History Belongs to What is Seen.

Dream hearse demonstrates the personality traits found in the bones. Numb guffaws, trace the lineage of missed footsteps. But the process to forgive never offers the flayed out loins as penance. Muscles and naked joints must’ve known the glass case confession isn’t a reliable source for cancer treatment. Obsolete organs. Tattoos falling from eyes to commemorate winking culture.

“Come as you are.”

Never mentions the horrors of what has been. 

“Or who.”

Who is a blood letting.

Drip. drip. Drip. opposite reminders.

Proposing questions to search engines determines popular rationalizations to qualify the world. Top results are dead ends. In this context, textbooks conscript progress, never a function to tell the truth.  

“Augustus was a Caesar and everybody loved him because he was powerful.”

“And Julius was a Caesar who was stabbed because he was powerful.”

Right Place. Right Time. 

Buying body wash, anticipating a drought but discovering a rainstorm beyond the automatic doors.

Staging the approach to sunset. Along the rolling hills, bordering the lakefront, city lights design fireflies in the waves. Human silhouettes fall in the evening, disappear into tomorrow morning. Strangers based upon what is seen

aesthetics America art birds capitalism culture death dreams existentialism falling in love fire fly galaxies god History insects Jesus language life love love poem Madison money morning Nature paint philosophy poem poems poertry poet poetry poets police Politician Politics prose Prose Poem Reality reflection space Sunset time tv water

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