what lives on when strength is the last tale of endurance

a readiness to laugh
in the midst of judgement and
false perception of others
a hidden condemnation
or desperation for leadership
a selection of the easy way
oh yes
so much easier to formulate
under an umbrella of vengeance

but to enter?
would require a lack of faith
a meddling for power; the necessary
and unfulfilled element
a formulation of distinction
between thee and me

never understanding the understanding
“all are queer but thee and me
and even thee is a little queer at times”
the lesson is that judgement cannot be given
for in that forms a perfected view of self
and a bolstering that will dissolve
on day of death
in facing the unknown

would need to have a belief in manipulation
and no doubt in the perception
of so called right ways
but that perception blocks
other ways
condemns differences for difference only
and keeps fear as the element
of life-soup

the medium in which to float
to attempt stasis
that no comprehension
is sought, rather condemnation
is loved
and worshipped
and a formula for lifting the self

for isn’t the primary goal of
condemnation of others
the perceived structure of the self
as hero
as the keeper of gates and keys
the elevated nature of flourished reaction
according to a necessity

so the affront so strong
forget to observe what could possibly
bring that old teaching to the fore

what type, to determine a world of this exists
not to believe it
but to place that belief onto others
trusting others
it is a desperation
but I fail to enter that mind
would have to believe in

correct actions
would have to think of a weak god
that knows nothing of cause
and effect
nothing of protracted outcome

I cannot unknow enough to enter that mind
it is angry, surely
missing a degree of comprehension
for the greater good
and shooting low

there is no shooting for the stars
the aim is low
the black and white of wrong
and self-right
a foundation
over the perception of
many dreams

the clever just beyond the surface
of the eyes
that see all as competition
all as a control
and mechanisms
thought to be hidden
or seeing traps thought to be

where the belief is in the seen
belief is in the self-level of
where noting is not difficult
it takes only one path
one wrong lead
to pull
create a direction

it was the joy
on her face
that I observed rocking in her soul
the joy I observed as she observed
the sorrows of others
the smug
the nature of that mean many things
many amounts of lost
the gleam of a clever trap, closing

the smile of the jailer
outside the bars

the failure of a mind to understand it’s own limits
and how she herself, has been played
a failure to see that which designed her own

so I consider that
sadism the more interesting enemy

those with secrets, always assume
others have more secrets
and don’t see how unnecessary
they are

so not perceive their configuration
as the peaceful must watch
the pain
the sorrows wrapping and twisting
her clever design like wire…

many have sought to nullify my voice
how to explain that hers is but one more?
with a few new tricks from the eastern colleges
and no one explained
that those tricks were in our book, too
pages of frustration
but easy to rate the tells

to quantify the influence
to mark the objective

at one point in any life
the decision becomes to become
or not

(I decided that day at Lutheran camp
after teased once more
for being fat, for not being
like them…I went into a glen,
and formed a cross of sticks and pine cones
and pledge my soul to agood I did not see
but knew existed in possibilities
of longer paths…I determined to not take their meanness
and make it my own)

hers is a not
and the nots are focused on defense
but also ignore the defense
of those they lead
into purgatory

fascinating how so often
sadism is the mirror of masochism
(how much sorrow to give
to the sadist? how much understanding to their
inner plight) based on receiving the last

I fail to enter that mind
with its double edged sword
fail to see what part of foundation
must be there
to so worship cruelty
to see ambition as control

all are queer but thee and me…

I catalog reaction
and if I cut my hair very short
that gleam will leave her eyes

so I balance that with the time it takes
I consider the options

I always play the low hand
note the stretch for triumph
and then throw down my aces

walk from the table
my goal to teach that you can take
of others with your bluff
but I will bluff as weak
draw out confidence and then conflict the
ones that prey….

if it were a herd
I would be at the back
and feign limping
then turn and take the Wolf by its own
eagerness and assurance

that is my calling card
my one trick
easy to feign ignorance
to become the less of reaction. to see..
to see…
I suppose the fortress never existed
the walls
and the living hells…humans design
abstract realities

I look and hope to see what deprivation
exists in a heart
bent on harming the hearts of others
I consider the need for power
too easy to lump all as that…
too easy

the books are needed for that soul
the death of Ivan illitch
the “I would prefer not to” of bartleby the scrivener
the many tales I have entered and read

on what despair is and the paths
it wears
if I were that way…the way of she
the glory in the pain of others
the false security
thinking no one sees her revelry
in the pain of others
in the perception of others
considering them weak…

I looked at the parents
in their lack of smiles
in their judgement
I think of all our stereotypes

many leaders falsify compassion
many need falsified compassion
it fits their world

but I never depend on false compassion
pronounce my own judgements

my child like pronouncements
she is mean to me
I do draw the line
that I won’t help those that are mean to me
I play the weak
to draw out the colors

mean, to take the bait while thinking
the one baited is on her rod
when forgiveness surrounds me
in a path that fought
and fought

I see that
I don’t know what kind of life grows
her inconsiderations

observe the seeds of confusion
look on the results, sadly
then go to water my garden
note that the wind of this storm
has destroyed the gay pinwheel

the cheap prize
from a bingo done differently
with winners all around

with love that does not have backs bitten
only hearts, hugged

I water and smile at the beauty of the
flowers that seeded themselves
that did not need my placement

I smile at the sky
go back in and shut the door

many times, my grandmother also said
“consider the source, and skip it.”


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