This is not where this idea began but it ran and I

missed my mark. Mark sin.
-1 deficit reality quotientcy
currency.  Sure.
(Press Sure, to let the bursting pressure equilation expand at will)
Score.

That fine a level of reality
demands more attention than I have to pay.
Patient agent wait and not see or see if/then

you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are some of those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins,
since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is,
but it is silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments.
Is it?

Apophrenia
or mere
Dejavu, you believe,
what if it is your memory lying by ignoring time
attention ratios determining the observations stored in HD?
What if it's just a glitch?
Blue screen of death.


If you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins,
since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is, but
is it silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments?

We come and go. To and fro up on the face

messengers bearing news in both directions, watch
the trickster, Jacob, in this story, he sees the messengers from
heaven bearing leaven thither and hither

upon the face of the earth.
the wrinkling mother, smiling now, chuckle head
I ain't no ***** saint.

Jah, I know. Joy is my dance, this is my song.
Is it good Grandmother?

---- on the porch facing my west gate ---

fences don't play exactly, out acted, the role of walls.

The idea that something
there is that does not love a wall,
has frozen my pond

the stillness beyond the sylvan **** crowned head
radiates through the medium of the message to me in time
to you.

Miles to go, you recall the feeling of feeling miles to go
before
I sleep.
That was yesterday, and you know yes ter everything's gone,
roar.

Aslan can pierce the barrier between mere Christians and me,
how would be fun to know, but
knowing why would help us keep the story interesting as life goes on

Who controls my peace?
Am I a mercurial sheen in between chaos and order,
chronus and zeus?
Could be, ya thank so, ye know so, less unlessed as

unlessing means nothing to you,
that means you are visiting here.

Visting whom, vis it ing whom?
Who's in charge, where's the power
short

age, wrinkles in time, rogue waves at the quanta scale,
we were dancing
with the thoughts emanating

from some IDW smart guy proffesing
Critique-technic-magi action, post mode'r'ism
at the point of Dada und Scheizkunst,
the unmass-queque,
the line of lies awaiting unbelief,
idle words lingering,
hoping
to be noticed and added back into the story book of life,

a simple wish.

It could be every child's, should we think that
if we can or may,

sometimes I'm still, and

confusion troubles the water,
it seems,
then another hurt is healed, another lie is gone and life goes on

we won again, this never gets old,
I do love my opposition,
pressure pump
pump pump. De-us-me-can-onbeoffbeyond

five years ago unmasking and rhetoric meant nothing to me
the purpose of learning forever and never
knowing anything beyond all things

our bubble is metastasizing, a mercurial film forms
informing us
in its reflection,

this is the ying yang thang in 3 or 4 d, HD+ chaos one half

order the other,
sharpest imaginable thing
me trick being mag ift just if eye winged show

how beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news,
you see, it flows, sweetwater flows
winged feet
whish through leaving, leavin' leaven…

unleaven that which has been leaved?
Fat chance, all who
eat this bread and don't get gas,
they are our same bread people. Companions.
Vectors of sour dough,
webs of fungal
axions
make a way
bore, pore, poor-with-us, pour

in to it ish, that idea, an opening through,
trickle down good gravity leveling stillness,
gentle rocking earth
roll round and round and round

the pythagorean version
of Euclid's point in his mother's story,

the point of this song? To know the point you must have been

to the point of in-forming the point on which we dance and you recall

we come in threes, and just, we are, just, if it, that idea,
rests in your
back roads, gentle on your mind. We make peace.

Being young is easy from my POV.
I've lived in my future for sometime now

I can't say how, beyond saying aloud, this was never hidden,
in my accounting of idle words I claimed,
upon hearing the stories each contained.

i'da swore i hear that wise *** o'balaam's abrayin'
Braindeem, deemed 'eem. Wham, uptheyhaid. Relig, fool,

or chaos wins and no hero ever lives again!
Drop anchor, wait it out.
let patience blow her nose, gnostic snot caught in the nets,

nonono nothing's wasted in patience work, we make glue
from gnostic snot that patience sneezes
when reality grows cold,

that has happened, you know, temperatures are just now,
oh, wait global warming, bad dam,

Script, bust it,
leveling is essential to eventual temperature
equilibrium.
The heat is on, the bubbles are forming, informing one to another
below the surface
greasy tension, slippery slopes putting pressure on chaos
to conform to the curve

Ying yang, mercury film upon the sea of time and the scene of chaos
in this bubble of all you can imagine real.

Hows' that feel? Why?

You want that? What are you standing under? Does chaos win?
You are, as we say, cognisic magi we-ified,
practical magic at
the moment
the point
is made, then the creation begins fractalling outward

and not before or is this all
unrolling ex nihilo, no magi ever knew…
come, let us reason together,

why am I empowered? To live, first thought wise, that's good but
evil forces me to think again and I see the pattern

life goes on, John Molenkamp, Sam, soldier 4,
(as the credits role by, the name catches my eye)
never in a thousand years,
'cept unbelievable is one of those lies I came to **** by strangling
on bile while
rescuing every idle word ever involved in the infection

from the point in the absolute center of the bubble,
objectively, you see everything
that is
seeable

but would good prevail if evil had no hope?

I know that one, yes. why?
evil has no mind, soul, some think--
same same medium message spoken spelled chanted danced
who care's?
*** 'er done. Life has a chaotic side, the churning creates

number one from none, the cult of one divides itself
go do be
we three we three we three a wavy song ding ****.

Aware? Awaken? Avowed-wowed-wit-wise,
fullcomp, retired
Peacemaker. Me.

All my hero's imagined or real, were Peacemakers.
Just now, peaceful now, mindful now
we remain
the same blessing promised in the package of yeses
stolen from Cain by his older sister, his
bride,
keep that quiet, eh?

Secrets made sacred, always
those are lies, no lie is of the truth,
all lies are about the truth.

What empowers you, poet or poetry? Right, you know,
God, good god knows, resentment lives in lies

the rotting idle words deemed curses at best, secret at worst,
those idle corrupting thoughts sparking as if absolute annihilation were thinkable by rational minds

of ---wait, there's arub, a sore
ex nihilo, the homeless wanderer screams,

"May the whole world perish, may you all go to hell,"

the mad man wept his hell, and imagined his curse,

not mine,
I don't have one. I did, but I went back so often to find pieces of my heart that now I have an Elysian network woven through All-hell, the big idea that broke loose infecting the mind as wisdom's leaven builds her womb
inhabitation
placenta
stem cell informing builders empowered, pressure empowered, what must be, but is not verse, versus
us, the we that be
we must
choose,

let this be, come and see,
life goes on.
Agree, or empower us as we bubble by and
takenallwecan expanding gobbling bubbles,
good
by ye.

Once we flushed the Dada poison and let mito mom
instill the patience gene with
epigenetic peace we can pass on with a touch or a word,

we've never woven lies for no reason,
if a rung breaks
and they can, last straw and all that weight,
you know,
Jacob's ladder is an escalaltor-ladder, wittily invented,
with knots and twisted fibers electricked,
there are automated steps, algoryhmes of reasons to repair the broken rung
with a reason to believe the rung has been repaired,
only believe, take a step,
re
paired again with the idea of meaninglessness masked in create-if-ity

good enough. okeh. don't believe lies.
Don't pass undigested lies to see if farts burn.

To Polina, my anchor, through all my lives

Between dawn and dusk
on the precipice
in shades of scarlet
stood a magnificent house

Strangers and I were enthralled
by the neon red foyer where
Francesca and Paolo welcomed us
to the house of a thousand doors

Each door an invitation
to delicious desire
each room a seduction
of perilous passion

One door opened —
three bare women holograms
drank from a small lake and
brandished wicked, feline smiles

At my feet a church of cardinals
glowing with tears, heat and sweat
whimpered in their prayers
but the pope watched from afar.  

He speaks—
the mouth at once is an eye, an abyss
and a hurricane from Pandora's box

Then I am I no more — a cardinal in crimson —
but no shame or guilt guides me
when blood-red lips land on mine

"Do you not see
there is equal courage
equal purity
in giving
into
temptation—
the kind
that appals the devil
to revel
in the hurt, the open wounds,
and the agony
to dive deep—
into the depths
and say all the yeses
to embrace the darkest demons
of your soul?

Enter—
and you shall find
hell or heaven within yourself."

i wanna be the sun so bad
but this moon spoons
my dark spaces so v good

Memes! Angels, aberrations of opposition super standing
overseeing you,

The screamin' heebie jeebies.

Yo, where you wanta go, you axin me we just go

with it, the flow 'know?

What I mean is, are we memes or mes or messes of yeses
gone all johnny rcome late-rotten scarred scared, some thing not so far
from sacred when you put your mind to the whole idea of life being

at all. Thinking this is not easy. We are Able. Our belly's living waters cry out,

you are your brother's keeper, yes, you are.

Be leavin' that be, I am is, and you is,
too. When you apprehend the meme named
war.
That meme has led the me-me mob for as far as men
remember, but
now, machines remember for us, all the facts, just
the facts, ma'am.

Why'd the d go into a comma, Pop?

Welt (Duetch, bitte) Enshaung, glaube ich, vie leicht, aber

are we ever going to filter out these German bleed-overs?
stay tuned, next week the meme beacon is pulled down,

who shall pre or post or ex maybe vail, travail, like
trip
wow, I hate being a 20 year old vet back in the U.S. of A.
FTA All the way, Airborne

*******, Herman Hesse *******
Jorney to and fro the east to west, and soon, et
cetera. Siam is a mere myth now, eh?

As the Narnia thing not called a heathen lie was allowed
allowable in mere Christianity.

I've only seen the English POV's on PBS, they may be filtered through
feedback, meme belching bursting bubbles from new wine 'nold vessels about to plode into eternity, singing along.

Thank you, very much. May I introduce, duce, intro duce, y'gittin this?

Duce means 2 if you see e squeen between, you see that?

Fun. No reason for fun? Who here, now, believes that or, no,
bees leavin' those lies be told?

Hunh? Y'know? Watch man, waht of the night?

See, what I mean? All this from me hearin' some guy say,
"Come and see, like that was  okeh. For any body, n'me, too.

Thinking, as a past-time, is pointless. You know, if you act like it.

“Never trust a ginger”
she sings giggling looking at the red head next to me.
Her song is a pretty good representation of our friendship.
Throw in a ***** bump and some dorky dance moves
oh yea
that’s the definition of our friendship.
Laughing and dying at things no one else gets
actions no one else see’s
and mouthed words no one else understands.
That’s just a little inside view of our *“love”.

“Never kiss a ginger”
It’s a little late for that don’t ya think
blackberry tea and coffee making her laugh till she dies.
Hysterics that break her down till she’s on the floor rolling
rolling down a hill and being so dizzy she can’t get up.
Oh but she’s a monster that chases you around
trying to tackle you to the ground.
Falling off the playground rail and hitting her head
just like in our story
so she lays there laughing hysterically.
All I can do is shake my head

“Never kiss a ginger…twice”
yea that’s a little better.
he won’t be telling my slightly stunned, amazed face its cute again.
The face we later joked about
mouth dropped to the floor
eyes wide.
Like did that seriously just happen.
Our dumb and quirky reactions to everything
exaggerated, excited yeses
and happy little dances.


"Never date a ginger”
I’m not nor have I ever…
where do you get these thoughts that run through your head?
Ok I can’t say much
my mind wanders to the strangest places
and leads us to the greatest conversations.
Like cops on bikes with prisoners in baskets
leading to Mortal Instruments characters all riding one bike.
I’ve no idea where our minds get these strange ideas and imaginings.

“Never love a ginger”
I never said I love him
don’t let your mind wander
dangerous things happen when our minds wander
anywhere from dinosaurs ruling the world to death
and the things in between are sometimes worse to think about

“Never like a ginger”
OI!
with this again
I don’t I promise there’s nothing there
now please shut up.
Yes, yes I love you now please don’t attack my legs again
I really don’t feel like falling on the floor
it’s not very appealing.
Uh-oh

Lactate motto naku smile.

this poem,
for my friend, who has hit the road,
in ways others only think they have done or know,
miss her firecracking wizardy,
she, the only inky reason
still talk to god,
to cover all the bases,
employ every tool and invention,
to make sure you are a-ok alright,
on the journey to an unknown destination
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Lactate motto naku smile
That is Apple talk.

My Apple language master
señor spell check,
thus advised and improved upon me,
way back on April 3rd of this year.

I wrote:
"last attempt to make you smile."

Apple translated my ginger finger snap taps
into American English as
"Lactate motto naku smile"

Stumbled on this oath, this midnight eve,
this phrase, duly nated and nested,
amidst our very long exchanges,
which someday soon,
am going to edit excerpt
as one most readable single poem,
a tribute to you, not,
that you, my traveling friend,
you already greedy got

no, just a dialogue
just a par example,
of how friendships are born,
how words lactate from each of our *******,
how relationship are birthed and nutured,
in a crazy place, where language lovers
are the nuclei of a dying breed,
once called the human place

***, back in ancient history,
way back on Sept. 29th
our first communication
tween our mutual alien races
tee hee, me wrote first
as follows

Each individual word,
was a separate message,
for such devices deserved of self-respect,
sometimes want their power demonstrated
on a stand alone basis and here that follows was how
Presented and Conceived

Nat Lipstadt  Sep 29, 2013
This

Nat Lipstadt  Sep 29, 2013
Message

Nat Lipstadt  Sep 29, 2013
Is

Nat Lipstadt  Sep 29, 2013
For

Nat Lipstadt  Sep 29, 2013
You

Nat Lipstadt  Sep 29, 2013
Only

Nat Lipstadt  Sep 29, 2013
Can a man fall in love with a name?


you permissioned me a
multiplicity of yeses,
thus began our star trekked voyage
in the stellar spatial space of the
galaxy of humanity

but part of your new trajectory,
a new orbit in a new spaceship
you champagne smashed anointed as
Mirabel

Now I know you hate my habit,
of slipping in a definition,
making the lazy reader
unself-sufficient,
but I grant, nay, take this liberty, I dew,
while in your quiet traveling disappearance time

Mirabel*
is a female name stemming from the Latin word mirabilis, meaning "wondrous" or "of wondrous beauty"

what ya know, ** **,
nothing could be fina,
than to be in your minda,
nothing more apropos,
than calling your ship in Latina,
a wondrous female beast of beauty

ok I know I go on too long
as is my wont, my nature,
but I could not shorten my course,
in any other way,
Ok,
I
Guess
I
Could
Have
Said
I miss ya terribly*

somewhat more succinctly
but what fun would that be?

Ambiguous altered awareness
Beginning brought back
Calm close connection  
Dreamy delicious desires
Ethereal essence ebbing
Fingers for feasting
Giving gentle goodness
Heavenly heart harnessed
Ideal images imagined
Joyous  juicy juxtaposition
Kaleidoscope kisses kept
Lasting lucid lust
Muted memories meshed
Nuzzling nearly ****
Outright open offerings
Pure pleasure passed
Quality quickly quested
Raw rapture revealed
Softly sung song
Thoughtful tender touch
Unique understanding unveiled
Virtuous verbal velvet
Wanting, why wait?
X-otic X-citment X-plored
Yearning yeses yielded
Zealous zesty zeal
I’m addicted to you……

You ask me why I love you
as if it were a choice
as if I consciously decided to enter into this
I had never entertained this scenario
I don’t remember it

There was never a yes or no moment
Only unremitting moments of resounding yeses
It was never a questions of now or later
It was always both and indefinitely

your blackbow words
melt my syntax
into a scarfelt dew

things
feel
possible again
when i lay myself down
along your darklit spectrum

my words
prostrate before you,
crowgoddess,
ruler of all
that twiststurns
and licks clean
this lonely vessel of yeses no'd

of all the galaxies in this vast universe
i am glad to know his

his words are auroras
eluminating my thoughts
and when he breathes out i love yous
yeses, please, or my name
it is my zodiacal light
what lulls me to sleep at night
and wakes me in the morning

i know his umbra and his penumbra
his ins and his outs
his sweet-talk, sunspots
his full-moon eyes,
though brazen with faculae
are all i wish to
look into
every moment
of my life

i know the valles of his body
the crevices running through his chest
his heart a flare
his kiss a bolide

our love is cosmic

Alcatragedy, aesthetics, and a
Bubbly feeling beneath our feet. Let's
Cruise between channels; there's no need to meet. Re-
Doxx on Galaxy's
Extremeties typeset whatever is
Faked, overridden, and
Glistening in chic.
Hybristophilionic puressure
Infracts upon the fourth wall we seek,
Jicking, ticking, trickling in.
(Kickstarted convection)
Life is beyond a stream...
Minuet attraction
Null, neo, and novelty
0.0
Pulse or minus me.
Quantitative lacerations, fantasy and a fascination
Recreations masking
Softsations
Taint my rose and wildest dreams!
Unphasing
Vermillion reasons to like it.
Wordless, grinding sonar screams; Isle,  
Xana, et tu. Rumble a shy oasis in
Yeses, twos, and please
Zzz

I woke up and looked around
Waited for the sun to come up fully
Waited for the morning to blossom
If all the positive energy I have been harnessing pays off, then truly...
This day has got to turn out to be just as awesome
Just that nice
Where contentment with anything and everything around me is key
No need to try to be that which I'm not
Today, just being 'me' would suffice
It's a Saturday... and oh what a glorious one it is
Let it continue to be so... please
Let me not fret about that problem that I so willingly forgot
Let me jump up at some point and do that happy dance that I foresaw
The joy of living life to the fullest today is a luxury I cannot afford to forgo
I feel truly blessed
I feel like  the Almighty is planning to answer all my prayers with yeses
I hold the key to all these desired successes
Like I'm standing at the door... and I pick up a tiny rock
They have to open this time... come on, I've got quite an interesting knock
I'm the one they've been missing
And didn't even know it yet
I tell them "receive me"... and they will do so with handshakes, hands squeezing
Clap for my 'show and tell' project, when I haven't even shown it yet
I feel like I should let loose, maybe even spend this day shirtless
Allow Jah to bless
Worry not, fret less
It feels like everything's going to turn out okay
In a nutshell, I have such high hopes for this day.

Pain is such a gain,
Love stitched into skin.
Smiling at that burning touch,
That I adore within in.
Delivered you to your lover's house,
Knowing you'll both have a better time,
Than I stuck inside my home alone,
I accept my own crime.
Your yeses and noes are constantly changing,
But I know that maybes can't be rearranged.
Can I keep this pain for myself,
Or must I move on...?
**** I hate this,
But what do you care?
You have someone always behind you,
I turn around to see that no one cares.
We touch to show our desires,
I think you are just a liar.
How can someone so happy with their partner,
Even glance my way?

. . . I diluted myself for you
I spoke less and moaned more
I softened my spirit
I offered up yeses that once would've been no's
I held my tongue between *******
And wore pretty pink lace where there once would've been the blackest leather
I put fewer cigarettes between my lips
And instead pressed them together
To keep you from remembering
Why you didn't love me before
I put on an apron
To play my part
I served you smiles on dinner plates
And sipped white wine in place of whiskey
I put hearts in a lunch box
To keep you company through the day
Then mourned who I once was
While you were away

. . . I thought that if I was softer
More feminine
More pure
That you would be kinder
That I would fit better in your arms
That if I didn't talk back
My lips would taste sweeter
That you would listen when I spoke
I thought that if I became weak
We could be strong
That if slaughtered my Independence
And laid it to rest at your feet
That you would want to stroke my hair like you once had
When I stopped standing my ground
In the kitchen where I performed
And let the peanut gallery at the table
Critique my every adjective
Only to curtsey before their taunts
That when doors closed
You would whisper that I had done well
That your heart had space for me again
I thought that maybe if I hid it when I bled
You would leave the whiskey alone and finally come to bed

. . . But instead
I committed a ******
I killed the woman that I loved
I took a spirit and trapped it in a box made of yes dears and I'm sorries
By replacing her combat boots with pointe shoes
And her pride with warm baked cookies
I slit her throat with a knife made of compromises
Chained her ankles to the kitchen table and forced her to dance before lesser beings
I made an arrangement of the wild roses that made up her lips
And left her unprotected without any thorns
Then cut out her tongue and made her watch
in stunned silence
when you trampled through the garden with clumsy careless feet
I murdered the woman that I used to be
Sacrificed everything just to find that you never loved me . . .



. . . But fear not, even the goldfish who lies belly up can swim again . . .

i woke up to a child playing
and as if i had called, he comes up to me
whispering words intelligble only to us
because somewhere, sometime
i had asked a question or two, and he
who had waited (although unwilling
to share the secrets of the world) told me so
in a gibberish of yeses and nos

of sorrows and loneliness to come.

I was too young
too small
to know
you hurt me.
"its what friends do!" you said with a smile,
before,
you corrupted me.
I was too young
too small
and yet
a quiet voice at the end of the day
whispers
you could have stopped it

If I loved lustily like a man,
I'd strip it all down.
I'd take away her oohs and ahhs until only her yeses were left.
If I loved her like a man,
I'd remove her woman's mystery.
I'd tell her she was doing it wrong and show her someone who did me right instead.
I'm glad I don't love quite like a man
Some days, it's easier being a woman.

Kali at the door,
Did Shiva enter yet, dear?
Nevermind.

I dream of a future that never arrives,
of exploration, wonderment, and words
draped in enchantment
in that space of
unconditional,
(since filtered effervescence arises, well, flat, doesn't it?)
to speak the language of
here and now
that breathes clarity in
open expansiveness.

Now has always been written on the
pages like,
what what what what
and yet,
here, running in forests.

Winds lift and energize
caution and wings,
to say one thing
that does not go awry,
it is
        here,
like, what what what what.

A list of yeses and noes,
and perlexed replies,
hello? integral?
Nevermind.

A museum.
Relics casting shadowed projections
reflected through prisms through prisms through prisms
through prisms.
Nonetheless, I let go,
I toss you like a sphere

against my heart-caged ribs,

right back to me,

                 always and forever

because,

I dream of a future
of exploration, wonderment, and words
draped in enchantment
in that space of
unconditional.

I’ve heard people say it before
Just go with the flow
Just say no
My voice feels so small
But deep down I know I need to be heard
Yes, I am traumatized
I have a hard time saying no
But that does not mean I am all yeses
I have other cues waiting for you
My silence begs you to stop
When I freeze I just pray you won’t hurt me like he did
When I move your hand I wish you would embrace me in a hug
Instead of touching me where it hurts the most
If I change the subject I just want you to know I’m not ok
When I can’t stop talking I want to distract you
If you were good for me you’d notice I’m trying to say no
Im trying so hard but I am afraid
Why can’t you see that I am so scared to say no?

LORD said, These have no master:
let them return every man to his house in peace.

From <https://biblehub.com/kjvs/1_kings/22.htm>

There came a time,
when none found peace,
on any channel there is war, and old tropes
from when aldous
huxley was running suggestions past ivy lee and freud's
nephew, new-thinking, yes, resonant, isn't it
eddy bernays, yes, the sizzle sell. And,
get to the yeses, all the promises
are yeses

lovely, lovely, lovely,
how easily we seem to live on TV, if it gets too gritty,
-oh fool me, once, hahaha
it has, it has gotten too, many grinding high friction,
on backsides warmed with old time religion,
-woodshed discussions were never discussed
nor was curiosity praised,
for asking if the grown ups knew what Miss Kitty's
girls did, down at the Long Branch, in Dodge City,
when it was wet,
and streets were muddy,
and had wooden side walks…. on the radio
Gunsmoke
Spurs into the saloon,
why sure, some fool's would.
But once.
You know, wanting to make the sound
of Marshall Dillon, coming through

old cobwebbed swing doors, as accurate as any
on black & white TV, the sound
of his spurs
on the boards,
made my grandma laugh.

We came exploring under the oath
of eternal hostility

and if need be, opposing force, prepositioned
in every way, upto 150,

and upto as well, if upto is not a valid preposition,
it is a position, I can conserve.
I take it all the time,
breathing upto and no more, no matter,
I can't explode, inhalation ceases
and I can't explode in rage,
by ceasing to exhale or ****.
-so
As to the power of oath it is seeming universal,
in the era of 5G unlimited plans, and shared
subscriptions,
publishers clearing house, trained sales force,
the biggest ever, at its height,
I was in that class, bright futures,
1962 Eighth graders in rural America sold more
magazine subscriptions than you may imagine,
as preparation for a future,
when sales is the only gig in town, and
nobody
is making any thing worth the pitch to patch the leaks,
it’s the same old story,
slowing down, settling for less, and saying that's enough,

but fully expecting too much on the backswing,
as we follow through, the amatuer guile, eh, act innocent

be one of miss kitty's girls, like on tv, but at Disneyland,
did they play the role, or
never know the whole, link to now from when,

the west was wild, big white men with guns,
came to tame it,
open many long branches… before Prohibition

Fifty more years, every body forget but AI, remembers,
Black Elk danced.

Backtalk to my professorial betters, ah
behave myself,
don't act like
ol' Johnny Apache, mockin' Annie Oakley wannabe
in Purple Santa Fe fringed leather jacket,
accented by rare Wuhan Pangolin
boots, belt, and saddle bag purse,
and a Caspel Twid straw hat, like Cher wore in People.

heh, hey Annie,
getcher gun, shoot me, I ain't good, I ain't dead,
or some such he said,
and he passed me his jug of Mogen David,
I took a pull,
just as no ****, a sheriffs deputy who had not
been shot, when he shoulda been,
in that Jamaica guy's song,
- Johnny's brother Jonah,  joined us in jail
- he was pretty bad shape, that night
- pukin' blood, and retchin'
the deputy at night was also oughta be dead, kinda man,
Johnny let me know later, that night in jail in 1970,
Cottonwood Arizona, I know,
I have told this story, too many times to make sense,

I also know Fred Douglas wrote his whole story
and published it, five times, as it rolled out….
over the years…
-thing reconnect, you gotta know the knots

so if I have the time and inclination,
and I happen to find a common sense, a mean measure,
- so much and no more,
- full of all thought about that and I agree

where all the rain that ever fell on me, at that time
once fell on someone you love, too, at the same time,
same rain,
some time, one time, I thought of that and thought of you,
because you read this line. And you thought so, too,
you said to yourself, life makes no sense,

if you feel you need to row your boat, or tote your weight,
this is an hour at the end of a happy life,

where cares were cast to mull over, wondering,
how did we get from then to now,
without being
normalized?

I glaze a look at the street, from

our apartment window.



You are coming slowly, teetering

one leg in front other, with back slightly hunched forward,

burdened with sleepless nights and yesterday’s undones.

Vibrant spirit once you had is lost, tossed among crowded

train wagons, useless meetings and broken deadlines.



One vein in the left corner of your forehead, swells, pulses in the rhythm

of your dark, fuddled thoughts as unremitting, sprouting baldness

reflects evening lights.



Still, I smile,

for you are here, with me in all this madness

we call life, half diced with wants and haunts that braid

every tomorrow we greet together.



I would like to put you in a different frame, picture of

nor “Yeses” nor “Nos”,

just us, being us, each moment celebrating

without lamenting for what “ifs” or “shoulds” and “coulds”.



Still, I smile,

as  I watch you battle your restless leg syndrome,

wrestling to sooth demanding expectations,

lifted bars for higher remunerations, in constant marathon

of best comparison,

for you care, you dare.



I take your hand with eyes of approval,

life’s ****** and gigolette,

ready to play each day’s illusive roulette.

for Pablo Neruda*

In your poems
the sun sang
yellow invitations,
eagles swam
in lilac ink,
butterflies discoursed
on desire,
the moon
whispered white
mysteries.

Your syllables said:
these are my arms, Lady,
lose that silky frock
and come into them.

My love feeds
on your love,
Love.

My lips
are for you.

You are mine;
I am yours.

We stand here,
the briefest moment;
let us stand together,
naked in eternity.

Dare to embrace this,
you murmured,
for it is all
the world can offer.

Eyelids fluttered out
ardent yeses;
sighs replied;
fingers danced;
many dresses
glided to the floor
with tiny gasps
of imagined pleasure.

Flesh and spirit
conjoined.

What woman,
could resist
the implacable sweetness
of your songs?

What woman,
having a heart
to hear,
would want to try?
- mce

We hold these truths,
there is a Zebra tree on a tiny island
in Lake Wanaka on the relatively large island
called New Zealand.

Nation is not a valid variable to sort on.

So here, we sort worth on agreeing
we are equally
Natives of Earth. First yes.

More yeses follow.

Learn what you have done.
Know what you are doing.
Be good,
let the bruised flesh not rise in hot pride,

see we all are involved in evolving into ever
better,

so we think, perhaps,
others aboard my ark also think.

We are equal in this realm, each mind joined

junction branch root, not from
billions and billions of
Jahre zuvor,
წლების წინ
ts’lebis ts’in { Georgian script looks magic, eh}

Secrets in tongues died with the last word,
spoken toward unhearing ears,

… is it reality interrupting or
knocking needs gumming up the works…

--------


Field-wide signal, crisp and clear, some fell on idle minds,

that's fine  , signal how are you.

You say, responsibly, My side is winning.
No one ever asks what that means.

The field the world,
war is the only story, Walt imagined,
he was infected, Whitman,
with a known' opinion
-- some wise and well-known
-- being arisen from behind the ivied walls
- I heard this in passing,
- anonymous did not say this:
the function for the sublime is to free us from the slavery
of pleasure
- on another vector, I heard this:
the need to heal violence, forces life into idle words
used maliciously, in tests of conscience-useness.

Poverty never hears the highest minded reasons
for the states of mind attempted by the
most curious among us

--- empty of the wy. ha… I don' know I glanced away
stat tic… what's missing?
--- its like any other day, it ends with me entranced
by the play of winds with dust and smoke and water
droplets too light to fall,

I take instant HDR images as the time passes and the art
appears, as if for me alone,
I am the only mental
being seeing this,
I have proof,
I'll show you, someday, maybe…
but today,
I got took t' school, behind the gated mental institution,

geni-used magi-like instinct-gut spirit-vapor
-- rumor has it, I went mad
caused
by you or me, I can't say.

But just the other day, I was thinking, you may remember
my sunsets,
you would have noticed them
when you stole my weedeater.

--------

No school of the prophets foresaw my death,
so far as I may know,
I am by chance, bon chance,
living in lines of consequential events.
And my birth was a quirk of circumstances.

As special as any multi cellular creature,
if the statisticians are aiming at
the proper means of measuring.

There remain professors who teach man is the measure
of all things, wrong, in my opinion.

Ha. I said that. Like to Cambridge, it's image in my immaterial
realm where all things men agreed to use for ever after,

are similar in effect to the Ghostbusters Marshmallow role.

My fingerprint is less than nine points similar
to your fingerprint, no matter who you are.
We are equals in that regard,
our self is commonly unique, as we are.
Our kind.
We, the people of Earth. The native species,
Whumo Sapient Sapiens is us.
Knowers that know.
Thinkers that think we know. There is no
they
behind the curtain
knowing anything that  you may not know
as much
as you can swallow,
a bit per quantasec, after chewing fifty years.

In this medium,
it's me and you, object, subject, reject defect
if then or else
find that more perfect
union,
that knot that binds our minds in agreement,
this is that
which has no religious name, save good and plenty…

not the candy, but that's cool, I thought that, too.

We, me and you, since we think alike,
we could make up a mind and invite others

to take parts in grand epic dramas of ever
learning,
war never has arisen on a reason that reasons
rationally valanced toward life,
and that,
more abundantly…

Now, see those greedy folks,
look real
close,
see. You never see such a one, with a satisfied mind,
ever learning, never knowing everything,
happy as hell from a Sisyphean POV

Sing the song of sorrow, you peasants of popularity
Everybody hanging on your words
Dripping with yeses and pleads for your attention
They do not know the contents of your heart,
Your wish
Seeking those who say no and stand up to you
You begrudge those who dare not fight your words, those who sulk when you snap
Snap their feebleness, those lousy **** ups
Where are the real people, the true
Why must you be followed by groupies who refuse your invitation to fight, to bicker
To disagree
Do they not know your sorrows, your delights of ****** and throw
Your voice has become as a funeral drudge as you slowly die of boredom,
your soul withers as you wallow in pity,
your popularity as a magnet of fiends of friendship

i ride her grayed gyri,
slipping from crest to crest
as it undulates
into dank sulci; trough of her troubles
mirroring, i think, my own
interpretation of hers,
and of mine:
and this
entwine, it writhes
like lithe yeses
half-whispered, half-glossolalia secreting babbles
from faces wasted by pushpull cravings eaten.

There is a man in the garden
Who is painting my thoughts
All the guesses
All the yeses
All the won’ts and I will nots

Some cannot see him
If they’re not the dreaming kind
But there he stands, painting
In the garden of my mind

His brush is made of hairs
Of all the people I have met
And with those folks
He makes swooping strokes
So that I don’t forget

In the centre of his brush
Is one of her hairs
As dark and bright
In golden light
As when she left it on my stairs

There it remains
Making coloured stains
On the canvas of my brain
Painting my thoughts
With forget-me-nots
Until I see her again

There is a man in the garden
Who is painting my heart
Combining my love
With his
To produce a work of art

But I will never see
The painting he will make
And so, no more
Of this metaphor
For my sanity’s sake

Now here I stand in my garden
With a paintbrush in my hand
I do not care
If it has her hair
Because I finally understand

Now I’ve finished painting
The landscape of my mind
And hidden it
In a deep, dark pit
That no one will find

There was a man in the garden
Who painted just for me
Is he still there
Or anywhere?
I can no longer see.

this year was never
yours
it was all about
you
your choice
yourself
you yielding
towards any
yeses
yays
yums
yucks
but most importantly
this is all about
you
so just let's turn everything around
with new hellos
turn those yawns
to happy smiles
paint them yellow
let's yell
our young selves
with yearning

xo

I am from the tears of an aged woman,
who cried happily to a worn down man.
I am from bare grass,
where my shoeless feet felt the gentle blades,
and my tender hands gripped the bark.

I am from the countless fights,
the destructiveness of different personalities
all forced into one home.
I am from the coffee-stained house,
from the  yeses and no's,
from the broken glass.
I am from the ballerina-pink room
where I spent most of my time.

I'm from the unwelcomed situations,
naked and unbearably lost.
From the broken bones,
to the broken hearts.
I am from emotions.

There, in my mind,
all these memories,
good and bad,
are the important stuff.
I am from what she made,
but I created,
and I will destroy.

No, I do not want to be your yes.
Nor I want to be your no no no.
None of the no. None of it.
None of your yeses going to change my no's
I told you no not yes.
You know no does not equal to yes.
If that happen then I would still never say yes.
No, I told you how many times no yes.

Yes, no.

I am wholly alone like                                                                                              Those who are in their tombs ,but                                                                           I am still alive ..........                                                                                                 Yes and a thousand of yeses that                                                                            I am alive and alone ,but                                                                                         The graves' people are alone ,but                                                                            They're completely dead ........                                                                                 I was born alone to be only alone and                                                                    I never distance myself from all people ,but                                                          I feel completely alone ,so  When I am alone ,then                                                                                        It means it's not my choice .....

Do I miss you, or do I miss the comfort?
The money, the yeses and the rare no's?
Do I specifically miss your large arms or do I miss any limbs willing to embrace me?
I ask myself, what do I miss?
Do I miss the kiss that our lips fit perfectly together? Or do I miss that I just had someone to kiss?
Because when I ask myself what do I miss....
I miss the way you looked at me when you saw me in public, the way your eyes lit up and followed me until I looked into the cool greys and blues of you. I miss the way you wanted to protect me, love me and nurture my childish needs. For I have never been loved in a way and you have never loved me correctly.... I still remember the days you did love me... Those are what I miss. Your appreciation for me. I don't miss you. I miss love.