The Solemn Reality

 It is hard to describe accurately the solemn reality that makes me fill up like a hot hydrogen baloon in a second or two, my eye ducts want salt water and pinging rain sinus tickles, my fingertips get static electromagnetic air particles and waves,

doing a death, feeling safe and growing healthy like lemurs on islands one hundred thousand years ago, from today,

in a house on whatever ~'texas' has become

burning dead calories, restaurants, sticky stink hell in your minds

old schools, real life eating the soul marrow in hard cold new schools

waiting the pain.

Too smeared, illegible, puzzled in the foggy clouds behind blue and a billion stars, farther than light and prefrontal sight, inside of the idiom of night.

Now

Just simple, helpful, hopeful people,

a video film documentary short =

my Whole Life -

dearest God,

Why am i still free to forget and build some tired home within the dream of tomorrow?

The End

And

Cbs This Tuesday Morn - More than a Few Overblown, Overlooked, Blown Off

oh a perfect pile of some one's face

oh the perfect never of no One's grace.

the noon baked in the alabaster sun;

a white boy too-owned the bastard's gun.

Italy, France and United States -

wherever feeds stuffed sewer grates.

Black sails under Our electric moons

sweet Death burns golden girl saloons.

The End

Save-Love be known to you.

Bus Drivers Driving Buses

Pete Sampras getting coffee in Central Florida,

9:10 a.m. February 19th, 2,000 a.d.

Happiness as an inch worm on a dingy window of a governmental administrative building

You should watch the television show Rectify. 

Essex Farm, New York, the Kimballs

You're good.

You're good at this.