A
 las,
    I fear when did I leave
    my poetry my life dide bleede
    from thee my dear my self my near
    my far my star my gaze my lark
    I laugh I lie I list I cry
    
        I think of thoughts that are my own
        from future self too twilight zone,
        
            a ladder prime to stars so far a fractal farce
            and back from mars here we are friends afar,
            to here through winds and winds
            of door and moore and blackest night
            through death and light to farshore flight
            and with me go to past
            and back beyond where we walked the stars
            
                anon anon, and back through that twist
                we came with every answer, every name,
                but lips did silent speak the truth
                we needed math we needed proof,
                
                    and so we sought them here on blue,
                    marble shine a lick of true
                    and here and there we wander-du
                    out from du Dux doo-doo we doo,
                    a doo-dee do doo-doo instead of
                
                        do! do! do!   
                    
                            We spind and spine and spiral too
                                and back again we loop the fen,
                                    we walk the mile, we take the aisle,
                        back to the isle the sacred file,
                    
the     road     we     walk     riversruns     the     styles
        
                of lips and loops of girls and hoops
                and cars and talks of meet and stars,
                of words and maths and wars and taffs,
                and taxes, baths and major gaffes,
                        we walked with Jesus, Laozi too--
                            and many others do? We doo--Chomsky,
                                Bacon, Kester--
                                    Taken--All the women,
                                all the men--we must loop this back again.
                            There is no shame in looping thus--
                        the shame is stooping in the dust--
                    to gaze too long to look at "THE" as numberranks--
    
            just laserbeams and bubbles babbles mysteries--
            mythes and legends ye to do be to me--
    
        the thing you were
        when you weren't what you are,
        and thought I wonder now whether
        who when you are,
    
    and so I sing a song that ring
    and runs follow to fallow to making this mallow,
    
    this spun tire tired and tireless we roll rolled
    ran rung and rambled
    rolling rising
    risking nothing

 when fingers fall on plans et al
 but not on kine mahalo's halls.

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