A calm excitement every time I see her name, or find myself just near her, or just see her picture smiling back at me. The one in bed under the covers. Her eyes smiling nearly as wide as her grin. I sink into those beautiful brown eyes. Deep Caring Skilled in many arts. Wisdom beyond her years.
But what really gets me is her open heart The way she loves me. I go to speak, and only verse and songs spill out. My mouth waters, my eyes water, I need water And as I turn to face her She’s there
Drip Drip Drip
Like the first ocean. The first rains My thirst dissipates But her lightning catches me
Unprepared, Her electric touch shocks my system My being surges My life comes rushing back!
Was I dead
Color floods my vision Red, warm red light Orange, my heart glows orange
My heart explodes And she scoops me up into her arms Here I stay Here I find everything I didn’t know was missing
Here I find A completeness Wholesome Again
It takes at least two to feel Oneness I reason
Then I laugh
Then The love returns
I melt into a small puddle and then once again, She collects IT all For some wise new Magic of an Old forgotten Spell
From which sphere then does such a loverly being descend? What ancient earthen land would create such a woman of talent and beauty? How did you escape? Surely that which created you must also be over flowing with beauty and skill.
What does a land do now in your absence? Does it rejoice in its lonely abode? Does it thrill in your pilgrimage west, or sulk in the beauty now subtracted from its whole?
The mother and father of such greatness must surely be proud, having divined the only name suitable for such a child.
Angela Angela Angela.
Name of she who left the wing-ed ones in their clouds of light. Is she the cause of heaven’s war? Is she the reason heaven spilt?
Was it she in the garden that night, who bit the apple and set man free? How is it that I find myself engaged with such a marvelous being as thee?
Perhaps I slumber, still in my bed? Is it all just a dream inside my head? And what will be should I awake? Will I find the world false and fake?
And should I wish to sleep instead, which drugs could keep me here? In her arms, held close and near? The Elixir of love have I found in she? Or is it she that dreams of me?
When she awakens will I still be? Am I the apple? Will her bite free me? Or will I find that love is her art. Cellulose & graphite, I just a part?
I slumber still wishing not to wake, For love is just & only what you make. My mind a light. My fingers a-twirl. This little one an entire world.
Words flooding out as I lie here in bed, My flask boils like my heart and my head. Ahhh these feelings now reacted, refluxed, then extracted.
All done with care. For the beauty of her, is both terrible and fair.
Drop Drop Drop “Another?” She asks.
As I look in her eyes and drop drop from my flask.
Each drop drops a whisper. Each drop drops in her ear. Each drop drop drop is my love,
The first appears as she looks up over her glasses at me. Crick
Walls erected for protection begin to lose their footing. Creek Crack Creach
A small bit of forgotten joy oozing out of a hairline fracture causes the dense shell to split, Sccreeek Craaact
First I See. Sight. Then sounds Stone walls starting to Crumble. Walls. Who commissioned them all? The walls use? All forgotten. Crash
With a silent snap more stones tumble revealing a hidden heart. Strong but fragile. Bang Thud Slam
HITTING the ground near where I lay. Just us…then… Then the bright-liquid red-life, pouring out I become I, say a vow, in an Inn, somehow.
Here. I still lie. Lying still. An old foundation? Ruins of an old wall? Covered in dust, & blood? I look up then, only 2C-Her looking down at me,
My heart pounds, un-vision as an unborne unsees There is a brilliant orange light that blinds now me Drop
I feel it on my face now; warm. gentle. soothing Its now THE FIRST DAY, the first light, but first… Drop
I must shake the dusty blood from my body. This rust, no its dust and is it? Familiar? Yes. Why? trouble remembering how I came to be. A small memory flashes back. A seen Scene. I’ve Seen IT saw her
I see her see me IT Sees Not I I A wall. A crack, …and then….ahhhh then again.
Warm and red Pours liquid into me. Eyes opened-closing airways
The orange light momentarily overtaking my vision. Then I look to my right and then I see her. RED & light The brightness blinding, the source is good I write her.
The liquid’s redness coalesces. A beautiful face reappears. I smile as…
I see her smile and its much much too large on her…. no face, just a heart & a grin .
She’s sewn me back up. For what was this wall needed then, strains my memory to comprehend. And the light? A Valkyrie? Sent down to some warrior slain? I’ve seen no battles. No wars of pain. No hordes were fought No banners flown.
Perhaps then an Angel sent down from Clouds on Nine? But how? I do still breathe. Please I beg…WHAT??? I think NOT that death has reached me yet.
I hear the squeak of rats. I see a long iridescent snake begin winding its-elf up a tree.
The large strong tree trunk is familiar. It has planted strong roots. Reaching deeper. It has a soft bark, small folds… no, its wrinkles!
Then I becomes I. It’s skin, blood, branch. Roots; then before I, is thy my Angel Must I prepare to rise too? Skyward? Home? but she means to set me back down. Gently.
Down from protective Trees In high grass with the bees Down into unknowns seas
Water washing stone at my feets, now..
I am alone I am no we
Again
Am I ?
Plants rustling nearby as I write a note a pleasant fragrance on the breeze.
Alive again? Alone, not I.
Yes.
The walls no longer needed, I lay down my spear and shield And she twines around me.
Gasp
A rush of air fills my lungs. This is Life. Yes. I feel it rushing back
And she continues to wrap her arms around me.
Then I no longer feel it.
Apoptosis? No.
Mitosis? Not this.
Then she is painted on my body. Then I on hers. We look into each others eyes And we continue bleeding into one another.
Then she whispers, “Walls are for prisons my dear.” The final verse of her spell
I awake here in my bed, in my newly formed body. I turn to find nothing, or is it everything?… there is? All of creation somehow here in her, or is it in me?
I no longer can feel a difference .
Strange stones lay scattered beside me. I do that which seems natural and build a small temple to her. A suitable place in which I give thanks. Not made of stone, for stone is cold. Nor on that ancient plain where they might fall crumbling in ruins.
I build the small temple in my heart. Its Eternal. Filled with blood and red light, Not infernal.
Warm fragrances issue forth,
A beacon. A Call to worship
I answer with a call as I reach out to her. Amino Angeliquor Angelamine Age of ALL
#1)- ALWAYS trust one’s El Even, your intuition. In every and in all circumstances, & åt any and all times. Even when it’s Odd.
but,
#2)-ONLY after a completely exhaustive, triple-figure, 3rd-party, fact-check. Every Single Time. EVERYTIME (readagain).
and,
#3)-NEVER-ever, under no circumstances, Nowhere, nohow should one give in to temptation and begin turning Rules #1)- thru #3)- into a monsterous Mono-Rule #1)–
ONLY and ALWAYS & in ALL circumstances, usin’ Scotch’Tape’r-Glu simply push tab A, on Rule #1)- into slot B, on Rule #2)-
St. Curly of August, was neet. She read abominable poems, sent half way from Crete,
Poems pulled from fingers, or wordspun from hands. alphabetical flight, aerolinguistese standing half-silent on talons of their little clawed feet.
Feats Much Too Small for Their Giant Purple Hearts
Regardless she’s great.
Just the other day she said, “….we’ll be there if we can!” …and I thought, what a great reminder!
Then I quickly wrote down these words;
“Embrace the flexible path. Commit to Uncommitment”
At least to those oufs who’ve made oaths to Ghosts Or, for that matter, for access to the Unrigid & Creative. You seek? The UC You see? UC
UC you see is quite different From its cousin, non-commitment. NC, its only slightly better than NA! & if you find your self seeking out NA You’re probably right in the Shite.
Nobody Appreciates NA. Well, unless you come to need it one day until you need it, it’s not even there, okay Nobody Appreciates NA. NANA
Oh Yeah, NANA? Yaw, NANA Yo naw, no! Gnaw you Gnome Grown Grewn Gnewn Knome Knew Know Now O w L w L
~Boo Hoo the Bravest Hoo~
Boo Hoo had small feet too Just like the poem above, and just like you. and he was the BIG Chief, Head BOO
The Cheif ruled all BOO’s that’d ever Boo-Hoo’d, (even the laughers? Who-Knew) Top of most magazine’s lists of who’s who (At least ones covering the BOO)
I wrote a special announcement to Curly. In a poem about MagicK for the small feeted. Yes, that’s MagicK which ends with a K. It works up your nose when you read it.
Read it the same way as you’re reading today Remember this rite-n magicK, and read it I say. That one kind N-kid with a K at the end. It ends with a K. No wait, K ends it. Nevermind. Notta MIND. NANA
K is not needed for magic, in a fight,…say K vs. K It ends in a draw. Not very exciting, worse than the mall.
L is quite useless as a number you see. All adds up with just letters n words… …and well the letters L & A from here in the Bay It’s not even a competition. It just ends that K.
It starts, errr ends with a K It’s very difficult to determine. But the K is at the end I assure you.
That is, it’s spelled that way. Can’t do much magicK without spells. I say we take this weirdo, K. Sit him down in the chair…. and stick one of these spoons Right in his own K-hole!
(Not those tiny ones Neither)
Standing with you! Maybe we can fork something into happening.
There’s Shite everywhere. Shite! It’s starting to look human. Stay close. No one goes alone Use the buddy system
rise! Rise! RIse! RISe! RISE!
Rise up from the “Chair”
Again & again Over & Over RISE UP FROM YOUR CHIAR Look We Care So, it’s only fair! Rise from the chair The nightmare chair Is no longer there
So you’ll have to
RISE RISE RISE
Come on, Push On! It’s nice out here We’ve all changed our hair! Well, us balded folk have other new flair Anyway, we’re just dying to share.
So Rise.
RISE UP
RISE UP FROM
THE CHAIR
The trick is THERE IS NO CHAIR (anyway it worked for that bald kid in that movie)
You probably wouldn’t ever Even think to sit on a spoon. You might have saved yourself At least some of this trouble Had you only went with spoons Over chairs.
On second thought
You’re not the first friend With this $11K problem oK Kathy was one too Kathy with a K, Keta-Kathy I’d say
And Keta had spoons upon spoons Small tiny spoons. Spoons in all rooms In the morning I’d sweep up, Go grab the broom, at the end the dustpan, nearly 70% spoons Taking all day, or at least until noon!
Dusty spoons for sure. But spoons are spoons Just like chairs are chairs Now spoons can be chairs And chairs can be spoons
But in the end theres not a threat Except when ascending the steps And again when there, no one who cares.
When one no longer cares if its all spoons and no chairs With nowhere to sit & just spoons with it
So we’ll just leave an offering of love and respect as we push A tiny spoon in the big spoked wheel chair
Just a few Hi-Fi, low-lifes, Gettin’ high & askin’, “Why?” Down in the uptown trenches Its just double-gendered Mensches Ain’t no child prodigies here, just A bit of BETTER in our beer
How to use the novel psychotogen SOP-25 at d’OttersFamily Reunions
or How to Get High on the Down Lowe’s: A Study in Follow Through-ups & Downs
Abstract: When attending 25th anniversary open casket family reunions, the questions layered meaning often arises as Ads when reading the commonly used reunion announcement phrasing; “¿?Y?¿B.Y.O.P.H.P”
Question #1
“Why on earth ask all guest to bring their own pot-head pixies?“ sometimes phrased as, “Bhongwhynn Doe does Eris, Yes?”
However, given that the newest Elder Eros/Phanispahntus was well,…a well-known Arch HeadspliTzar, and all-round a real Nickhead who tended to near-always surf rounds with histrionic Xerx, what on earth does one do regarding the what to doo-doo about it? Or what does two dew?, even three again do with oat tits!?
(Should you find yourself suffering this particular type of event, a simple 4-DAT dose of Exederine may in fact, be the right and most efficacious medicine-O)
Yearly, O-Bacchus lead a ruckus here.
Oh ye! Yeah Him! All ways ale in his Opium!
Wars did the old poor emperor of CANTON get
Kowtow neigh, no one ever towed a cow anyhow.
Wasp d’Horus tricked & s(l)ighted-ed?
Say again. Begin again.
For official use only
“Same”
“Same”
“Different”
Regardless,
AR-15’s armed with fully automimetic Candied cops, and ho(wor)mie-less Jersey bands with governor lead singers!
Using hand-me-down ARMY-issued 4×4, 2-wheeler syndrome-chairs and
parked near the Southern wall, working with but not for BORDER Patrol in Flat-bed Fnords!,
Honestly, this is hardly that what they says it was, and not exactly the best crop
to plant on the coast with plans of Petrolian the Para-meters.
All were solid hits in their day for shore, are now, and definitely will be one day soon,
or so they say.
Seriously?, A three-million dolla “Sasha” bar of billboard gold, is that expansive?
I lack a reference to know. Yeah right, whatever you say. But, hey! hey hey! Can you Relate?
The object discovered in the Sea d’Sciepsi is the biggest reason for all their Secrecy. Their ace in $-hole. Das Hóœlę’Middilwieze positronic e-Mission is most likely being smelled by several of their senile centuries.
Question #2
Sow witch wish which was it what washed the doughy-dugout, do dat hazmat and do duz wang worry what got doing dung the maid-Rite?
Was the Ode d’Tree of the Apple 10 MAX=squish squared THEE?
Does Will M’s last n-car go!
TRi methyl-J?,
Meah es-squiz IT-290.Eh?
Attainment of Low Lasting, Jar-Jar Cobra meats & K-Rats in alpha-Nicotiana’s hayfeed!
Sobe, a sailor if Ott indeed be of Ye, then try 2-CB N-Moorniyyn’ with the wines n-XS,
or alternatively;
Extend ebrush to old al-LUCEM?
And so, in light of all-Elohem previously related above & presently in the absence of any evidence of hopes of Big Ex-collusions:
Most Stimply Slated;
I love you more than anything.
You gave a realistic genuine THX experience of New Hope to this I-Robot.
A 2-disc, impossibly old ‘77 sans St. Vin Sage & Rebel Leader edition taboo, taboot!
This is the most valuable GIFT to both give or as an AM receiver.
Here though, even ever be now & then,
I just can’t seem to organize or execute the expression of my apologizes.
NorCal I manage even the odd evil one that’s both long enough, with the proper words and in true-enough,real-world timing.
Why?
I’m not quite sure why.
In fact I’ve been wandering round this square wondering why. Oh “Y”, just as exactly at that moment this girl strolled by after buying then immediately blasting Merl’s most perfect compostable compositional, “Wondering Why”.
Further Moors & Pain-ish lands will not be tolerated as gods nose we knows his groans.
RE: Guarding the mess
Hall & Oats it IS bit still needs less and less
IT breaks through the noise boyz fanned and framed as IS still very much true, that just as more than everything Elsa, Blue is still the bluesiest news to knows. And feathers she knows it or not
It begins as a certain coherence makes a rather sudden appearance from outta d’Crowd Chaotiqué.
Then a powerful gestalt as the entire ant’s-nest of attendee’s awareness synchronizes, simultaneously swiveling to a singular spot.
From the irregular jiggling sphere of the people’s purview, a point protrudes. Snap-popping in shape, as it sublimates from sphere to cone.
All eyes on one spot. All minds tuned & entrained.
In front of the raised stage appear two souls; the center of the cones focused gaze.
The crowd moves in. Then circles up. This is it.
The lights above. Now all tuned on. Feelings of joyous anticipation abound. Imminence of the intimate is infectious.
The ball is perched in place. At the peak of its potential, the final flood of fluorescent lamps and luminous purple phosphorus, confirms its kinetic intent.
The music starts; the ball’s descent begins.
The song’s end will mark the transition.
The ball (mirroring the crowd) drops forever, of course.
And another bicycle day comes to an end.
Lajolla!
EXTENSIONS & COMMENTARY
A short impressionist piece comparing Lajolla’s performance of “The Epic of Albert Hofmann” during the penultimate moments of the 2025 SFBDP, to the Ball Drop on NYE. This antepoem was composed 4/20-4/22 following the 12th Annual Bicycle Day Parade in San Francisco’s gorgeous Golden Gate Park.
