Odoriferous Oddysey

My father cinched the rope of discretion but not the noose of greatness around my waist and opened me to the exposure but not lowered me into the dungeon of darkness to catch the fruits of exposure that the world calls empiricism.And lol behold the catch has come home to roost.Diving into the field it swung,stuck and switched my medulla into battlements of the killing fields to feel the texture of discretion and scoop the minerals from the holy waters of wisdom .

There comes the beautiful memories a wanton files and archives of my beautiful dreams fulfilled in record time.Behold the the hooks lay not in comatose but in combat mode of the beautiful memories .What a magic wand!Sure! A beautiful hook shot kisses the rim and hangs in there helplessly like a glue barely drop and gangly at the center boxes of my apotheosis plus my perfect leap in time gelled with gathering oranges from the open hearth of the wilderness ramblings where mammoth of wilderness sands get smothered alive in stupendous smithereens.

Had I not venture beyond the demeaning tracks in golden memory of my father's anecdotes brought haply to this boomerang of booned roses of hardlyluck shot from the hardloop when he shot on the tall trees of wit and snap the wit to lead me a life the literary life to the frown and censure that unleashed the adage'uneasy lies the head.....'s clutter that clutters my broken navel tis I moan division with me and despair must be total, speaks and thereafter compelled to amputate the chicken's limb of adversity slit the joint ,clip the heart, from back, wing was snipped,from flesh stripped fat, rose from indecent burial as if interred under the garden's dogwood, from being used,abused,swindled, thrown down by unknown lands, nonentities, dead weights,even cowards,who can't bear to spell your machismo thereafter to only mine where all the quick quitters have gone back to their early graves.Back to their mothers and guardians the dirty loins of the hurry-up-wash-your hands honey- dinner's -getting -cold,to just -wait- till- your father- get -home only swells the catalogue of quitters at quiter's pall on the raining lawn, making soft little chirping sounds betwixt fireflies,as they mark off on an obscene path that barely really glow tis the blossom of their tardy flickering mothers and guardians they returned unapplombed and dreary .The beautiful storms not every freaking cuted feet across the dusky pales who barely brood the pale thought of "lift your arm above the sand dunes"where wilderness sands etched in grief and demise could perfectly the pitch black sinew of beautiful storms. Regardless of chest pains and grief don't we know that the machinery of grace is simple to accommodate all sundry in grieving times?Don't we survive the chest pains, doctors blocking calls from north pole ,blue calls ' lapses,blood tests feign the patient at hospital ,faint gowns often flap open where waiting rooms upset stomach and indigestion whatever or those walking corpses with stigma of psychological trauma.Can the poet reads the lines to the blind or psychological blinds?So taken with trembling, hardening,shaky hands and dreary feet.Oh you subscribe to the philosophy of everything changes by Heraclitus?Has it not been proven in my time oh now my rosy times?Yeah kinda humbling but I ask:Why do you suggest to the teacher in the classroom you re the only one that knows the answer and able to order solution to the nightmare of puzzle that elude millions of students world wide for ages? If so you must be larger than life.Then you must be raving mad or much mistaken.Still the word' effrontery' as they call it not boldness at this point had better be part of thee until rashness imposed on its label might I think by the dint of luck sways in your favor.I suppose so is just mere luck that affords you materialism of Heraclitus navel.

Sometimes I stand in the dry kitchen later in the same kitchen bounteous bountiful of booties tear apart the bursting shelves.

Wild words from the gracious sea of words sprinkled my mouths and salt shining behind the glass cylinder as merchants of good supplies unloads and I  emptying my bowls of milk in the blue bowls,my ride unloading more bounties into the store house.The world is yours your oysters and every species a playground to play and the polar bear,the swan and the grasshopper and the dolphin and the blue wale and the buffalo and the wild wild forest . It's just your neighborhood next door and a playground the earth and the Cosmos for everyone.

My Odoriferous Oddysey.

It's all the past now now adorn thee

Odoriferous Oddysey