Reaching Quiet - 113th Clean

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part ii: "eleven dimension"
why?:
a little boy throws his pacifier into the ocean
as if he'll never cry for a fishing rod.
the fat women with the rainbow umbrella hat
frowns at you from under harpoon heat.
who taught these boys to float, draw snakes in sand, and skip stones?

"yesterday by the river, today by the sea."

two boys wet with water wings.
the sea is some odd billion humans being...
but does my species make time tick?
or put wind ripples in a would be sheet of glass?
or cut horizons from segregated centers of atoms?
or put wind ripples in a would be sheet of glass?
or sweep this sand to shore?

somewhere where the seagulls fly from rotting wood post to rotting wood post
in hopes to rarely lift a foot off earth,
where the leaves on trees are still somewhat symmetrical,
where the grapes grow in bunches and the gooseberries in bags,
there's a place where there are rules the game is played by.
call it what you will, but carbon and water makes people and softdrinks.
house flies eat dead dogs and morning glory still spreads like philly cream cheese.

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part iv: "memoirs of and american mobile on holiday"
ladies and gentlemen, it's your statue with a very funny face.
the rams crumpled horn hangs on a mobile
balanced by its weight in severed feathers.

(it's true.......)

the dead whales were always there,
you only needed to put on your 3d glasses to see them
on the side of the highway
as every american monster drives by
with the head of a cadillac riding bigrig trucks like....
ricky schroeder's silver spoons' train.

i've just been here looking for suitable skipping stones
or stones with holes to make a mobile with.

i've just been here looking for suitable skipping stones
or stones with holes to make a mobile with.

i've just been here looking for suitable skipping stones
or stones with holes to make a mobile with.

i've just been here looking for suitable skipping stones
or stones with holes to make a mobile with.

a mobile's a collection of dead things hanging from strings
only living in the wind giving into the wind floating wide open in the ocean
with closed eyes and a sheet of blank loose leaf paper.
it's difficult to tell which ways to shore.
i'm only here to look for suitable stones to skip
and to let the moon play magnet to tell the mediterranean waves
to take me where they will.
if i am willing to eat the crumbs from under the table
and ready to rock the boat, i'd rather not ride
with a shaved face, a hand shake, and a fake smile.

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