be forewarned… the story is one that is best understood (at least we think) if you have already experienced the dictionary of ideas that we call a fliration with genesis, including parts II - III - IV - and - V… Oh? You already claim yourself cognoscenti? Very well then… welcome back to…

a flirtation with genesis

silence has echoed
for far too long
perhaps the
presumption of
actually saying something
of merit
has taken it’s toll
and rendered furtherance
of the goal
[whatever the hell that is]
almost out of reach

ok
i’ll stretch if i must
pull something out of the
proverbial ass
and present it as a feast

yumm
can’t get enough of that
it’s not as if i don’t get that daily
in some shape or form
at least at times

and even when the impeutus is
hidden
even when the motivation
that spurs lines of
words
(misconstrued miscreants at best)
is an ineveitablity
and we go off in search of
revelant obscurity

fuck try too hard to wrap
your brain around
that
and all manner of
decisions that you do
not really wish to take
suddenly become
feasible

for life is as we make it
for there is some small portion
of this reality which each of us owns
that is what we make of it
and that is was we call i

so do something
try to create
that is all we can do at this moment
the only thing you will be remembered for

ha! forget that
and all the semantic
skull-duggery that
follows inexorably in
it’s wake

shall i feed you reality
when you are so far away
from it

forget ever being brilliant
only then will you
have something
to say

on occasion i have found
that twisting reality
can while away the hours
but be careful
getting caught is almost as bad
as your mom walking in on you masturbating

so you get clever
you invent all manner of ways to hide
the fallible facts of your fractured
existance
alliteration leads you into alternate corners
and laughs as you attempt
to claim understanding
as you chase glory -
alone between the sheets

poetry never finds it’s final voice
all it does is renavigate the mysteries
and stay hidden
even from yourself

poetry writes itself
it is all around us
these tendrils of phlogiston
that we turn into experience
remember your dreams
by puting them on many levels

remember the tardigrade
embolden yourself
from its verasity
enliven lightening
through your cares
we power the earth with our
dealings

i’m dragging along the detrius
of my past eight lives
no thank you
i don’t need to accrue any more
karmic debts

i’m not a creature of habit,
but one of practice