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Destiny is a
smiling *******
riding a motorcycle
through the
neighborhood, laughing
at children playing in
yards, eaten by worms and
time.
Pink
green
white
Keliedescope confusion on all
the cat's faces.
Providence is a stealthy hunter.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEeNcBC_mnM
Here is a link to my you tube channel with a brand new poetry reading from my upcoming books, Sleep Always Calls and Aluminum Cowboys Poems and Short Stories.

www.thomaswcase.com
Those silver cans of
government meat, set
on the table with a red
and white checkered
tablecloth.
An old yellow light hung
on a chain illuminating
the can of meat.
It tasted like flavorless
gum.
It seemed like a mish-mash
of byproducts that no one
else wanted.
Mom always tried to make
a casserole out of it, but no
amount of pasta or sauce
would fix that roadkill.

Mom hid the cans in the
trash.  Tried to bury it
beneath empty packages
of mushrooms and onion
skins.
I'd dig lightly, and there it
was.
That silver government can.
Shadows for dinner.

A silhouetted pig, cow, or
chicken, made a cameo
on the can.
They reminded me of those
horrid souvenirs from
Disneyland that hung
above the antique *****.
As a boy, I'd look up to see
one of my brothers or sisters
likeness splayed out on the
wall in a creepy silhouette of
horror.
Deathlike, dark, and final.

It was like they caught the animal
at the
last stand.
Death and then eaten.
I know that's why I'm
here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEeNcBC_mnM
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I just put up a new poetry reading.  I read from my new books to be published in May and June.  Sleep Always Calls and Aluminum Cowboys Poems and Short Stories.  They will be available on Amazon.com

www.thomaswcase.com
Let me try to make sense of the effectual fervency requirement.

Availing much, eh, what is avail, to me, valient effort expense, perhaps.
Available. Too much, eh.
A valorous effort, charging a kind of
weform mindform spirit shape we
attending with half a brain, to A.
Huxley, speaking from 1960 or so,
What a piece of work man is.

Very large numbers is subject
to average approximation
means, all means
in rational balance and spinning energy
allocations, as means
to attract idle words, non compete,

old karma dharma levels too deep
to imagine twice the same.

Fortune tellers or insurance companies,
confidence business
Framing referents,
insuring we get the point, as readers
Force fed referential self evidence
from a printed grapho
hos grapho grapho grafitti, evidence
from Kilroy, the idea/

EASTER. {Passover} Prelude
to Maydays, Kings are dead, long
live the king, the thing, the idea, eh, boss
of me,
in me, he, is risen.

He is risen, indeed, the enchantment,
seen as we assume a shape,
some spider's abandoned kite,
we ride as a lash mite may, animated,

we, as not me, nor thee, but we,
working wonder
for a living, offering confident upright reasons,
for the prelogos nous level conscience, knowns
at the liver level,
knowns
at rhenaladrenal level, gut conscience, upright, I, inside,
rationally balanced dancing levels,
we, as not us, but what we form,
whenever, we become a mind
of our own, a mobmind, Zeitgeist, any two or more,
wonders what ifed into 2025 access to information interesting

enough,
to leave room
for rest,
in proof, pure
peace, enough,
to ponder liquid metaphoric
reflective contemplative gearing is called for, mechanically,
-moments ABSing preventative slow
to bring seconds worth of concentration,
to the scale, fluxuation vibratory humming,
in balance, my rationed willpower used to make believe,
I am chosing words at random, in a familiar way, being

as one may literally be, in a book like environment, seeing
as one can imagine, being a grapho, a decree, be me, see

what a creature
on the order
of a reader familiar
with Huxley,
at Ape and Essence, experience a reader ties
to carp… old fish,

wisht once toomany times, solo hook, life sunk,
back
to the shack
by the see full
of good things
to eat,
beside a trickling stream seeping
from high
on the granite wall,    

Remember, hours
of silence,
with these inner humms, Acutron
steady, even when the big guns go….
how biguns do, Acutron
steady hummin', human interest, …
how I hapt'gno, Acutron

hmmm, steady, effectual fervent waiting
to know, you know
what time it was,
in big picture 20th century mindhats known
worn, bhering evidence
to the wearer's status and caste known,
witness the projected value associated, eh, what I say

as sociated we think, ah
as such, breathe, we think, while others read, ambiguous tense,
as so situated, we think, we have being as readers ready logically,

for whatever we find fits our plainest version of our version
of the overall results of Easter, or, more importantly, today,

Christmas, the message, McLuhan, most know something
of his presentation
of his perceptions from Canadian Academian POV verily,
verily postpone --- time hold, a thought,

thinking, first time, breathe, and think what thought feels like.

Let this mind be in you, listen to yourself retell the reason, the use for,
the faith ration each ready reader has availed one's own self's access to,

letters, pen slow, brush slow, rude reed grapho in the beach, washt away,

though your sins, as you define what has beguilted thee and thine idea, I am
and curcumin -pops in- an adlib AI word, beguilingly the one this idea is, I am.

At that point, in a real weform, we sigh, as is, we all sigh, but some think sigh.
Exhale, I think, that was kinda fun.
Without poetry, we'd all
be chained to fences of time.
locked in,
torn apart,
played with by the
cosmic dance.

Don't get me wrong,
the poems can't
cure cancer, or heal the
lame dog's leg.
But, they might give
the ****** hope, and the
hobos a home.

Poetry tricks the mind
into seeing things,
like woolfhounds with
bagpipes playing an
Irish jig, far away from
the ferryman and his ride
across the river.

Without poetry, about now,
my skull
would be a home for beetles
and worms, turning
ever so slowly into
dust.
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8k5NY8ZMx3I
The nakedness of spring
We were raw and ******
What the winter had drawn from us
Went into hibernation

Turning the soil was fresh
It placed us back into
The lineage of mother farmer
Of both love and dying
The scent of being human

I always dreamed that she had dark hair
And brown eyes
Her dress would be of summer
Standing at the end of the field
Free of undergarments
And bleeding into the earth

We would lunch on grass salad
I would crave her lips with every bite
But dreams are blind
 Apr 18 From the ashes
nivek
sweet finesse from heart fully realised
journey undertook and accomplished

to have reached another beginning
the jump off to eternity

happiness found in peacefulness
sunworshiping yellow tulips and daffodils

Spring come again slaking thirst
blue sky blue sea, the cries of seagulls.
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