I repost because The Mueller Report is 448 pages long.
I am under the assumption/impression many H of Reps and Senators were too busy to read the full text.
The difference b/w an undertaking and a death march.
Time cost?
I must be confused.
Tag: creative non-fiction
°
The whirling of simple, splashing sprinklers hum
And run down the
Just an impish dance
not done for pittance.
A slow draining Sink
When your head is down,
the Earth continues
rotating on its axis.
Move forward.
Time travel.
The difference in
One degree change.
Rotational velocity.
Massive bodies bending
space-time like so many
bowling balls on a
blanket held aloft by four
corners.
Curves do not remain in vogue.
Curvature is vogue.
A Busy-Ness Call
I spoke to the Lady Robot.
She gatekeepers for the Live Male representatives.
She was real polite
de-spite how busy she seemed.
I could hear her
Typing faux clicks for my patience’s benefit.
She took none
of my frustration person-ally;
but, I found the situation a bit frustrating.
Being defragged before speaking to someone actually.
A Sign of, The southern cross
A Sign of, The southern cross
As solar ræs alchemicalize water to solid dirt,
I ask the twelve year old:
Can you tell me what the difference is between a child and
a kid?
(Joke gotten.)
S/he laughed. I smiled.
Spiralin’, perfect circles
refuse to come into focus.
[I/1/i/one time]
@
k/Nigh/t
/Nigh/ a year ago, Uris (a brown bear) & Æ
walked you through this forest.
Clear and right to another plane.
It was the dead
Of
k/Nigh/t.
We passed a couple, bodies doubled,
back on
this slat.
They saw us thru.
I laughed. Startled.
Bemused, i held anxious Uris back.
A month later the
gatekeeper (let me a’) passed with a “god bless.”
It was not the night I went dancing in the dark woods.
This was the
k/Nigh/t
The kids twisted metal.
The dragonfly
Left
You, this flower.
A spoonful can
Abso-
Lutely
weigh a tonne.
Just as much as the difference
One inch this or that way
Can make
iN
the AbovE & THE bELOW
pictures.
A watery sky, waves below from on the surface.
A tree finds itself well-positioned.
Walk it Off*
It is only a recoil of the reflexes followed by the relaxation of a newly relieved muscle.
A relic remaining
Released after renewal
Continues
Wrecking me impeccably.
Me in a You-Howl.
A Sunny Resumption
[suddenly (the guitar sound _i hear in my cans_swallows)
hard]
.
Fallen
Or placed?
The best preserved tree.
Shooting down fuzzily.
Psyche-
Delphic
Spots
of colo(u)r.
Saw.
Jumping mouse
Flits under the dragon’s
Mouth
uncaptuted here, hear?
Shots of light. ( Not too )
Briefly.
Ready to root ball.
A /w/hole in my head or
A…?
Needed the same, regardless?
I still need
The gortex, eyelet boots to
Support the bum
Ankle.
TheWoods Set for Rain Yesterday
Found on the asphaulted exit, fluttering in the breezy preparation.
Impatiently.
Coral, from below, meet the leaf that fell above
On the same path.
Another near ninety degree angle.
Still grossly a gauche.
The last embers of the dragon
Who hibernates through the summer?
Still grinning at the pass.
Too close
But
comfortable.
A tighter
Right angle to chance. Found.
Yellow
In the spider’s veins.
The sun still shines.
Sister Dream Frag
Just awoke from dream of walking through the woods with my sister.
She told me I cited a quote when I told her: I don’t hate what hurt me; i hate myself for hurting.
A line I thought I made up about a month ago.
Seemed common enough because I read too much but the look in her eyes made me wanna hate myself for it.
We talked again about “simulation theory” and I snapped awake wondering for the first time:
If this is a simulation, of-what is being simulated exactly?
Honest question.
Updated a couple of hours later.
I box things up.
I find this odd card.
True.
Herringbone does not yawn
Fuzzy balance
of positive and negative space
on a cape that I drape around me
to step outside.
The grey morning opens wide
And inhales me into its reality.
Here we go again.
/
I fell into fitted sleep last night
while listening to to
to the British “Sir” talk consciousness.
I read two of your books.
A late night compatriot who noticed
the emporer was still naked.
(“A new theory,” he said, “not another reinterpretation.”)
S/he should borrow
My houndstooth.
/
I awoke to your unannounced reentry.
There is nothing to take, hurt, or steal
but me
But, you could still lock the door
When you do leave.
This time
The blue specks return at
this time of day.
Scepters of spectres.
Spectators of the Spectra.
Speculators and crusty prospectors.
Gold merchants running along-
side the train.
The Highwaymen will
see to
them soon enough.
Yelling: always pay yourself first.
The only people not fearful of
such speak
are snickering kids.
The immortal ones.
How old do you feel most
of-the-time?
The sun will set in the next
five minutes to five hours.
It gets
Tricky.
The salt is gone.
Now, I see how large this place is.
The placelessness is almost too big.
Me and these ghosts make good company.
The chorizo finishes.
Eggs and a bottle of white
Microwave hood fan
Setting two.
Discounted granola.
Time to cut meat from casing.
An unused balcony.
The window with the looking-glass.
The other window that is looking-glass.
I drove the perimeter of a street festival.
Ludicrous.
People formed a line at the
Automatic Teller Machine.
I could have walked for my eggs.
But, the milk would
Have gotten spilt.
I arrive home.
My salt is gone
Summer Maize
I made my hair sit straight yesterday.
But, summer has its ways
Of sweating my scalp.
Salt and the occasional breeze.
“You should write about that,” said the girl,
Who stopped for a smoke,
About something else
Entirely.
“Thanks.”
Kind.
A little
Shock ti
Power.
Speak-easys and
Music without lyrics.
Talk of narcissism
And, I wonder,
Do narcissists know they are as such?
The dog was all fur, and
presumably
Sweaty as howl, too.
Fur ball coat
Dandelion-white.
The masters smiled
And said, “her name”
Meant /hair/ in another language.
Doubling the word
In affection and affectation.
Cars pull u-turns,
To go to the street festival.
They hold traffic while invisible things
cross the street.
Huh, huh?
I saw the last five yards of your memory.
You were simply sleepwalking
Lucidity from insomnia.
Asleep and awake at the same time.
Rest here.
For a moment.
You are still
In the field.
Come here but close your eyes.
Scorches from Summer Clouds
The dragon is impatient.
Selectively scorching leaves
Such as these
Fading embers still ablaze
Sparks off burned tar.
Shedding hair is ripped.
Old roots know where to look
And look gracefully.
A leaf suspended.
Not alit by wind.
Brambles
Steles revel as Black Pond evaporates.
A lean-to against a cut-down.
A greasy blender rubbed wrong.
Dreamed
I ran with you in dreams last night.
There was a small bit of lace hiding a bit of my clavicle.
When you lifted it
The notation for
a song was below.
Then I remembered
The lyrics.
“Oh yeah.
I wrote this for you
Before we met.”
Dining with the whale
The day ran past without a backwards wave.
I found myself, coffee in hand, at four p.m.
Dreams of the red whale re-meander through my mind.
Recall people asking what we do?
You would say: meander, me and her.
I would smile. I would try not to, and I would fail.
I smile right, exactly, now.
The whale was larger than a breadbox
But, smaller than a tidal wave.
Blood red. No variation in shades, as though block colored by a child.
You did not even consider dinner,
the whale said.
I do not want to eat.
Why not?
I don’t know.
Just say you are not hungry.
A question I asked in last night’s dream
Would you eat me piecemeal
Or all at once?
Management of expextation.
R.N. looks at me from across the table and grins.
I know the answer.
Circular
Desire is the alchemy of magic.
A free hunter in the court of knights.
Golden arrows.
Circling long time.
Desire is from < L. desidero de, from + sidus (sider-) star
“Do you know how to get out?”
“I did not know there was an ‘out.’
Did you know they sell
Forever stamps?
The post office and cockroaches will remain.
I adore discovery and savor savoury.
I let you show yourself.
I reveal.
While I build momentum to cross into an unknown more
Fearsome freedom to be new.
Dealing with the defamilirized world.
The Balcony Seat
These days, I let the terrarium of plants í struggle to keep green take the chair on my porch.
I sit on the ground.
The flutters of distant, aluminum wings beating as car doors open and close.
The start of an engine rolls through the night air.
The cricket chorus sings the ambiance.
Cool, summer air.
A red light must have turned green.
Right, exactly now.
The peal of tires burning rubber hollers.
Then, just crickets.
My chest suddenly releases and breath flows into my lungs again.
A’loosed.
WrittenCasey 