You are my string middle

 Your string middle

flexible spice you are

A sign of my summer

wakeful thrill and you excite my slumber

colorful dress and corona mask

mid spring wind kicks up the shy devil

a few degrees under cooling off the skin

Your string middle

Your string middle

allows you to sway and swing in the wind

never broken anymore

A piece of string you are sensuality

A piece of my routine

my life essence 

My day night and week cure

The bless and caress that makes the furry cat purr

She´s my string middle since I married her

Goodness offline?

 The surburban grassy enclosures of our cities

rich valleys we are put to pasture in

life is encouraging until the moment

they come for our heads

You are what you eat

is the feast of words one might force feed you

From the noble brassica

to the monocotyledon staple

Senses are dulled

apathy litters the track

toward the deafening crack

of the abbatoir

The cheap bubble like philosophy

of the procrastinating and lethargic victim mentality

forms the passport needed for slow complain worthy diseases

A fine blend of distractions to confound us from the essential

ankle deep in the digital gintrap

each little reaction a brick to build a lofty reality

with finger locked eternally to keys

Not a one lifted to apply goodness offline

real spoken truth

 the language of life is the only language

the thunderblast of truth

the lightening of illumination

kill the pretty barriers

of lovely graffiti

Have your lake and drink it

The family batch empty and ready to be filled

Food and drink stored in old wooden draws

The entrance has it´s old yellow paint and cracks

it´s flaws and lacks

It´s a hideaway with a map toward the tropical pines

Each family tree gave branches and trunks to build the house

That lake is out of reach

but riches and leisure lie there

People moving in as we settled

typical migrants walking through the grass

toward their new house

we´d like to see ourselves as different

As we crowd makeshift tables

put up family portraits and welcome second cousins

none of their ambitions found the address

maps got burned and exit ramps were taken

We came about the lake by chance

Isn´t that the route to happiness

Just a city in Asia

 The illuminated character hangs off the wall
As the clientele woff down noodles
Thousands of schemes intertwined
and spill over the chin of the empire

Merciless eyes of the new woman
The east became her kitchen
long thin lines that were once borders
consumed by modern hungry hoards

Along side the salty waters
coveted soup bowl

The elevated Paulistano celebrant

 Huge block shaped mansions line the wide lingering avenues

The capricornian dusk cloud´s rose and orange impositions

The city of São Paulo under the five thirty sun

the eternal sunset, a world pre-festive

Torrential rain like the old t.v channel less reception

as a testament to the popular funeral, sadness as entertainment

Ostensibly expressing compassion and import

To adorn one´s charater with virtous decoration

From the darker shadows of the side entrance

Out to the neglected stony carpark

The blotchy grey sky threw itself on us

as we searched for the egotistical celebrants at the wake

As usual it was a case of false address
as it was of virtue
as it was of sentiment
As it was in their fickle understanding of privilege

Livestock and the shrine

 The camp was badly set up

Iceboxes froze the tents

criminals infiltrated

famine for adventure

The lake nearby would expand and contract

season after season

the camp was a stone´s throw

a margin´s rough scrub grow

Local farmers lost their cattle

which were grazing along the sides 

ankles in the water

scanning for a new blade

of grass

to slit their throat with

The exhibit of the artist

had become a strange magnetic shrine

carved into the rock of an empty well

where neither time nor gravity seemed to obey

and the words and shapes confused generations, stigmas and preconceived norms

Like the lake it seemed to have little tides

breaking people´s honed ability to compare

throwing them out of their queues

extracting their putrid fomo

And immunizing them against popular declines

A box called heaven

 The warehouse womb

The cultivation of celebration

new wings and older spider webbed halls

The reconstructed scenes of great wars

The intoxication of the popular

Their rambunctious ramblings repeated

Like a code to curry approval into the groups

Each group obsessed with their own likening

The warehouse existance

space for ufo´s and simulated wars

abandoned sports and parked up road trains

Out of every room, every activity

each person will simply practice what they have already professed in

utter machine like relics motioning inside the gloom

forever after

Into her seventies

 

How did you go from 50 to 20
from baby boom to skype and zoom
From the empty gorge to the valley of plenty

From the bore of mortgage to David st money tree

Anne is favor and Grace well into the 21st century
In terms of life it might be more toward afternoon tea

But since your clever entrance it´s always been about the glee

that is gleaned and hewn from mining for enlightenment and it´s metalliferous heap

never quite in reach for any of us and foils our formulas tragically
yet gravitates when you accept the moments you chose to live majestically

Favor and grace in old greek and hebrew connect
carry them both into a "renewed you" intact

also take the angelic number and these springtime lawns
and grow until the sky recognizes and proffers another inspired dawn

The purpose of complexity

 The complexities of the Delphic
what crucialities get left out of check
quests that would make goose chases
seem like meaningful endeavors

As the mind loses to the heart throne
perception submits to hormones
desire drives the self toward and hones
the paradoxical divinity within

The few unlike the many, savor
prohibited varieties of flavors
The simple tongue repels and fails
Abstract flavors the common lug is curtailed by

Complicated want creates the gauntlet
Involuted enough to flaunt it
and extract some comic satisfaction 
from the reaction of the stationary people

Stationary people convention´s delicate bees
glued to society´s drab portrait
complaining of the irrelevant
submitting votes empassioned by collectivism

People layed as bricks, brainless teeth
cemented to their habitations and beliefs
simple in their basic pleasure seeking brain
Mere road cones to the intricate lusts of the arcane