At some point
the pineal gland begins
decreasing melatonin levels,
as a waking brain is drawn to
the sounds of pouring rain
outside the windowpane
.
(Inhale……)
.
both eyes still closed,
the vagueness of reality
begins to sharpen with
the smell of
brewing coffee
.
(Exhale……)
.
fancying
forenoons
sustained vigor’s,
information runnels
flow in auditory influences,
trickling temporal dimensions
associated with spatial dispersion
.
(She’s feeding the cat)
.
bone against flesh,
groaning to
pierce barriers
beyond all limitations
or the vast boundaries
of sarcoid hemispheres in
dawn’s unexampled awakening…
.
(Brett Harte! YES… It was
‘The Luck of Roaring Camp.’)
.
(Inhale)……
.
seeking harmony
free from variation,
(or change)
inwardly evolving,
vernal eyes accept what
most regard as malleable,
immanent art predestined to
pop culture’s fugacious trendiness
.
(Exhale)…….
.
The priests sullen nature might work at first, yes,
especially in arousing the congregants sympathy.
Then, his deceptive nature could become a flock
of blackbirds cast up into swirling winds.

(Then again…)
.
perhaps an aggregate
of clerisy foreseeing society
as existential threads
sewn seamlessly,
that when completed
are endowed as a whole
with amorphous consciousness,
living without confinements, or the
religious mutterings of reprobates that
envision endlessness through sullied portals….
.
(“Coffee’s ready sweetheart --- bad dreams?”)
.
© Richard Lloyd Cederberg
1/26
    A NEW RACE OF HuMANS