begin this life in a wordy
but wordly habit, daily,
father-gifted, though different,
in form and language selected,
‘tis the one and ‘tis the same

tally, a counting combination
of all that has been done, for both
better & worse, blessing/curse,
the key: revamp review reset
this day upcoming and welcome
all the major tasks, minor miracles,
that one can effect,  select, elect!
by choice, a freedom so great it
tenderly rips joy thoroughly into
and from my cells, and my body
is enlightened, uplifted in this,
now a preposition, a conjugation, a

state of composition,

for the tasks given, the granted,
those that must be taken, those most
difficult, when knowing their choice,
entails pain, untempered, and
requires establishing a two edged
position of composure…

this is a hard and an easy
new proposition I create,
hard for I write on a tiny
phone screen, in letters so
small. it keeps me humbled,
a reminder of having
lived a span well
beyond belief,
for one took\gave body a
careless comfort,
giving little
of the differring
kind of nutrition in order
to live life, well and purposed

hard too, for my body has wept,
a steady stream of silent tears.
unceasing as I scribe,
making vision difficult, the
insight salty but clear and the
words contained within them,
flood for easy laying-down

for this AM workout of counting,
lists up and down, so many items,
of differring nature, even now
noticing for the very fitting first time,
the subtle hint within
differring,
for it possesses a doubling
of the enormity, the division
of what has been already
accumulated and what yet,
needs accomplishing, the tally
needy for resolving looking past,
for seeing with yet more tears
fast-as-you-can-forward

the tally never ends, paused only
for a quick question/happy deletion
of, and a resolute immediate, moving on:

Where do I stand,
what is my position?

keep on keeping on,
tallying has no finale,
no sunning/summing up,
for another day
will yet follow,
for you, and
your own
tallying must
goes on, on
and
not even,
nor even,
odd,
when mine,
mine no long,
and the
and yets,
no longer
commence

for E. M. A.

<•>

a conglomeration, a pastiche,
two  Italian words affixed,
without hyphen, space, signaling
unity, a merger of a perfect sensory
morsel,

every language unicorn unique with
overlapping skin cells, entangling roots,
so do not be surprised when you,
who speaks not Italian, yet the brain
reverses the words in your eyesight
and is instantaneously understood

I love this letteral literal littoral
literacy
connective tissue that is a humans binding, and oneof my greatest lessenings, is that never
achieved real fluency in my cousined
romance languages, though oft inserted
in my scribbled poesy, for the emphasis
of satisfaction when saying
certain words in a related language carries
a style, a tune, that elevates its conceptually


so friend, multi lingual,
aware of my affection for
mixing, mining words of
multiplicity, makes, creates
a new word just for me:

which deserves a plain old perfect
WOW!
poetfriend
friendpoet
will never sound
as rich, inherently
musical, poetic
as saying:

Amicopoeta