eternal hostility toward any form of tyranny…
super positioned right mind measure, mensur,… meander,

sorrow, tomorrow, today we play,
a robocall, potential spam, I answer to anchor. Real time
Tzimtzums, pops can leave a body breathless, in a future else
when then this all seemed ok, not aspiritual, yes, yustsay
aspiring to our higher minds lowest sorted issues,
entertainment
to hold an audience, pending, hooks, we need seven, min-
imum, holy gnoshit boogers of amberised gnosisnotdrips.

Precious memories, how they linger,
how she thought she caught me cheating at her game.

Wisdom won me, wombed man, brought me to my knees,
if you please,
you walk upright, bold as brass heated seven times hotter
than any metal wonts to be, this side of the sun.

Have you never seen the blemishes, sun spots, raging
storms, time and chance, when and where, here we are,

lucky us, we are alive in 2023 before the folly of mass-
education by way of animation, and literature referencing.

Drama has a value, reason allows, making war devalues it,
turns it to **** only members see, select audience,
the seekers first see Vonnegut ******* {;*}

Splashing water upon my face
in the early morning’s rise,
A mirror’s espy laps into gaze.
Gurgling down the drain, spent cleaning and awakenings
Left me not wise, but shortly exposed.
Looking into the mirror, Reflective wonts return the perceived,
I just, just supposed.

Now awakened flesh and soul
(eclispe) bright heart trumps dark hope,
Thoughts transformed into welkin roar.
Furnaced lit splendor raze sullen dreams and blacken thoughts
sunder lope light’s birth disclosed.
Beaming from the mirror, the torch igniting the sleepy,
Now dawn light transposed.

Towel freeing face-flung water
Cotton flailing clouds not veiled
lifted faith emancipated by kind hopes
so longingly gleaned. Morning struck its anvil - Awake!
A morning’s blessing not failed, and soundly reposed
Soft cloth quells the torch, mirror signing a start
Night rightly interposed.

Time goes by
How long have I been here?
The thoughts strikes me
Will I see anyone again, will I see you?
Maybe, maybe not
Then I see light under the door I see the door being unlocked
It's you
You have saved me wonts more