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This is the caste to which I belong.

A Twinkle of Your No’s

Due you have
Time
To go to the plays
Where time doesn’t exist
Soully for a stretch
Fore what is just
A twinkle of your no’s
Won of the most magical of spells

You don’t have to crash to slow down. Then, again, sometimes you do.

Catching Up

I struck down
The hi ways and bye ways of life
Seeking the finer things
In an out-and-out quest
Willing to pay my weigh
Long that thorough fare
As square living
Just round
The corner
Looking forward too
Any brand of rush
And as I head down
That fast lane
In over drive
I crashed
In too sum thing
I couldn’t see
I found myself
Flat tired
Still
In cryptic silence
Having
Under
Gone
Awe that dear
Departed
In a singular sense
Experiencing
An udder route
Speechless
Taken back
As mum calling me
Slow down
Enough
For God too
Catch up

Formula Won Razing

They had
It all
Figured out
Plugged
In
What
They car a bout
And hows
The manor
They in habit
And whys
A voiding
Whatever
Uncomfortable
Accept for mine
Racing

We’ve borrowed from the future. I won’t be surprised if the future borrows from us. The future has a name: Bill.

Poor Tending

Show enough
Awe
That
The future wood be
They saw
Poor tending
A poverty
A cross
The land
And it’s people
Any weigh
You cut it

The Passed

How due you
Sail the see
You can knot
Change the past
Just the same
You can change
The weigh
You look at it

This poem is a reflection on the rich ruling and fooling the masses, while Christians routinely buy into the American nightmare of consumption as success, happiness and security. Mean wile, we are crucifying Mother Earth and abandoning our siblings of God to wolves.

Collusion Assurance

The moneyed
Assure their plot
In the anals of history
As long ass they reign
Their fans hitting
With wide I pupils
And idol acolytes
As collude and delude
With the elect fewed
The well heeled
The will of deep pockets
Crucify
In whatever
Manor
Suits
The daze
Awe the wile
Christians where
There crucifixes
Around their necks
Like millstones
Stumbling into the buy and buy
As altar natives wrestless
Better off
Flung
Into the see
Then reckon the whirled

I have disabused myself of the lazy notion that things have to get worse before they can get better. There are better and worse choices in every situation. We can always choose better. There is no low in which we can’t go lower; and there is no high in which we can’t go higher…

High and Lo

There is no bottom
Too low
As the world is fucked
There is no pinnacle
Too soaring
As humanity teems with love
There are know boarders
In the dominion of hubris
Steeling our hearts
There are no fences
In the hows of the spirit
Given to awe

The oneness of reality is a gift, presence, that cannot be bought, only given, a way…

That Witch is Wholly

He clumsily axed
What
I
Don’t
Halve
A soul
That witch is wholly
And can knot be bought
Only souled

For allegedly not existing, God is quiet powerful…

Meting Expectations

I could scarcely take it in
Where God met
And exceeded
My expectations
Which was awe
The more true
If God didn’t exist

I aspire to be a juggernaut of whimsy…

Flimsy Whimsy

His whimsy
Wins shot threw
With wholes
As bowling over
An incalculable number of angles
Dancing on a pinhead
And broke in
The mine
Of the presser
Like a reed
That can’t be
Put down
Buy throwing the book at him
Flaying spines
And judging more
Bye cover
Than soles fleeing
And legends untolled
As what is
Amiss understanding
Frayed in a sense
Of what weave got
In order
Too win
A basket case
Going know where

In recent years I have realized that literally anything can be gaslighted. This seems to be related to our huge capacity to rationalize, particularly when anything happens to get in the way of something we want. This poem is a meditation of this particularly lazy form of aggression.

Scene Buy Gaslight

It was
Soully then
Eye real I’s
It was passable
Too gaslight everything
And any won
Too get
What I want
A knot too tall order
Short circuiting
My hire self
And tripping
Awe that is
Looking up
Just complaining
Looking down
Up on
Low and be-holed
Be little me
That scene
Buy gaslight

Just One

My soul possession is
What God gives me
There is just
Won thing you can
Urn

Being able to simultaneously mourn and act urgently is the true multitasking of this age.

Time of Daze

There’s daze
When awe ready
Finding oneself
At high noon
Soully too realize
Never enough mourning
In the time of daze
High noon arrives
Any weighs

Playing it safe is tricky. So is trusting God or others…

A Safe Abet

Lored God
Awe might he
Most people want
A safe
Abet
A prison
No one
Can break into
And deliberately restricted heir