The tides of time pulled us in opposite directions.
You left this small town and the trauma that it held-
confined by the mountains on both sides
dismal skies, narrow minds.

I stayed at home and anchored my roots  
deep down in the Virginia clay.

With smell of the feed mill hanging in the air
you came to say goodbye,
My head was on backwards then
I didn't really see you leave.

You were on your way-
Wide open spaces,
A different perspective.

In our poet’s hearts we could communicate-
high vibrations, unexplained.
A friendship thriving without any nourishment.

Now that you have returned to where I am planted,
it's as if two decades haven't elapsed.

I am filled with gratitude
to hear the ringing of your laughter again.

Breathing easy, without a care, con-
science filling emptiness in me, auto-pilot,
in and out of wonder why and how.
Bard arrogance, pretending,
it all may be, let us see.

The rule is beauty is truth,
- a temptation,
- a eh, a canadian dare,
- prove all things out and about as
- this being that in a preceptous sense.
according to a cultural rule, we use,
truth is beauty,
and that is plenty to know,
not useful, but plenty
well known…
emplanted in my psyche plot
when I was less than fully functional.

No sweat. Em space, letters let us
see beauty in the symmeasury,
perfect curves and ratio.
Line after line, then
line upon line, then story
to story to now, from ever so long
long before thoughts were fit to spells,
common to all speakers of sacred songs.

Enter the grid of Em, between the lines.

Right,
it's out there
to be brought in
by the eye
of the being holding beauty
as a measure for a portion,
I am asking, as in prayer,
may I have more?
-------- there was an art in forming type

I may destroy it,
I am sorry to say so,
but you know, once we take,
giving seems worthless,
how can I give beauty back
that I took in from there,
see
right there?

Aldus, Theobaldo, is this a spirit
you pondered with, a musement bit
of ifery, in tune to older reasons
easier to use, as we learn
new means of making
knowledge reach beyond the grave,
and back to us in books,
set beautifully in emphatic type styled
perfectly, at the touch of a key

see, set as aesthetic-pleasant, as I wish
this is my magic letter forming
word
rush, through salt marsh, to briny deep

now I lay down my type, perfection of old
rural pens poking angled pits in drying clay,
here is proof of beauty sung,
measure worth of what I learned
in years of seasons spent in trial
resetting of the worth to cost ration,
coin of exchange, goods for service,
clearing rats from the Rathaus,
pressing poets into political
religatory bonds
at exorbitant interest paid in
occurrencys, specie, value
holding letters,
formed as words holding knows, ready
to know,
read and see, we learned to use the mind
reading signs in numbers, sames in shapes and
colors and sounds,
rhythms reoccurring some patterns form,
we agree, see
north, and east,
south, and west, after many seasons,
winters all become one winter,
summers become one summer,
harvest and planting all become one, over all
this is life,
We live we
learn, we leave the knowing showing,
I was here, and when I was
here, others were with me, we went on
according to the story with the center to
where all winds meet,
where all water flows up from into
this beauty
we be
holding as breaths, each as beautiful, or more
so than all that came before, and went.
-----------------

My grand daughter is a bright spot calling,
in passing, as would the shadow
of the jay harvesting the hillside out side
my window.
- I smile a treasure smile

Struck by Brynn Aulyn's fashion sense,
since holey jeans were forboten
in my gramma's haus.
- a lucidated old man am I -
- ever learning there is beauty
-----------------------
Hoping to form a gem of immense
value,
the old bard, stutters,
takes back a step,
looks you over, eye to eye, to make
the circuit, as we
know, left eye, right brain take the order
bend it to the shape
seeming something
you could see - and so it is, you see.

These unnumbered lines are indexed,
linked and crosslinked to all the info
ever, up to now, your time,
when electricity is still the tool to keep
things forming letters in your mental
word process, listening,
far in the future, faceward flow
of all we think to ask to know,
what lies can make a mirror,

¿ stop me in my tracks? Do I know?
Do you imagine, we may know?

Does your reality hide truth?
Why, I wondered too loud, why
I heard only being
caused by quests set to type, adventure

tragic remembrance warning
comic awareness insisting, sense is essential.

ESSE, HEY, capslock, s'cool type reading
we can learn
to think a thought a second time differ
ing in time, up a line, down a line
right to left to right, this is
a twist to things we do
inside, brainwise, neuro-resurgical, burp
of reco
gnosis, tricky gnosis para site graph point.
Stitch
in time. Torn jeans, signify nothing more
than NY Times Digest from yesterday.

--- and my Saturday continues on to yours, soon
enough, let's make peace, since sense is now science.

One time, in my life, at the middle school mark in time we called Junior High,
grade six
through eight,
the formative years, Televised Profusely,
since Our Miss Brooks, I think,
back to when I first pretended to know
the guy that became
John Rambo's boss.

Bite me in my own buts, but, but
I did
read First Blood, before, the movie
made the idea a cultural meme,
meaning one thing to men
of a certain, certified-archetype mold,
hot lead poured to military purpose,
in the imaginary battles boys can
set in array
on vast plains
of rag rugs, in front of hearth, in home
of grandpa, telling
of a friend
who must remember stories alone…

-hot lead type pouring from my gnosis
I I ai don't wish to say this… so
we make a mental meta

using toy soldiers cast in ready state
standing at attention, bayonets fixed.

What comes next, child, may you
never know.
So. that book closes.

Be assured, the sun always rises
through out morality.
Re, nach einmal, crows caw,
and race down the valley
laughing, beating the call from the roosters.
Re joyed be,
re joyed being, noise of life in morning,
caws of crows,
calling crows.
and tweets and peeps of tiny things,
wake us all to be once more
users of light made in life,
doing duties,
crowing and cawing and
stretching and yawning and such.

oh, what a day!
Mitwoche, aber mas, mucho mas,
este dia, este dia
Vvoden's tag aqui, we rejoice
and be glad as on any given Wednesday,

as though it were like any other fine day
to begin in,
in relation to light letting
letters let the sense
of life seem true, sure things, can't loose,
choose, this day,
miércoles,
realizes its possibility… being the basis,
the one event that must occur
as in the night,
the earth must turn,
doing the actual cycle of living
in quanta mediated reality, ones in order,
this day
digital squawking alarms, flashing
red-lights and green, signifying
oomph enough, trickle
charged to aid my being connected…

to the task at hand,
this is the given
Wednesday,
I choose to pay a whole day worth
of rapt attention… drawing on
power stored in darkness,
dripping into day, clepsydra wise.
Wiping sleepy from woken eyes, to see the old new.

During the downpour
At gloomy nightfall
In a misty morn
At the silvery and solitary noon
Beneath a star-spangled sky
When my heart is peaceful
or sorrowful
Then
the poems embrace
my contemplation

Theme - Inner Peace

Getting nauseous of feelings
have dilemma about concealing, presence hypothetically that's my paranoia
or just changing of myocardia
-js

I feel like I want to write something new
but I can't write anything
that's not about you

no i am not kind, i will pull your heart out of your chest — stain it with fleeting moments of softness before running it over with my train-wreck hands. i will pick you wild roses — they all die in my palms; maybe so will this love. i will kiss you and hold you, as we slow-dance our way to disaster; all we can do is sigh and crumble like greek ruins dying in a modern city. is it so bad, then, loving you with the kind of love that breaks and terrifies, and leaves you hurting and burning and wanting more? is this so bad, then, when it's the only way i've ever loved, and the only way i've ever known?

its morphing
to form your inner ideals and feelings

projected at
and reflected back at you

from the field of infinite intelligence

in coherence to your body hum

things are made

to be

in the space of your own mind