Roll The Dice

It's ne'er a good ide'er,
Hoping to roll doubles,
Chance is called chance 'cause there's no guarantee,
You won't land in trouble,

Much more thought and planning is e'er required,
'fyou want to get ahead,
Examples of those who win lotteries,
Are only meant to cull the lazy heads,

Who're happy ending when and wherever,
I am that guy, sometimes,
Though it's always with some resignation,
That I'm not meant to thrive,

That it's all chance,
Also a culling tool,
You'd be surprised how much is act'lly planned,
By the most seemingly thoughtless mogul.

In The Basement

Listening to Bowie,

Scary Monsters with kids,

Lego and dolls moving 'round as I write,

They've been playing so long,

Individually, with their friend, mind,

Four world's in the basement,

One battle base preparing for war,

A house with a family as it was meant,

My foot tapping to Up The Hill Backwards,

Do the words reach their ears?

How long can this go on, then I hear said,

"Dad, I am bored to tears."

So there you go,

Solitude's just so fun,

But as David says its just the vacuum,

'Cre'ted by the arrival of freedom'.

Sixth Sense

Can you have a sixth sense,
Snapshots of the future,
Telling you how the next moment will feel,
With a surety that's real,

If you are open to that sort of thing?
It needs self-awareness,
And a conscious decision to believe,
That there is an emanation from things,

Drenched in emotions waiting to be felt,
Hovering like a scent,
Maybe it's a scent, triggering your brain,
If you are of that bent,

If an'one is,
Or maybe we all are,
And like failing to use your sense of sight,
It is not a world of which you're aware.

Realizing Your Vision

There's safety in numbers,
Like in an angry mob,
You become faceless, 'specially in a mask,
Or a work-a-day job,

With the comfort of sharing a vision,
For a common future,
The prospect of being the first union,
To fin'lly propose the perfect culture,

Though, obtaining the vision is diff'rent,
Than trying to live it,
The limiting factor of idea,
Is it's not real, is it?

It's just a wish,
Existing in your mind,
You stumbled upon it, seeking comfort,
From the physical blows of humankind.

The F'ers

Rebellion is nat'ral,
In any age or world,
E'en if a chicken is in ev'ry pot,
No flag is left unfurled,

For it is a matter of perspective,
Limited by nothing,
This freedom with which we e'er chain ourselves,
Is brandished by those who're born with cunning,

They'll not wait 'til Sunday for their chicken,
Nor care if you have it,
Every chicken in their pot suits them fine,
You're nothing, by habit.

Nothing to do,
With upbringing, you see,
That assumes nurture preceded freedom,
But how can you rear by choice when not free?

The Fall

Another one's started,
Juices starting to flow,
Grounded more firmly in the place I live,
No gov'ment overthrow,

More a revolution from the inside,
With no replacement plan,
A freefall down a bottomless abyss,
Instigated by love gargantuan,

Born, too, of the revolution's effect,
And the questions it raised,
Like how one find the strength for change at all,
When all act so amazed,

At change, itself,
As if the world's perfect,
And all one has to do is keep the faith,
So on your deathbed you see t'was worth it.

Double Agent

You can't think it is good,
No matter who you are,
That an agent can represent seller,
Of a house, and buyer,

Except, I would think, the agent herself,
For the int'rest conflict,
Like asking for and giving your own raise,
You never leave that office thinking, 'dick',

"I'm willing to pay this much for the house,"
"You are, well let me check.
"Well, they will take it, but let me just see,
"If others will jack up the price first," (dick).

It's illegal,
Well, should be, to be fair,
But houses, used cars or Walmart check-out,
Best th'law can do is say buyer beware.

Amphibian Bags

How are the two alike?
Certainly not in age,
Sixteen years separate these heroes,
Both struggling with a rage,

One 'gainst a world that kills nature for fun,
'Sif humans ain't an'mals,
Whose dad left him, and he'll never know why,
Smart to infin'ty, but bullied by Lyle,

Th'other was bullied, too, but years ago,
Thrashing 'gainst ev'ryone,
Joins the masses by attacking the few,
In a revolution,

Then there's the...what?
I guess that's all there is,
Phin finds there was naught wrong with his world view,
While Buster had to change to find his bliss.

My Dad's Pillars

I'm hearing a cricket,
Like when I was younger,
Sitting on this front porch, like I am now,
What my heart has sung for,

I look at the pillars,
Twisted bottom to top, ninety degrees,
Each brick laid by my dad,
Like ev'ry brick one sees,

From the first course to the thirty-sixth one,
Each offset is equal,
The math done before the mortar was mixed,
The corners plumb, as well.

Of this he's proud,
More than of how it looks,
The beauty's in the math that gives its shape,
A truth that can't live in pillars or books.

Watch Out

I've never seen a snake,
That could bite me to death,
Still, there are places where this is common,
And a thought with each breath,

Where you must be careful moving at night,
Lest you rouse a serpent,
Who only wished find someplace warm to sleep,
But will still strike to protect itself, yet,

Will leap into your car, under the hood,
Then when you open it,
Will uncoil and bite 'fore you know what's what,
Their aim is competent,

I don't worry,
Snakes are no threat for me,
The kind in my world that will lie in wait,
Share a strong resemblance to human'ty.

Good Night

Do you sleep through the night?
Would you know if you did?
Technology's told me my sleep's fitful,
The bar graph looked fluted,

Which is not what you want your sleep to be,
It should be a coma,
A gradual slide into the abyss,
A mental departure from your soma,

Where your mind has freedom to sort things out,
Defrag and create space,
Reinforcing your view of how things are,
So the world's a safe place,

What you wish it,
So you are always right,
That is the purpose of a good night's sleep,
Dig trenches at dark to battle at light.

There's Power In A Factory

Atwood, two thousand, ten,
Ondaatje, double 'O',
Can't Canada's Writers' Union site,
Keep up with the bios?

Is it up to the writer to update?
These two don't seem to care,
Other famous ones ain't even members,
Like Monro, Mistry, Toews, Urquhart, Lemire.

There're five thousand writers in Canada,
Professional, that is,
Writers' union's got nineteen hundred,
Where's the power in this?

Guess strikes are hard,
When mostly self-employed,
Still, 'magine all writers refused to write,
What would we pay to not live in that void?

An Enquiry Concerning the Nature of Feeling

I'm just not feeling it,
There's something, but not it,
There is a hot pepper point on my thigh,
Don't know where I caught it,

My eyes are a little morning sticky,
Should prob'ly wash my face,
A bubble of gas pushes up my throat,
But it is not strong enough to escape,

Is my brain over-warm or is that stress?
Maybe it's just swollen,
Won't e'en conjecture on my intestines,
Hope I've a clear colon,

Then there's my heart,
The seat of all feeling,
P'haps because there's no spot blood does not touch,
And touch is all with which we are dealing.

Onward

It is not over, yet,
There's still more work to do,
More research and more letters of query,
And then more waiting, too,

It hasn't e'en been that long, if you ask,
Many have waited months,
For just an acknowledgment of the ask,
Then their manuscript's shelved like balls for moths,

The key, so I've read, is keep on writing,
They're no breaks for waiting,
You'll get rusty and dried out while you do,
There's no sense debating,

So let it go,
If it loves you, well then...
If it don't, you'll've given birth to new loves,
In the end, at least you'll have a harem.

Part Two

It's time to begin 'gain,
To let go of what's past,
Let it live the life it was meant to live,
However long it lasts,

It may have outlived itself already,
I just missed the memo,
Destined to be only a memory,
Like the billions who have and yet will go,

A blip on th'blip of this blip of a life,
Not e'en a blip of thought,
You do realize there are worlds we'll ne'er know,
Like a blip on a dot.

Then there is you,
Bigger than the un'verse,
With you will die everything that you know,
As does all consciousness share in this curse.

Rated E

Sometimes you're a zombie,

Sometimes you are a plant,

Either way you are fighting with strangers,

Not the life I had planned,

Listening to my son lament plasma peas,

P'haps I'll be a cactus,

Spew out a clump of dirt that will explode,

When a zombie stops to see what it is,

And I just sit here in my underwear,

Wond'ring is this ok,

Sure, the game's all 'bout killing enemies,

But they use veggie rays,

That's the balance,

Can't take guns out of boys,

So you keep it as cartoon as poss'ble,

Hoping the focus isn't death, but toys. 

Mind's Wandering

What's really important,
When you clear out your mind,
Let thoughts slowly tumble back in again,
Noting the first you find?

Do they wonder about the universe,
And the secrets it hides,
The very first moment that ever was,
Where the key to everything resides?

They about you and your reason to be?
How to maximize life?
P'haps they cry as they peruse the world's pain,
Hunger, war, debt and strife.

Maybe there's naught,
Just peaceful, empty space,
The ultimate goal of all kinds of minds,
Blissfully ignorant in every case.

The Tremor

A tremor in my chest,
Like muscles shorting out,
If this ends before stanza number four,
Give nine one one a shout,

Though it feels like it just moved from my leg,
I'd think it was my phone,
Reach into the left pocket of my pants,
Realize it's in my right, hand's all alone,

Maybe it's a tiny beast on a tour,
Where will it end up next?
If I were it, I would check out my butt,
I'd be sure that's no text.

Maybe the brain,
It'd be scary, I know,
Make you think, I'm sure, about life and death,
But a thrilling place for that beast to go!

This Lamp

This lamp has three settings,
Well, four, if you count 'off',
The switch is a small knob for two fingers,
Turn 'til it clicks 'senough,

The knob is on the round, chrome, raised, flat base,
Stem tapered to socket,
The bulb's incandescent, surprising me,
California's like so green, isn't it?

The shade's simple, black trim top and bottom,
Hard for it to contrast,
Not quite a wallflower, 'cause it's not shy,
With the light that it casts,

It brightens me,
At least on my one side,
On th'other, I'm aware it's no effect,
As if it can't reach what I want to hide.

Here I Am

I'm looking at four screens,
Well, fifty if I count,
My hair is washed and breakfast in my mouth,
Music is my ear's sound,

Chewing, too, as I watch people walk by,
All, waiting for a plane,
Or running for one, e'er one or other,
In either case, there is no one to blame,

Ev'ry once in a while, I meet an eye,
That's when I try to smile,
Proof that I acknowledge that they are there,
As they me for a while,

Naught more needed,
They can board at their gate,
I know they are out there and know I'm here,
With screens and food, neither early nor late.

Attempt Two

I'd just about finished,

P'haps the greatest Wath, yet,

Put down my phone and picked it up again,

Swiped up, the rest is shit,

Makes you wonder how often that happens,

When you don't realize it,

The least interaction with anyone,

Can wipe away the grandest of prizes,

It's much too much to absorb in your mind,

Unless mind means instinct,

Follow that and bet it all will work out,

You don't need all the links,

Just ride along,

Observe, don't try to drive,

Because when you do, it is just for show,

Driving's naught to do with being alive. 

There You Go

There is not much to say,
Just writing just to write,
My record lately hasn't been that good,
With no excuse in sight,

Instead, let's look at all the rain, today,
Washing streets and minds,
Keeping people enclosed within four walls,
Watching the window for rain-ending signs,

So they can open the door once again,
Blink their eyes to the sun,
Nothing stopping them going anywhere,
In their imag'nation,

Except to home,
That's where they just left from,
Staying in place isn't going some place,
Not that progress is e'er marked by motion.

She Reads To Me

Siri reads books to me,
She does it all the time,
Usually with an Irish accent,
Though she will not read mine,

Fast or slow, depending on how I feel,
From where we last had paused,
Unless someone calls, then she just resets,
Greeting friends n'er know the havoc they caused,

I just slide my two fingers down her face,
Once the settings are right,
She has trouble with some words like live/live,
'Cause to context she's blind,

A simple gal,
She don't know what she's read,
But if my mind wanders and stops list'ning,
She's happy to read the same spot again.

As Seen On TV

I will not write, today,

It just doesn't feel right,

Sitting here with my daughter, cloudy head,

We're watching Monster High,

There's a buzz in the speakers I can't fix,

And it's driving me mad,

Ev'rything's plugged in as it's supposed to,

Why won't they work like they do in the ad?

Why do I have to connect and undo,

Wiggle, listen, repeat?

You spend money on things to do a thing,

And it working's a feat,

Just like your mind,

There is no warranty,

Invest all you want in its improvement,

You may ne'er actually get it working.

Those Irritations

Everything's chemical,
Like how you feel right now,
The pain in the space behind your ear's real,
E'en though you know not how,

Your body is suffused in gen'ral angst,
Is it diet or life?
Like the chicken and egg, nature/nurture,
Even science, on this point is in strife,

It will treat you with pills, counsel or both,
Pending year or doctor,
Though no one will deny it's physical,
No one knows what it's for,

Just a symptom,
Of an act'ul problem,
As hid as the secrets of the un'verse,
The or'gin of all the world's momentum.

Carrot Top

You cannot trust red hair,
This sounds racist, I know,
It is not like shifty eyes or a tick,
But when you've naught to go

On, observe the color of the tresses.
If rust, run like a train,
Whether the dye or the nat'ral pigment,
The hue seeps from the roots into the brain,

P'haps it drips down o'er the nerves from the eyes,
Not rose-colored glasses,
But capote, showing gold seeing red,
Birthing deadly lasses,

This is unfair,
Based on my exper'ence,
You must find the trait of which to beware,
Per G.I Joe, knowing's the best defense.

The Road Is Less Traveled

They paint on the concrete,
Yellow, white and orange,
Lines, arrows, diamonds, chevrons and shoulders,
To show bound'ries or range,

But ev-eryone knows the paint won't last,
One day it disappears,
But the message it sends ain't eternal,
And will itself fade in just a few years,

Nor will the concrete survive forever,
Tread 'pon repeatedly,
The earth shifting constantly under it,
Like it misleaded me.

Or least  tried to,
Hide what's past horizons,
But we humans vow to cross any lines,
Whether us living now, or by our sons.

It's Never Too Late

Everything is out there,
There's nothing left to see,
No secret force hid behind a curtain,
Pulling the gov'ment's strings,

It's all there in the news and TV shows,
Truth's the same as fiction,
If it's been imagined, then bet it's real,
Or it is on its way to creation,

That is how to find your place in this world,
Imagine yourself there,
Hence they say be careful what you wish for,
And to do it with care.

This is good news,
The world is your oyster,
But you have to learn how to shuck the thing,
Or you'll never get the chance to taste her.

Is Today The Day?

Today might be the day,
The day it's fin'lly done,
Well, ultimately I hope it's a start,
Of a new direction,

To be clear, I'm talking about my book,
In case there's confusion,
It had started more than two years ago,
Most ev'ry morning, 'bout an hour session,

What it is now, I never would have guessed,
So diff'rent, yet the same,
Adding layer after layer four times,
Until the closure came,

Then there's today,
It's supposed to come back,
Though, the past tells me not to hold my breath,
I've been here at least three times in the past.

Morning

So, I get up early,
I've done so my whole life,
Before the things that need get done must start,
Duties with which it's rife,

Nothing against what we all have to do,
To keep this world going,
Assuming, of course, it's the world you want,
Sometimes, I think, my mom was all-knowing,

She knew that one needs time to be alone,
Time for meditation,
Whatever that actually means for you,
For real relaxation.

Maybe it's work,
Ya, not so much for me,
Unless it's work to write down what you think,
Then I am a regular busy bee.

Quick Hammock

You don't have a hammock?!
I know there're other things,
One thinks of first when trying to survive,
'Stead of, "How shall I swing?"

But still, placed in the perfect location,
Not too much shade or sun,
As as windy as you can possibly find,
Neither end too high hung,

A well-made one, both mesh or cloth will do,
Double-wide with pillow,
Lots of trees with leaves that hum in the breeze,
There's nothing you'd like more,

After eating,
And drinking, too, of course,
Shelter, peace and the meaning of life.
After that, a hammock's the tour de force.

To The Stars

Looking at the night sky,
The stars perfectly set,
Forming constellations I cannot see,
Massive bodies at rest,

Forming shapes for us, millennia old,
How do they keep their place,
In the vastness of an endless vacuum,
Nothing between them to maintain the space?

It's said there's gravity keeping balance,
Invisible, just sensed,
We see effects, then name the unknown cause,
Cops planting evidence.

And yes, I know,
That stars do, in fact, move,
Tracing the same steps ev'ryday they live,
Appears to me that they're human, that proves.

Towel?

Do you wear a towel,
When you come from the beach?
Not instead of, but on your bathing suit,
To avoid water leach,

Into your shirt that you wear to protect,
Your skin from the hot sun,
Now put on your hat and your sunglasses,
And sit yourself under your umbrella,

Remember to move your chair with the day,
Keep your feet in the shade,
Now you are safe from your skin burning off,
While enjoying the day,

Then strip it off!
Live a little, goddamn,
The point of armour is to take it off,
Bare your chest to sun when most times you ran,

For The Leaves

It is just a dead leaf,
One among many more,
Somehow, slowly, alone breaking apart,
Then it comes back for more,

More life, spread out among more living things,
Maybe a dog and bird,
A little sprinkled in a blade of grass,
Some diluted through the veins of a nerd,

Acted upon in ways different than leaf,
Which seems so slow and calm,
Just absorb what you can, fall down and die,
Minimal commotion.

That's the whole show,
It's a shame it must end,
Who isn't tempted by the life of leaves,
When given the pain of this existence?

Wind

Hello again friend wind,
And all the things you bring,
Sand, dryness and a new meaning to life,
Well, in truth, not really,

You just remind me what it is I love,
About the things you do,
Pressing against every part of me,
That I expose to you,

Whispering what I must hear in my ear,
Sweet nothings, just like mind,
No one believes you have something to say,
And for me that is fine,

For you are mine,
No one knows you like me,
You are life, death and everything between,
Portender of my own mortality.

For The Birds

My dad loves to have birds,
Make nests around the house,
About five exist under the carport,
More barn swallows, no grouse,

All flitting to and fro, feeding their young,
Bird poo everywhere,
He tells me tales of their activities,
Proudly, like he's making them his new heirs,

Which wouldn't bother me, actually,
They give him such a high.
Once, when one flew over his head five times,
It meant mom wouldn't die,

Of course she did,
But he still loves them there,
They are his friends and he takes care of them,
Knowing they're with him makes me feel less scared.

It's Not Over

There's something I won't think,
It is not what you think,
Fear of anything's based on reaction,
Making your stomach sink,

Or compress from repeated and hard blows,
It has happened before,
Not that risk of vi'lence should dissuade you,
But then, which thoughts are worth suffering for?

There is the school that says just say it all,
They'll get tired of punching,
But then what does that say about your words?
Importance a done thing.

Pick your battles,
They say that, too, I hear,
The trick is to not wait too long to stand,
Before what you really want to say's mere.

That Chair

There's a chair over there,
Not hurting e'en a fly,
Brown and worn, its life shorter than it was,
The perfect mid-life guy,

Its favourite times must be when it's sat on,
Imagine what it hears,
The coos and bites and thoughts and flatulence,
The singles in front of it feeling slight,

The transference of fibers and of skin,
Accumulated years,
Left again on pants and skirts as they leave,
Perhaps congealed with tears,

And, man, those legs,
Once so shiny and new,
Maybe their creator had admired them,
Now they lay hiding, just supporting you.

Last Draft

Well, I am back at it,
There is so much to say,
So much, in fact, I'm at a loss for words,
Didn't want it this way,

Didn't ask for any of it, really,
Who of us ever did?
Get born into a world you've never seen?
Would've been nice if we could have vetted.

P'haps we could inherit a catalogue,
Leaf through 'fore buying in,
It don't have to be all cash and sunshine,
Just some pre-inspection.

Don't get me wrong,
Wouldn't trade for the world,
You don't know a house 'til you've lived in it,
Life's as impenetrable 'til unfurled.

Last Round

Gotta take number two,
No, it's not what you think,
This is a diff'rent kind of production,
Of which I'm on the brink,

Number one had been before my mom died,
She missed them at the time,
But, had to focus on the task at hand,
So I embraced prose and discarded rhyme,

And this will be the last time on this book,
There is no choice on that,
If it takes more than this for ev'ry one,
I'll have to hang my hat.

There's more in me,
So, if this ain't the tap,
To expel it out and share with the world,
I'll take up painting or some other crap.

Crime Scene

So you're from Kanata,
I could tell by your shirt,
North forty-five and west seventy-five,
Does that mean you're a jerk?

Don't mean you can get a breakfast sandwich,
Heated three times over,
Pocket the Naked juice when no one sees,
Then say sorry to the Starbucks worker.

Like who get's Starbucks breakfast sandwiches?
Okay, I did one time,
But it was free and I learned my lesson,
Looking back, I'd written lack-luster rhymes.

I shouldn't speak,
In fact, I rarely do,
Like now as I watch the bobbing bottle,
Poking out the overalls of that dude.

What She Said

Look at something far 'way,
Where things between are hid,
Imagine yourself there and then forget,
As if you never did,

Then live your life as if nothing has changed,
Or nothing ever will,
One day you will find yourself where you looked,
Independent of plans or conscious will,

That's a secret taught me by someone wise,
Who I could never doubt,
That's why they say, 'careful what you wish for',
Dreams actually turn out,

And this is why:
You can only e'er go,
To places that actu-ally exist,
And not nothing that you didn't first know.

Once Again

Sometimes you just must do,
As if everything's fresh,
Like the hours and hours put in never were,
You are now a fine mesh,

Able to let things go quite easily,
If their size is too small,
You are looking for the big fish only,
The others you'll catch on another haul,

When they too are grown and make a good meal,
Which is what you wish for,
That others may share and taste the same meat,
That is the stuff of lore,

And repeat guests,
The debut's the hardest,
A thousand failures are e'er forgiven,
If the first attempt is the tastiest.

You Hear That?

What do you want to hear?
That you will be OK,
That the world is exactly as it seems,
That folks mean what they say,

That science has everything figured out,
That it will save us all,
That the next government will erase greed,
That has plagued humankind since the first fall,

That nothing by will turn out except as planned,
That first day of grade school,
That taught you the dream that everyone shares,
That you'd shirk, if a fool.

That everything?
Then I'll shut my mouth now,
Words are the sole things that can't disappoint,
So long as they're not followed up by 'how?'.

The Travesty

Not sure I've covered this,
A point of great tension,
E'en if this is the tenth Wath about it,
You should pay attention,

If you order a Boston Cream donut,
I'm not saying from where,
You need to insist it's put in a box,
Unless you don't care if it comes out bare,

If the choc'late sticks to the bag's inside,
Haphazardly thrown in,
Probably handed to you upside down,
Not e'en a prayer given,

That it should live,
To rest in waiting gut,
In the state it was designed to be in,
An insult to both eater and donut.

Good-Bye Napkin

Good-bye crumpled napkin,
We were so close just now,
I trusted you to hold my Boston Cream,
The most sacred allowed,

Even when the cream itself oozed out slow,
I did not fret or sweat,
I'd lick it off your rough, yet soggy, skin,
Though I know nothing 'bout you 'fore we met,

P'haps after I throw you into the bin,
And you are carried off,
To join the billions of others like you,
All fallen from great lofts,

You'll live again,
Recycled, napkin again,
Would I know you if we should meet again,
As I dab you against my mouth's moist skin?

Getting Along

Ain't no wrong with thinking,
Beats beating people up,
And you can do it while feeding yourself,
Like Folgers in your cup,

Then drink that coffee, like drinking a brain,
Cracked fresh from a child's head,
An image removed from the meek thinker,
But close to the manic search she has led,

Salivating to solve the mystery,
Of why we're here at all,
A question each human must struggle with,
While building up the walls,

To protect them,
From the ire of others,
So bent on proving they figured it out,
They want all the other thinkers smothered.

throw away

Feel like a new person,
I just got my haircut,
Left it long on top so I can comb back,
Tapered, not under-cut,

Asked to keep it natural on the back,
Don't like it all squared up,
Straight blade for the neck and around the ears,
Reminds me of when Alfie'd e'er draw blood,

He put in product for the apprentice,
Knowing I'd wash it out,
So he could see how it looked on the sides,
Learning what it's about,

I left a tip,
And that's the whole story,
Suddenly I'm surrounded by loud kids,
Now all I can rhyme is the word sorry.

Time To Work

This is just to do it,
My heart's left at the door,
Bile is resting, bottom of my throat,
Saying, 'don't talk no more'.

The hammock's calling me to meditate,
The air's stuffy in here,
Trying to remember the day of the week,
Remembering that I'll never see her,

The trees that are towering behind me,
Planted when I was young,
Inhaled her breath to keep themselves alive,
Are pining for her lungs,

And her laugh, too,
'Cause that shoots out more breath,
And if you were judged by exhalation,
She would tower high above all the rest.

The Breeze

The breeze's playing music,
As my mother once wrote,<
Lying now upon a bed in a room,
Where I hope she hears notes,

Through the window not quite open enough,
To be caressed by the wind,
Though sure the birds huddled 'round the feeder,
Take her home washed of all and any sin,

Which only she'd know 'bout 'cause I've ne'er seen,
An act not fuelled by love,
'least no malice for all as it should be,
Per th'universe above.

That's how she thought,
Sorry, that's how she thinks,
Her strength lies in her own nat'ral beliefs,
Stalwart and pure right up to the nth brink. 

Look At That

Can you look at nothing?
That's a tricky question,
First we have to agree what 'looking' means,
Let's say it's what you receive through the lens.

>So, de facto, nothing can't be looked at,
But what about past that?
If the brain don't acknowledge the input?
Then I guess there is nothing to look at.

But 'nothing' is a trickier notion,
Lost as soon as it's found,
When someone asks, 'what fuck you looking at?'
'Naught''s the answer of clowns,

Liars, scared cats,
Not those truly living,
So accept your lot that we all feel life,
Stop asking if one can look at nothing. 

Inside There

I don't know what to say,
And it has been so long,
It is like letting a part of me die,
When I don't write this song,

E'en if I lose all of my limbs, I hope,
There's still 'nough of me left,
To put what's in my mind out to the world,
Better than all of me dying, I guess,

Even if my world becomes just my mind,
'Just' is a funny word,
There will still be 'me' and that which I 'see',
To make myself be heard,

Like all the birds,
Nesting in dad's carport,
I can live quite a happy existence,
Knowing the space in which I may comport.

Just One Time

I don't know what to do,
Sorry it's about me,
Though I guess it's a sentiment common,
To the majority,

Thrown into life, parents if you're lucky,
Thrown into it themselves,
Without the ben'fit of special knowledge,
Just the same unchanging self-help packed shelves,

Telling you to listen to your insides,
But that's not easy, too,
For, for everything you would rather do,
There's 'nother force on you,

From the outside,
Where you're trying to live,
It's a balance, staying true to your heart,
When everything you do's cumulative.

Get It?

You want to say something,
Meant to alter the world,
'Cause somehow you know something no one's known,
Since Eve's fingers uncurled,

You have the magic phrase that spans all tongues,
Touching everyone's heart,
So all meet at the junction where god's born,
Before she grows up, grows some balls and parts,

Then, somehow, no one will forget that spot,
Where we are all the same,
Which is what has always been the next step,
Once we stop being babes,

Which we do not,
Thought about in this way,
'Spite all of us knowing we're all human,
We act like we were born planets away.

What Will You See?

I wonder what you'd say,
If you saw what I see.
Because it's your mind, would you see the same,
As if you weren't me,

Or would you be suffused with my being,
No diff'rent than I am,
With no way of rememb'ring what you saw,
Once you've returned to your constitution?

Will your exper'ence be enough to know,
All humans are unique,
That all views of the world are legit'mate,
No matter what they seek?

Or will you learn,
That we are all the same,
Like various models of cameras?
The picture's equal with a common aim.

My Dirty Secret

I can't drink a coffee,
Which I e'er love to do,
Without leaving drops where I place my lips,
That course down the side, too. 

I try forming a seal around the brim,
But the liquid escapes,
Slurp like a vacuum as I tilt it back,
I sound like an ass and the cup's still caked,

No one else seems to have this handicap,
Trust me, I have observed,
I can us'lly learn how to do new things,
But this gets on my nerves,

So I lick it,
Just as I pull away,
Since I cannot stop from making the mess,
I'll at least look like I don't live that way. 

Good Bye

You must keep on going,
Life waits for no person,
The time you're looking forward and backward,
Is moment's destruction.

And where else is it you think you exist?
Sure, it's all exper'ence,
There is value in learning from the past,
But living and reliving are different,

Goals help, too, define your place in the world,
Though only from where you're,
By the time you've figured out your grand plans,
You haven't gotten far,

And then you die,
Well, not immedi'tely,
Only when all your moments have run out,
Whether or not you tipped your hat to each. 

Lost Forever

Just lost a fucking Wath,
First one in a few days,
I left this app to look up the spelling,
Of the phrase 'whiling away',

All 'bout the value of works of fiction,
If any there do be,
Other than the cash and time you must have,
To while away the day ment'lly asea,

But the nuance of what I was saying,
Will ne'er exist again,
The subtle irony I wove with words,
Are safe from your vision,

And who are you?
Maybe one of thirteen,
People who would have read it anyway,
The first two-syll'ble number in the stream. 

What You Can

This is one of those ones,
That rather than say naught,
To avoid feeling emptiness inside,
I'll just let the words plop,

Just split my head ope' and see what comes out,
Just to relieve the thought,
That there might be something I need to say,
That could stop the next words if bottled up,

Or dislodge what might be clogging my brain,
Distractions or just stress,
Peace of mind is what gets genius flowing,
Creativ'ty the test.

Well, that was it,
Now I will try to live,
Do my best at whatever comes my way,
Thank the world for whatever it deigns give.

No More Pain

If you could manage pain,
So it just wasn't is,
No matter disease of body or mind,
Like they didn't exist,

Walking on bloody stumps, just freshly hewn,
Sun awash on your smile,
Loved ones spit in your face, then skip away,
For all the hurt, may's well be paper files,

All 'round you poverty that shouldn't be,
Poor, beaten by police,
Caress your skin as you dismiss it all,
Like a soft summer breeze.

The worl'd be grand!
The sights be glorious,
Whole palettes of new images to see,
Not sullied by regret or abhorrence.

Listen

One can try to steer life,
What else is there to do?
Hard to sit back not knowing who's driving,
Or e'en how the car goes,

One can also try to steer their own thoughts,
Though your brain might know best,
It's been keeping people alive for years,
But if you know better, then be my guest,

You can even attempt to steer your heart,
If you are feeling brave,
Though when following it feels like what's right,
Follow it or not, you are still its slave.

Then there is god,
E'en if you wanted to,
Without the ben'fit of life, mind and heart,
You may as well listen to a cow moo. 

How Do You Do It?

How do you solve problems?
Do you talk to people?
Balance the pros from the cons on paper,
Or just follow the crowd like all sheep will?

Do you follow your heart, like a lion?
Believe you are hooked in,
With the vibrations of Nature's thinking,
Know you've gone the wrong way when you're shookin'?

Or do you work it out within yourself?
Talk as if you are two,
Let your mind wander and see where it leads,
And just decide that's you?

Or do nothing?
Comatose amidst fear,
Stuck in time, as if everything will stop,
'Til the problems your mulling disappear.

Mix It Up

There are always all kinds,
E'en 'mong identicles,
Nature would never limit her choices,
So she can't be fickle,

She likes to throw in a cyclone or two,
Only to have some fun,
But not everywhere, she's learned some things,
She don't want to wipe out everyone,

Add disease, war, diet and poverty,
Too many things can fail,
If the world were so dumb to be the same,

That's the end of the tale,
That's why we've choice,
We can't do the same things,
Lest our common choices lead to our death,
And Nature is left with no more play things. 

How We Deal

How do you deal with things?
Does your heart guide your head,
Using the latter to help navigate,
To its ultimate end?

Or do you balance all of the factors,
Treating all like a game,
Being ruthless, kind or methodical
Depending on the style with which you play,

It is most likely a mixture of both,
'Less you're beast or robot,
Both of which do lack what the other has,
Neither knowing what they themselves do got.

We're all a mix,
We all deal the same way,
What's lost in translation's the ratio,
That's why we don't know what each other say.

One Life At A Time

You will only live once,
Even if you do not,
E'en if you've lived a thousand lives before,
With lots more coming up,

E'en if you spend time summoning th'others,
To soften this ones' woes,
Soothing yourself with other lives to come,
That all happens in this one, don't y'know?

E'en if you're going to live forever,
Which ain't impossible,
Technic'lly, if we're talking exper'ence,
You're not reaching double.

E'en the two-faced!
Have one face at a time,
Of course, none of this precludes you at all,
Believing you've other lives, to get by.

What's There

What are these things we see?
Snippets of true real'ty,
An ort of a smidgeon of one soul's view,
With advanced di'betes,

A two dee copy with poor color match,
On shitty fax paper,
Recycled in some 'funct facility,
Where insects fell in with the pulp mixture.

That was then shredded with a good machine,
The coffers were not spared,
So e'en if you knew how the puzzle worked,
You'd die 'fore all was paired.

But that's not all!
Now throw it all away-
There's no time to try and figure what's there-
Into a bucket filled with human waste,

When You Die

We're all going to die,
There is no exception,
'Less Nature changes or science fin'lly,
Ups its comprehension,

But those are both moot and as old as time,
We've e'er wished to beat death,
From Ambrosia to The Holy Grail,
It's how we avoid facing our last breath,

But when you do, try to do it with pride,
Of what you did while here,
Don't let life think there are still things to do,
That you have any fear,

'Cause what's the point,
When there's little time left,
To waste it with thoughts of what could have been,
You may's we'll be dead, living with regret.

Behind The Photo

The world's like a picture,
All best faces forward,
The nasty things take place behind closed doors,
The smiles masking discord,

Look behind the mask, it's the picture's back,
White, no information,
We're all just trying to figure things out,
Yet we face the hardest in seclusion,

Did I mention we hide pain from the world?
Maybe it's courtesy?
Or embarrassment that we somehow share,
In humanity's nat'ral frailties.

Whatever it's,
P'haps that's how it should be,
When one does ope to others 'bout his pain,
Th'other us'lly trumps with their sad story.

Dreams Come True

My dreams last night were grand,
I'm almost positive,
I've vague hints of moments in a large room,
Crammed full of opulence,

Ev'ryone I saw was interesting,
Each one has good intents.
Forget wanting to remember my dreams,
I want to jump in and start paying rent!

Instead they exist so real, yet opaque,
Maybe if they were clear,
All people would do is sleep their whole life,
'Stead of living in here,

But then, who knows,
May be that when we sleep,
We remember vague snippets of this life,
And wish it could be our real real'ty.

The Tale

Ev'ry tale hides something,
You cannot tell it all,
E'en the moment you're in's just a snapshot,
Compar'tively min'scule,

Compared to the vastness encased in it,
Like the chirping of birds,
There, even if not part of the story,
Or overtly described as such in words,

So what you choose to point out will say more,
'Bout yourself than the tale,
Leave out too much or include the excess,
Rather bore than regale.

It's a fine line,
Needing caution and care,
An awareness of ev'rything 'round you,
Then pluck the ripe fruit and leave the rest there.

What's Out There

Perspective is one thing,
We're e'er learning about,
That what we think we see is different,
Than that 'bout we've no doubt.

Like some dude saying the word 'ba' to you,
The 'B''s clear as a bell,
But play the same sound as he forms an 'F',
If it's not 'fa', may I be damned to hell.

Then there's the phenom Synesthesia,
When senses interchange,
Sounds can become visions, for example,
Tastes turn shades of orange.

What's all this mean?
To see is to believe,
But don't go seeing fairies and gum drops,
There's a limit before you're in straight sleeves.

LVFREE

Vanity plates, oh my,
You show us all new worlds,
Living on display, e'er moving all 'round,
Like teenage boys and girls,

Born of a mind we rarely get to know,
Whose message is unclear,
Are you screaming or do you like ice cream?
P'haps the meaning rests on the mind that peers,

Then it's a fine line to get one yourself,
To choose something perfect,
So the message prevails and not the risk,
Of being called a dick,

For doing what?
Testing reality,
An act that should be encouraged for all,
To answer the question, WTCNIB?

Go!

Let me just get this in,
Don't expect much of it,
Don't be disappointed nothing is learned,
That's the world, isn't it?

There's too much to get done within each day,
Not like pre Internet,
I don't really know what I'm saying now,
I sound like an old curmudgeonly git,

It is because the world I grew up in,
Was completely diff'rent,
And I'm left here to navigate this one,
And still stay relevant.

I gotta go!
No time for all this crap,
Let's just say that no matter what happens,
I will not stop attempting to adapt. 

Poetry Daredevil

Right now I am driving,
On the highway, okay!
I am speaking to my phone, who's listening,
And writing what I say,

This is something we only dreamed about,
My own generation,
When we dialed up into the Internet,
Like rocket boots and teleportation,

Sure, what I am doing is dangerous,
But so is all progress,
If no one risked their lives trying new things,
Chicks would still need a dress.

We all want change,
But, it is up to us,
The world will be what it is, otherwise,
Where poems are writ with no sense of rush.,

Forget It

Why can't I remember,
My pancake recipe?
I make them ev'ry Saturday morning,
Same way, same quantity,

There are only seven ingredients,
One of which is my charm,
I can fake it in a pinch, and I have,
But it's like my brain's exper'enced some harm.

It is not only with pancakes, either,
There's a lot I forget,
Sometimes I thank that very memory,
For everything I get,

It's who I am!
This is not a complaint,
I'd rather forget what I just forgot,
Than not become the person I became,

Coincidence

It's just a fact of life,
There's no denying it,
It don't rely on interpretation,
Coincidence exists.

Like Hume pointed out the three ways to see,
The things in real'ty,
It's either one of these or you're not live:
Resemblance, Cause or Contiguity.

So do things come to you one of four ways,
Chance is the most common,
Hard Work sometimes works, coupled with Instinct,
But none come with as much satisfaction,

Coincidence,
Like a gift from the air,
As if god wanted you to have something,
And flopped it down like a fish she just snared.

The Word

Went to see Mac Miller,
Wasn't going to say,
There's not much I know about him except,
What I saw on the stage,

Incredibly fast and fluid rapping,
A house packed full of teens,
He thanked god for his flow to pass along,
I can't e'en tell you what his lyrics mean,

But there he was, tour bus waiting outside,
The message was all his,
Neither one not even existing if,
He didn't touch those kids.

What about me?
Who do I get to reach?
My word has been the same since ninety-two,
If no one's list'ning, do I really preach?

Cheer Up

Sadness' not a bad thing,
If you know where it's from,
For if you really don't like the feeling,
You make a correction,

If it's someone's died who you'll sorely miss,
You'll learn to live without,
If you've done something your body dislikes,
Change circumstances to figure it out,

If the weight of the world's woes depress you,
You can fight for justice,
Sadly, your impact will likely be small,
That's just what the case is.

It's about you,
And what makes you happy,
For if you can't even cheer yourself up,
How effective on others can you be?

Just Before Midnight

How is it some people,
Can produce just so much?
Makes you wonder when you're doing nothing,
Why you don't have the touch,

Why 'stead of finding the cure for cancer,
You're watching Game of Thrones,
A show you do not even really like,
But for which you do not need skin and bones,

Just your mind, but not to be creative,
To simply sit sad-sack,
Following the lives of fictional men,
Like King Herran the Black.

Where was I now?
Oh ya, not doing stuff,
If I knew I had a life to discard,
Doing nothing would not be so tough.

Goddamn TV

Wow, can TV distract,
It just has to be there,
P'haps I'm a product of my gen'ration,
Who loves Hollywood Squares,

Even thinking it might be on somewhere,
Is driving me crazy,
I've spent twenty years not thinking of it,
Now all of a sudden it can phase me,

'Cause that's what TV is really good at,
You feel out of the loop,
As if life were act'lly passing you by,
By missing Fam'ly Feud,

Ya, ya, I know,
There are new shows out there,
I bet you could name 'cause you don't miss one,
Like that comedy with Sonnie and Cher.

What's Going On Now?

There's nothing in my mind,
Even when I'm talking,
E'en in the darkest nights alone and cold,
With abs'lutely nothing,

No voice in my head telling what's what,
Because how would it know?
All it has seen came ready-made to use,
All it comes up with are more lines to toe,

More reasons to be what it always has,
Like a tree with its roots,
Like a miner who through thirty year's work,
Never took off his boots,

Like a baby,
Ya, that's about my brain,
Uncaring, selfish, demanding as hell,
That forty years older'd be deemed insane.

AMT

Acid Mothers Temple?!
Who is that, you question?
It's something you have to hear to believe,
Just wear ear protection.

Don't assume to think that time will remain,
In the state you're used to,
As the melodic drone played in four parts,
More encapsulates than enters in you,

A noise, for sure, but of another world,
That once entered's serene,
Like the hypnotizing gurgling and swish,
As you rest 'side a stream,

Though this is loud,
And the room's dark and hot,
And chances are the band would not refuse,
A place to sleep, whether floor, tub or cot.

You

Some things last for so long,
Can't think of the start date,
Like chronic pain after an accident,
Or low interest rates,

They're part of who you are and e'er will be,
The structures in your life,
That you take for granted and you build on,
In which you take shelter when day turns night,

But nothing in the world lasts forever,
That's right, not even you,
The grass, the morning sun, your brand new car,
All these things will end, too.

But there's still you,
The destroyer of all,
You may see things come and go around you,
But once you're gone, there's no trace of the walls. 

The Stop's End

I had to stop my car,
Not in a hurried way,
But how one usually stops, you hope,
Logically and gay,

Slowing down first, in anticipation,
To minimize the jerk,
That always comes after every pause,
As subtle as a child's rebellious shirk,

As missed as oxygen aft' a long run,
For whatever reason,
The body needs to feel itself thrown back,
Or there's no completion.

It's in limbo,
Practic'lly panicking,
A reminder that mind lives in matter,
And provides the context for all thinking.

Airport Fish and Chips

There're some things you can eat,
Like deep fried fish and chips,
Served to you as if it's an actu'l meal,
For which you then must tip,

And say 'yes' when asked if you liked the food,
Not to be impolite,
Since they did take the time to tear the bag,
Plop out the frozen slab and deep fry it,

Place it on the plate over the cold fries,
Tartar and coleslaw sides,
Scooped out that morning into plastic cups,
From tubs both tall and wide,

You got it all,
'Cept taste and nutrients,
Given you basically ate their garbage,
It's ironic you had to pay for it.

Stand Up

Trying a stand-up desk,
You know, to save my life,
Keirkegaard did it, so why shouldn't I?
He was a stand-up guy,

He wrote about the leap of faith, you know,
The third phase we can catch,
First you behave like you only live once,
Second, see there's diff'rent ways to skin cats,

Look at Abrah'm ready to kill his son,
Just on god's word, alone,
Only faith could have led him to that step,
Standing, if you don't know,

So, so will I!
I may ne'er sit again,
Like now, by my gate, eating my oatmeal,
I may even try standing on the plane.

And Now The Rain

S'now it has been raining,
It is Spring, after all,
Plants need the melting snow and fresh sky tears,
To survive until Fall,

Not to make some random analogy,
But, what if we are plants?
Part of a cycle during which we die,
Living during the seasons that we can,

And there's a whole world that we'll never see,
That might explain it all,
Where we come from and the place where we go,
When we're not at the mall,

Hibernating,
Until the winter's thaw,
Or simply dead, rotting into the ground,
I guess our current thinking's not that far.

For The Sun

Well now it's just the sun,
Out like it's ne'er been gone,
Shining on ev'rything with abandon,
As if no one's done wrong,

Making ev'ryone feel fresh and reborn,
Whether they're rich or poor,
No matter if they deserve what they got,
Or e'en care that the sun shines anymore,

Laying bare all that hid in winter's grey,
So there's no denying,
All eyes are out to witness how you chose,
To live before dying,

And yours on them,
To judge and to compare,
Thank you, oh sun, for without your bright light,
We'd all just live without worries or care. 

An Ode To Wind

Why do I love a breeze?
The invisible sough?
The silent push sliding across my skin?
Freshest breaths in, like now?

Nothing is free from its bulbous, soft nudge,
It weaves into all nooks,
Awakening ev'ry nerve that you have,
In places that you've never thought to look,

Face it, the world comes running to your feet,
You see how you greet it?
On your back, do you move with it or stall,
Because you don't need it?

For all these things,
And more d'I love the breeze,
Then, when the air is still and I'm alone,
I 'magine the wind's just been asked to freeze.

Morning

Thank god for this coffee,
Doesn't matter what kind,
I'd rather it is rancid with caffeine,
To stimulate my mind,

Than the most balanced beans from deepest parts,
French kissed by Madonna,
E'en if 'twas guaranteed to cure cancer,
Less that brain-hugging buzz, I don't wanna,

For what kind of life's one not fully 'wake?
It's not even half speed,
The energy you use up's better spent,
On someone that's in need,

Who can mold it,
To aid humans, with luck,
By making a cup of joe you can snort,
And buy with your app at any Starbucks.

The One Moment Meditation

There's something you must do,
Delicate, some may say,
An exchange 'tween who you are and the world,
Often times in the day,

Slowed down, the moment's hard to comprehend,
Like it haps out of time,
The burst of a bubble with no surface,
As elusive as a well-thought-out rhyme,

It provides relief from pent-up pressures,
Something we all savvy,
Raised as we are to suppress our nature,
We don't have much, have we?

Except for this,
Nature's spontan'ous art,
Whether cel'brated or enjoyed alone,
We all apprec'ate the joy of the fart.

Into The Air

Sitting behind a car,
Looking at its exhaust,
Smoke billowing out, rising to the right,
Lonely, lazy and lost,

As it waited for the forward movement,
That would pull it 'long,
Give it chase instead of lack of purpose,
Make it invisible to the road's throng,

Other cars drove by from the opp'site lane,
And for a second, split,
That smoke jumped to it and then back again,
A hula dancer's hip.

Physics at play!
Forces working unseen,
With loves and hates and passions just like mine,*
Makes you wonder how you got where you've been.

*morrissey

My Mom's Garden

The leaves were easiest,
They left without bother,
The rake slid lightly over the wet soil,
Not hurting bulbs under,

Next were reedy things with husks hard and grey,
Dead, by all appearance,
But those you must snip, leaving a few buds,
Green within, 'cept for some dead companions,

Then the wet, stubborn, thick, rubbery grass,
No doubt that it must go,
Hacking on hands and knees until it's shorn,
Their names I'll never know,

And when all's done?
Well, life was all around!
Struggled through death, yet warmed in its embrace,
Free to spring forth 'til its death, too, comes 'round.

The Proof is in the Pudding

This is not a journal,
A journal contains facts,
Rum'nations on their relations to truth,
Musings on how to act,

Well, those actually do exist here,
Ref. def'nition of Wath,
But unlike journals, this isn't pers'nal,
Nor expose me like a journal would doth,

Any connection you feel to these words>
Are their placement, forsooth,
Arranged in such a way as to unlock>
A universal truth.

Or, that's the goal,
Proved only by each read,
An event that occurs so seldomly,
That they all may as well be about me.

What You Do

No decision you make,
Not those that you regret,
Or that lead you down a path that seems wrong,
Should ever make you fret,

There is no special knowledge that you had,
If you chose 'correctly',
Remember, your judgment of the outcome,
Is based on your perspective entirely,

But there are others affected by you,
With their own opinion,
Equally ignorant of the merit,
Of any decision,

So what to do!
Just float around blindly?
Anyone who's known the answer to that,
Has started a religion, probably.

Damascus

One should not get side railed,
Comparing to others,
Ev'ry life is diff'rent by their nature,
Some exalt, some suffer,

Some victims of the most horrifying,
Think war, floods and famine,
But what good is it to say as comfort,
"At least I am not them"?

Well, there's the fact life makes no promises,
But, that fate's not rigid,
Though many have died, many have raised up,
Despite what the world did,

What if you'd woke,
Into a life of strife?
Would the things that seem so important now,
Even be a factor in your blessed life?

Laying Tracks

A train has no real choice,
Its next step is e'er set,
Yet, its ultimate destination's not,
Which is what most don't get,

They can't go anywhere they want to go,
Nor can they meander,
But they see more places than most people,
And 'sides, who of us can truly wander?

Options 'fore us are ne'er truly open,
There is always a path,
Spiked to the place from which we are coming,
Bound by what we ere hath.

Though, we lay th'tracks,
We choose the foundation,
Set the orientation of the ties,
With an eye for the ult'mate dest'nation.

Wild

Don't recall 'zactly how,
She expressed it in words,
But, a line from that film (and prob'ly book),
Made me perk up when heard,

'Bout her life being unique and mag'cal,
There being just the one,
A condition of everyone on earth,
Regardless of their own situation,

She realized that at the end of her hike,
With all that came before,
The drugs, the sex and abusive father,
The babe she did abort,

All needed parts,
Leading up to that line,
In retrospect, all necessary parts.
Good or bad hist'ry's not something to pine.

The Resolution of a Very Important Difference

There have been arguments,
About the difference,
'Tween two sim'lar types of coffee brewers,
Due to one's ignorance,

First there's the one that rains water on grounds,
That's the percolator,
Heat forces it to the top of a tube,
Cycled, 'til you've got varnish remover,

Then there's the Moka pot, made in It'ly,
It too, forces it up,
But it passes through the grounds on its way,
Once, for a perfect cup.

Is that clear now?
Not your mug of coffee,
It's the diff'rence 'tween someone's limp handshake,
And one who can grab life by the testes.

Walk A Mile

I want to go a league,
No one does anymore,
They go miles and kilometres often,
But neither help you soar,

Neither will take you where you need go,
So why not try a league?
The span a soldier can walk in a day,
Sounds like a promising journey to me,

A soldier is always going somewhere,
With purpose and conf'dence,
With a plan, even if she don't know what,
With an ultimate ends.

Isn't that nice?
Forget that pesky mile,
The league will now take you where you should go,
When the shadow's on X on the sundial.