poem 384 by Earl Dinkin

No responses yet. Why even have a task force net?
Not baffling anyone the yellow pages check.
Excuse me sir. Are there "pascals" on your lake?
Do boats ever mess things up? Why merry me so late?

So what did they use? I do not know.
Where does all, their energy go?
Elevators rising. So I guess it's getting hot.
Is their pond still there: surprise me not.

Do "they look" crazy? Do they "don" the stars.
They'll use up all their guarded sums.
Because all their metal chairs: never faulted trees.
And why I ran back to my house: hiding under-me?

There they are. Things are going to change.
The party had an-overnight. Sitting so I have dreams.
Of me backing up: so wrongly to your poise.
Such a beautiful: way to make a noise.

Could that affect the waking sky.
That's everything: I can remember of concur.
That I might have a chest that works.
With a marriage-reception-blur.







poem 383 by Earl Dinkin

Where is it at, your brain today?
You can only broadcast, humans to meme.
Go ahead, and head towards it.
Count how many houses look dry dark green.

The earliest hands of dads that match.
Said you boys have nailed this.
Sir, can we have grandchildren now?
Wait one minute. They erased the vow.

You spilled white sauce? You must be upset.
Call for wet-service. Josie can help.
Chinese chairs or Australian baths.
She even sees ducks in the crystal glass.

Has she made any contact since last night?
What are you saying? What does that mean?
I mean fruits on the bedsheets, with all your might.
Industry turning the axel until the morning light.

Come on Bob, you aren't being fun.
Only one glass per minute? Sound the ballots.
But the sound "must never leave the headsets."
The problem is we're typing too fast for mallets.

And all of your colours are whispering grey.
Stay inside. I'm staying indoors today.
Reading The Mystery of the Swollen Pocket.
Without even crying, I can find her locket.

Shift the extra letters until it tells you her name.
You silly ghost. You can't pass through walls!
And playing chess with the masters. Is that even a game?
Nine ducks on the dock. Arrested for rhyming insane.

They're making us wine and careful thoughts.
Darling, is there anything you could add to the oven?
Well, everybody wants the pie, not the muffin.
The way really bad brains never pass the nothin.









poem 382 by Earl Dinkin

Anything that is reasonable.
Like a new storage locker.
A mouse seemed to ask me.
What's up ladies? (such a talker).

Me firing Easter eggs.
At things so bold as crew.
Such a coffee for one nation.
Her mind, a list to do.

Science is not that-friendly.
Putting cameras in each room.
Every time I sit up straight.
So much loveliness. Just to see-Menu.

Hey look! "She's Having a Party."
Yes her soup is "Toes are Us."
Sir, that dish actually is "Redeem One's Self."
Opps disaster. I've been surfing body health.

Nothing wrong with that.
You're trapped in a corner gear.
Twisted into a mental state.
So near the pain of ear.

It might seem to show you, shysters.
She's out of breath and south.
I'm sweating here like crazy.
Waiting two minutes plus a drought.

Kind of like the one you have.
Because rivers not enough.
I would do her work for her.
Whatever stovetop voter's lust.

Shutup, and pretend.
Slow cooker, let's begin.
Speech Denial in the dark.
Good morning sleeping in.

Head towards in trouble.
I can surely explain every-thing.
The more they interrupt-you.
The more, to-rhyme is king.







poem 381 by Earl Dinkin

Notes are timeless.
Alphabet, is this her rose?
If I close my eyes, is this bedrock?
Or just loss of fruit to nose.

Will this be our soap-opera or radio?
Next-year at this same time.
I figured out what you meant by "leaves."
"Tea is awake while napping." Within the only me.

A Crysler watch all by itself.
I would like my present now.
Wine stretched out. Sitting down for sure.
How useless is, such allure.

I've been walking much less than double.
And even less than bee or tree.
I'm sure if they ever sent you honey.
It once belonged to me.

Isn't that an awful price for-rent?
Progress as the thumping heart.
My song. My art. My lowliness.
Your calendar was so smart.

When I wake up I remember jaywalkers.
Just-like we, once were.
Volunteering into happy lanes.
Reading doorbells: Holding words.

Your lederhosen. It talked about you
last night. One virus. Why-shave? Why even
wear a hat? Does a dog's bark at the evening jewel.
Ever need a rule like that?

I know why! So you could pick them up?
Twidle-Spikes. But where were all your Knights?
I'm so glad you have a tree. To bounce the rid
of everything. Once upon a knee.

Don't worry about me at all. I am made of love.
But you should know it washes off.
So if you ever run out of all ideas.
I'm still wearing children's cough.

There is snow out here that someone is melting.
And that person is my dove. "I keep you" here on speed-dial.
For when I need my prescriptions filled. By what I
always call Rain-Style. Also when you cry above.













poem 380 by Earl Dinkin

Quick now you have zero time.
To invent psychic power and predict.
Too late, your mind's made up.
And lightning grew a world at tip.

When we're awake we think at our tips.
Where our lightning bolt chooses explore.
But when we're asleep we think at our root.
To direction our lightning bolt's core.

Like the lightning bolt the river bends.
Were we cursed the turn arrives.
A million mistakes, a million corrections.
The no sugar mistake disguise.

Weigh the heavens more than thrice.
And define your world by errors.
But bend the wisdom only twice.
Then comfort pain by layers.

No two lightning bolts share same notion.
No two snowflakes play that game.
So the only, quest that I can hope for.
Double quotes might leer through same.

I wonder why we dream.
They must mean something.
The lightning bolt asked.
When it's core bent hunting.

Then my five pixel camera.
Answered her question in kind.
Inside must be simple.
Because outside is all time.

There are five reasons near any center.
I suspect most teacups know.
Here's a toast to infinite finite.
That internal five pixels glow.

Like breaking a twig in four places.
Long art titles are no crime.
Thinking alone are the five spaces.
Joined by art broken fine.

To not dream, but see still-visions.
Which are as scope as shy.
Not near five points any world can offer.
Paint a sixth point, called hidden why.

When I look at constellations.
I can see what your dreams are.
You'll have one million thoughts a month.
But you only get five stars.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.

In the language, of digital cameras.
A pixel is a metaphor.
Which means within, poetic brains.
We wash our screens with never more.

To see who through a dimpled glass.
And know pi sums of lean.
My life fills up a painting masked.
Five symbols shy tons unseen.

When navigating the land of people.
In the forest of what's truly going on.
I envy their skill of knowing clearly.
Invisible symbols of hearts so strong.

The world is exactly as exciting.
As stimulation-levels too low recede.
Like a poet saying you have a symbolism.
As normal as wind blown deeds.

Symbols are my favorite ease.
The newspaper is filled with them.
Read the news instant free.
And you don't cause the world to end.

Let's raise a toast to symbols.
And all that they can say.
Try to find them but never will.
They hide like yesterday.

When playing poker against a display rack.
Of information pamphlets lose.
Five pixels beats a thousand tacks.
And appropriate response beats news.

Five is the "rain" best numbered wrong.
Few-enough to know what's going on.
That-some look up and see every star.
In a world, where soul-cells guess wrong and-charge.

Since we have reviews and points of view.
And focal points of no return.
I wonder how five leaf clovers grow.
Wherever lies the learn.

The fabrics of oceans are stretched so "sight".
Where we hide in the captain's eyes.
Have you ever had a universe help you.
Where five Hollywood stars resize.

Would you like to see my art.
I own a five pixel camera.
Five symbols is all it takes.
And lonely folds the drama.

As mysterious as always knowing.
My lonely paintings are zero wise.
As simple as constellations.
And complex as counting to five.

I almost thought about you last night.
Could you tell me more about you please?
The subconscious sees life with only five pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

I stare at five 24-inch displays.
And bravely steer the nil.
At an empty desk for thinking only.
Near some hours on a window thrill.

Suppose you had a problem.
Suppose you understood.
Suppose you had five pixels.
And five symbols were that good.

When I'm old, I'll see you with one pixel.
And I'll know you by your, one pixel Fame.
Right about now, I think I have five-pixels.
And way before that, I think no quatrains.

Then when no one sees you.
Shine night through seven days.
Where there's pensive trace a lark.
And you've made poetrays.






poem 379 by Earl Dinkin

And how eccentric.
As sane as that rabbit runs.
At peace I see where she went wrong "playing toaster".
Bet on black this time dear fun.

In that-sense government is merciless.
Across the boards with waves that high.
Glue me to a second dance.
And surf me to that dry.

Is that disrespectful.
I can't play any melody on her-ankle.
Respectfully dear Miss Thompson.
I must decline but I am thankful.

From the heart it explodes.
Whistle and all tone.
Try not to make an inner scene.
Measure honesty ride back home.

Look at you at "live poetry".
And a guess that "sand is sand".
To be a very-hungry supper head.
Frozen to that land.

There's no digging glacier though.
The latter never needs your watering.
French theory has cursed the mold of me.
That's mature pottering.

He came over-here instead.
Across smooth oceans like no bird.
Just a puddle to a Jedi.
To Alison with one word.

His eyes with "brights" on forgotten.
His hands trained in the art of texting.
Graceful at "stepping" on "how about you".
Thrown "from" the days of nesting.

That's an "inner-net" called "Annette".
With apple trees like their own shadow's core.
Seems in here I never complain.
Price "leaving" pronouns poor.

Just sit quietly for flights to-the right.
Where strangers and their grace are young.
To be what we write of our saddest slights.
A Hotel Chelsea England won.

Where I was trained to catch all laughs of fireflies.
And sword what they shouldn't tell me.
It's definite they are "Las Vegas fast".
One summertime is worth "how much he'll ask".

Each one has her-name "printed on it".
I'm hoping safely both odd and "evening".
Walking through her-beaded curtain.
Betting it all "on Forstall" for leaving.

A man only needs a few good years.
Dorothy and her Renoir mind.
How else would we predict a world.
Inspiration please be my girl.

I'm currently out of "dark fireflies" Ma'am.
Renoir bought them all last year.
But do come in and we'll talk.
That's Anxiety. He has tears.

Some spare thoughts like "when we dream".
Do chest hairs fall "anymore" than autumn's cost?
Do hopes for bargaining use "elastic" speeds?
Can a bet on anybody "land" on spring-back needs?












poem 378 by Earl Dinkin

Here in that Northern-Northern.
What are they doing to me, so fast.
I can see all their carbon-dioxide.
My boss is human: rain puddles last.

I realized I will never fathom you.
I'm the exposed one in this room.
Like two lanterns in the nineteen seventies.
A no-difference rhyme consumes.

I started it. Secret beetle agent 45 beside my bed.
She could've had-it for "math". Or even a "kiss".
Within-building codes. Always looking for-ideas.
I've got lightning-chance of silver fish.

Open the jaw? Sure.
Resting in a new way.
Nature doesn't cold, any whole years.
Plot is working. Please sign for it ears.

Tongue in cheek dragons know.
To answer yes or no.
Buttons can Squrve the rights of lines.
To display when old.

Oscar bursting up out of calamities.
Two seconds to Throw to the next generation.
To stand and wait so long it's timeless.
Tightly holding reciprocations.

That's nice he wants to paint an elephant.
Or anything in a storm.
What breaks a guitar, has found him.
Without thinking an atom warned.

Like a shirt in a can.
Or Emily in a fold.
More-comfortable in the wind.
Heavenly New Year's in a toad.









poem 377 by Earl Dinkin

Zero degrees inclination.
Is my only friend.
I can see her in a war of words.
Is she up or down defend.

Our lives are not our details.
Our eyes see not our diaries.
I knew you well with zero tell.
Because I only drew the ironies.

I would feel much safer.
If the word god was replaced by the number zero.
Then every equation would never hate.
And never love the strong odd arrow.

When mankind broke the sound barrier (sorry).
Soon every man could talk.
So anything stronger than zero meaning.
Could ask you for a walk.

What about this problem.
It's me who rests my head.
As they often say, I count my sceneries.
I'm zeroed with love instead.

Like dripping cola into a pile of ashtrays.
It's called the oldest complexities effect.
Just mix in tall trees from zeroed suns.
And more what does the young gain from that.

A person ponders well that's odd.
And sets the dials to zeros.
A person yells that's the level.
And sets the dials to heros.

I thunder what five calls per day.
Thinks about zero calls per day.
One man's crazy being another man's lazy.
And in some ways that fills the tray.

Zero decibels please.
And the poet's inner voice is paid.
Noise canceling headphones on.
Now it can hear the days.

A man and woman, with zero expressions.
And-no place to go.
A lightbulb hiding a man's lips.
And wires on shoulders glow.

I could have gone while you "were".
Brushing your hair. But you cannot make me go.
But that is rich. So I'll go ahead.
Now if only I could zero no.

As mysterious as always knowing.
My lonely paintings are zero wise.
As simple as constellations.
And complex as counting to five.

All knowing brains cannot unexist.
They just want to teach someone a lesson.
Every blame helps hoard no zeros.
And wisdom is a lean in session.

Guess wisdom in all the shuns and winds.
And on all sunned men and she.
It's within no unturned type of zero.
Dear mist of wiser things than me.

Man is being arrested for concealing.
A doll strapped to his back.
But oh to talk in zeros.
To the ever endless lack.

Twenty attractive young people dancing.
Their party inside a cellophane bubble.
Empty cellophane street cube at night.
My in-box of zero trouble.

Commands can come from two sources.
Only one of which won't seed.
Where places measure to indigestions.
Or where zero dimensions need.

Dam strait! What's in front of you.
Get off at "exit time".
Then Margret "past" no "inner state".
Zero-sins say every sign.

Few will ever view it.
Please note the zero wingspan.
Exits are at the lumps-and-tears.
Please fasten all your plans.

A hospital room is like zero traffic.
I'll drop by so often, because I love to shine.
Are you having triplets?
Enlarge the cylinder-wine.

I learned a new word today.
Well actually I made it up.
It's all that fuss between one and zero.
When all men know nilsenough.

A man and woman with zero expressions.
And no place to go.
Relationships glued "by" regression.
Stimulation needed throws.

For the women asleep on small platforms.
Halfway up walls dreaming heros.
As we fade to black let the credits rain.
So many names for zeros.

Mouse eye view of a long stretch of highway.
Seen from below a passenger car door.
Stimulation by zero or stimulation by infinity.
To chose the one with more.







poem 376 by Earl Dinkin

Poetry loves what it means.
And what it means' loves keys instead.
Have you ever turned a viewpoint sideways.
And knew it pulled all said.

Have you ever listened, to your time.
And raised one hand like steam.
Depending on which plane you're on.
Horizontal is crowded or team.

The fabrics of oceans are stretched so "sight".
Where we hide in the captain's eyes.
Have you ever had a universe help you.
Where five Hollywood stars resize.

Have you ever cleaned a keyboard.
And accidentally wrote a letter of love?
Or ever cleaned your mind so well.
You only spoke in of?

Have you ever seen a dark as fumes?
I believe that might be home.
That silver lining must be loons.
Guidance take me known.

Have you ever searched the Internet.
To find your other word.
And pro wrestlers holding large writing pens.
In headlocks almost heard.

The atom which mattered said to the atom unsung.
I love you but please don't watch the fun.
Have you ever been lonely within a breather.
That's kind-less, where pearls send all levers.

But there's a reason for things in twos.
And thinking is its song.
Have you ever told yourself a lie.
But rhythm stopped its wrong.

The true magic is diamond thought.
And the hour to "rearrange" gleam.
Have you ever played join the dots.
With the rightness of a dream.

Have you ever "stood" upon a sadness so long.
Believing unhorizons could do no wrong.
Have you ever watched a field meet a hidden glen.
That's how slowly we'll flip a switch called friend.

But reciprocations are just as steep.
For two who sound like rhyme.
Have you ever tried to be so deep.
No thrill found you to climb.

It rhymes with climbs and dreams with seams.
And it's safe as money and just as funny.
Have you ever "longed" and missed a metaphor?
With all my heart that's what my clever's for.

Have you "ever" seen come-hithers?
Were-they paintings? Or inner thoughts?
Did they "quote" their own-commas.
Did rain ever-fill such pots.

And bubbles make no potion.
I ran the light! Fire steer!
Have you ever heard of Mange.
I row to "eradicate", only a guy out there.

Have you ever lost a smitten.
The same way my gosh escapes.
Like whenever a man looks at love.
The third above hides hate.

Have you ever had a cake Reggie.
They put sugar on your side.
Is that the "basis" for being one.
News "film" to Vulcan pride.

There is a distance few have known.
Rivers and streams don't find.
Have you ever kept your eyes unshown.
That thirty degrees of pine.

Have you ever looked at a dreary day.
And suddenly it stayed that way.
So I'm taking a survey can you answer please.
Which is better a or d's?

Have you ever walked by an open office.
And wondered "if" it's alright to be sad?
There's this large building shaped like a woman.
In my dreams that is "always" wearing grey plaid.

With a focus so sharp it knows no needing.
The river of my time here.
Have you ever lifted your heart from reading.
And watched a raindrop tear.

I'm a man who knows what he is.
I've seen it in dream halls.
Have you ever had no voice to tell.
And knew the ears have walls.

Have you ever had to think so hard.
Your brow forever wrinkles.
If I ever meet my woman of mind.
We'll know without words we're equals.







poem 375 by Earl Dinkin

Like two months or "any" of them.
The trees are like the sea.
And that is how I'm kind to them.
Flag that never thinks of me.

Anybody have a favourite cloud storage?
The way magnets disappear.
Let's not upset the sun. Or throw the teacher.
I was asking-since. I contain the "70's tear".

Waking up every morning.
To an hourglass-loud's silent price.
That's all anybody can do.
Is record the dice.

In some ways not competing.
Mankind's outer emperor slithers.
Rachel break-ups under so many thumbs.
Hourglass "sand" instructions. Going towards what sums.

Absolutely it will be like heaven. We've got this!
What was that? Don't worry It was just an ocean mist.
Like oil platforms. They are massive. But you knew that right?
Let me peek at, how Hibernia is doing. Invest in me tonight.

And all throughout thoughts I guessed so.
Tired is-that sound most likely.
That there must be enough traffic somewhere.
That knows your character slightly.

I was going to go outside.
I just need an artist to paint it all.
I'm pretty unlucky right now can someone?
Stand up "unless" their "rights" are small.

Sorry if I'm in your way Miss.
Please save me from the Thorned Bouquets of hubris.
I have nothing to say but I see it.
The Convinced Parlours of word convenience.

I'm glad you came for tea and spreading.
Yes gossiping improves my health.
Oh probably we should start with that.
With of course the first-time being the trap.










poem 374 by Earl Dinkin

I realized I will never fathom you.
I'm the exposed one in this room.
Like two lanterns in the nineteen seventies.
A no-difference rhyme consumes.

Open the jaw? Sure.
Resting in a new way.
Nature doesn't cold, any whole years.
The plot is working. Please sign for it ears.

Like two months or any of them.
The trees are like the sea.
And that is how I'm kind to them.
Flag that never thinks of me.

Anybody have a favorite cloud storage?
The way magnets disappear.
Let's not upset the sun. Or throw the teacher.
I was asking-since. I contain the "70's tear".

Waking up every morning.
To an hourglass-loud silent price.
That's all anyone can do.
Is record the dice.

In some ways not competing.
Mankind's outer emperor slithers.
Rachel breaks-ups under so many thumbs.
Hourglass "sand" instructions. Going towards what sums.

Roller coasters from here to everywhere.
With springtimes attached.
I do not argue counsel at every corner.
That's how normal man keeps his hat.

He sure is handsome, your Moose.
That's it's Job, screams the chair.
Tobacco, hand me that thing.
Bite your head off Oatmeal Air.

Oh chocolate will fix that.
You just have to imagine it.
But turn it down a bit.
I did and it reversed my "colleagues list".

And all throughout thoughts I guessed so.
Tired-is that sound most likely.
That-there must be enough traffic somewhere.
That knows your character slightly.

Absolutely it will be like heaven. We've got this!
What was that? Don't worry It was just an ocean mist.
Like oil platforms. They are massive. But you knew that right?
Let me peek at how Hibernia is doing. Invest in me tonight.

A ship's laundry and Michael Jackson.
Are always arriving just like thanks.
An inaccurate forever sometimes you walk on.
Blanking out "some-memories" of river banks.

The time it takes to ride the bull.
The time to hear the song.
The time it takes to write a letter.
Makes times around the sun seem long.

I'm glad you came for tea and spreading.
Yes gossiping improves my health.
Oh probably we should start with that.
With of course the "first-time" being the trap.

What's your Lady process?
I shutter up heaven in disguise.
Leaving some arts to the barnacle sides.
But grace itself, I wet suit to the eyes.

Do you need these or sex?
Two examples you're not experiencing.
To bring crop circles to life.
Mistakes are made: you're a nurse dear wife.

Sorry if I'm in your way Miss.
Please save me from the "Thorned Bouquets" of hubris.
I have nothing to say but I see it.
The "Convinced Parlors" of word-convenience.

Here in that Northern-Northern.
What are they doing to me, so fast.
I can see all their carbon-dioxide.
My boss is human: "rain puddles last".

I was going to go outside.
I just need an artist to paint it all.
I'm pretty unlucky right now can someone?
Stand up "unless" their "rights" are small.

I started it. Secret beetle agent beside my bed.
She could've had-it for "math". Or even a "kiss".
Within building codes. Always looking for-ideas.
I've got lightning-chance of silver fish.

That's nice he wants to paint an elephant.
Or anything in a storm.
What breaks a guitar, has found him.
Without thinking an atom warned.

Like a shirt in a can.
Or Emily in a fold.
More-comfortable in the wind.
Heavenly New Year's in a toad.









poem 373 by Earl Dinkin

I wish I could have interfaced.
Like dog to the western star.
But on-top of that was everybody.
Showing that they're into par.

It steals? You never told me.
Just like that "u.f.o. movie" again.
Here "over the mountain" rings.
But we don't have any icing kings.

If that was me.
And time was like champagne.
I'd pull the "one tun" rocks out thirsty.
The way "windshield wipers" learn a "gain".

Awesome "imaginary" neighbor.
Flash flooding eyebrow-nonsense.
Somewhere-investing.
Where my hopes might help up conscience.

The "next" one is.
But how are they going to be "prudent".
Sometimes it's like having my own "driveway".
And I'm not smart enough to "move it".

My knees in Ontario.
Found land. Made of clay.
Got-lucky. But-are what-oceans.
Might want to shape their way.

They're talking about it. A single event.
Everybody's got something. Oh forgiveness.
Every year. Let's not pretend. Look straight at it.
It wasn't a Train. For Instance.

A beautiful woman at the gym.
Hovering and spinning.
No. Not really. But like a pipe in a storm.
Now I feel like kissing everything.

Three times and standing.
Waiting for car very often missed.
Wiser brothers and sisters.
Hearing my spelling lisp.

Couch trapped being fancy.
Meant to be a tuba.
Deciphered wrong like liken.
Called to jury duty.

He didn't want to say "anything".
No one talks "to a bus".
What's "in it" for us.
Experience "rhyming" passion rust.

Discussion only goes so far.
You've got no sunshine. And "I'm" Oak.
"Someone" is still in there. So stay with me.
Exteriors change. Wise won't.

For derby hats turned to fad.
For sidewalks best in show.
For traffic trusting modified fish.
All mystery shapes are gold.

The Ice Cream Disaster Mayor.
Connecting an old radio to plug.
You Can Always Try And Be Taxi With Me.
By Arting' the Bug.

They took out their phone "devices".
And flew "all" answers towards "decide".
If traffic is traffic is traffic, why wish?
I watched "Indiana Jones" and cried.






poem 372 by Earl Dinkin

Which is very important?
What's underneath the breath?
Or how can I make you stay?
With or without a kind of Broken say.

The atom which mattered said to the atom unsung.
I love you but please don't watch the fun.
Have you ever been lonely within a breather.
That's kind-less, where pearls send all levers.

Someday I'll tell you and you'll be glad.
Why I invented the phone.
It has to do with a song of silence.
When a man's alone.

Who was that just singing.
Ten times and she was gone.
Doctor I have a fever.
One lifetime and "I am song".

As blank as dating websites.
Is my deep science of 4am refrigerator tries.
Instead of listening to us "the sky".
Cross-beams say this one is fridge-shy.

Looking up at many loaves of bread.
On top of a refrigerator asking.
Just when is a man a man.
And where is his dream of lasting.

Very "nice" to you.
Me? I'm where the "hint land" ends.
Oh-stop you're drunk, and dangerous.
So I'll say goodnight dear friend.

As near as I can tell.
There are no focal points like mind.
For whenever I look upon a city.
My nice receives a fine.

Champagne happening.
To be in a Yin Yang state.
With everything as much.
As an afternoon too late.

A toast then to the history of mystery.
Where to listen instead would be prudent.
When toasting champagnes or campaigns.
A joust is always won by the student.







poem 371 by Earl Dinkin

Try not to speak rice of America.
The only way to go.
Dancers in the blinding snow.
The deep earth-anchored nightclub table woes.

In my wobbly apartment building.
Where I talk as far as Emily.
I search for my lost party shoe.
On the floors braced to my family.

Hers was a quietness more than rain.
That a party of noises could not name.
You know that darkness where simple should.
I seen her once where the willow stood.

Until the announcements, are completely different.
I will hear these yesterdays at nine.
I'm alone, and where's the party.
Say it say it. Say these words like crime.

You're into body building?
Christen the State! She's gone.
It's a highway. It's a party.
Now where is that demon wrong.

It could be the powerful outdoor-lantern.
That makes the patio-parties bleep.
I'm sure it can still "find an estate".
It's just a "whack model" once a week.

It's a different theme, at a party!
And very scary heights, oh my!
With embodiments, and a coffee stain.
Please-never tell my kitchen drain.

Within the "actuality" at a party.
Where "focus" cleans the "lean".
Where all "expenses" turn to luck.
Who sleeps within their dreams.

Twenty attractive young people dancing.
Their party inside a cellophane bubble.
Empty cellophane street cube at night.
My inbox of zero trouble.

In the bottom drawer with the unfixable amount.
Of tangled twine seen hardly.
If you need some sing look in there.
Where I threw the fun from parties.

I will never go to parties again.
Because they have two million rules.
Number one is don't eat the peanut.
That one always surprises fools.

A contest winning drawing by a child.
Titled hallway to a nightclub for the bored.
I look for you there in the lonely hours.
Until drawn where the reason is stored.









poem 370 by Earl Dinkin

Trust me.
The jewels are the thieves.
I'd like to wear one "scone". Hands up.
More wine before it breathes.

Within the nature of these fingers.
Please wrap them more and more.
What-are my best intentions.
Why won't your music score.

He needs to be asleep.
He's selling it. Just wait.
Like two-bit rusted Cadillacs.
The buns we'll have to plate.

Are we doing this together.
Who's down for this escape.
Indian soup or fantasies.
There's other ways to cake.

Quite a substance isn't it.
Do you "have one" carrot more.
In what country.
"Interviews" do they let pour.

Guyana.
Diamonds a la Lac Leamy.
Round trees.
There's not much else to say.

Within the smoky air.
Where coughs do not compare.
The natural "habitat" of raisins.
That travelers repair.

I've seen that ship "divinity".
Why-did it not come here.
With-glaciers old as morning.
Just cream with extra stare.

To-starboard west at ten knots.
Who's afraid can cry.
Heaven or no-daffodils.
Plain doughnuts have caught my spy.

One pillow.
You just stood there "thinking" in the start.
I think it's trying to explain our-patience.
The "fundamentals" brooms hide in the dark.

There's a man.
Shaking his fist at sparrows.
How can he take?
Care of planes near errors.

There's an "against" of rice.
How they "make" it calm.
I wish I had a sore throat (like some before us).
In medical terms no song.

Duck thinking next to cat.
I don't "have" my horse and strong.
But I could still meet her.
If there's something wrong.

I'm going to leave you standing up.
But I can't remember my thumbs.
So I'll try remembering my fingers.
As the "I've got money again" alarm-hums.

For the millionth time an obstruction.
A tragedy "kind-less" like a mirth.
Part of the game.
Like a great-great title's worth.

















poem 369 by Earl Dinkin

Every dream in virtual reality.
Does what ever it melts.
Which is "fine" in it's very own way.
Wait a minute. Would that be himself.

Who was that just singing.
Ten times and she was gone.
Doctor I have a fever.
One lifetime and "I am song".

Every dream in virtual reality.
Makes Newman "mister-nice" feel rich.
Wearing clothes for the excitement room.
Where "no one" knows money, just-itch.

As blank as dating websites.
Is my deep science of 4am refrigerator tries.
Instead of listening to us "the sky".
Cross-beams say this one is fridge-shy.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Has perfect slam-disorder as well.
Are you selling any thing hot-stuff.
Greetings Dave. Do you want to be able to tell.

Very "nice" to you.
Me? I'm where the "hint land" ends.
Oh-stop you're drunk, and dangerous.
So I'll say goodnight dear friend.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Lands back on your window-case.
Inventory Honey I have "this".
Re-numbered if you have a kiss.

Champagne happening.
To be in a Yin Yang state.
With everything as much.
As an afternoon too late.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Sees dry feet and dry lunch box No!
Every night upon the queen's highway.
That kind of convenience "Yes" knows.

One pillow.
You just stood there "thinking" in the start.
I think it's trying to explain our-patience.
The "fundamentals" brooms hide in the dark.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Is enchanted with clean-shower sing.
You always can leave a poem right there.
Style "nearly". Is everything.

There's a man.
Shaking his fist at sparrows.
How can he take?
Care of planes near errors.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Are "better ways" you know it.
Train track messages "to the moments".
Suspecting you'll throw "switch-rodents".

There's an "against" of rice.
How they "make" it calm.
I wish I had a sore throat like some before us.
In medical terms no song.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Transcends "Yes" to the tune of beer.
For every three hours in this house.
Nut Shells "hide" three hundred years.

Duck thinking next to cat.
I don't have my horse and strong.
But I could still meet her.
If there's something wrong.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Has to be really soft.
"It wasn't your fault" sells-out really fast.
Erasing a terrible cost.

I'm going to leave you standing up.
But I can't remember my thumbs.
So I'll try remembering my fingers.
As the "I've got money again" alarm-hums.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Cups-awake! Too-demanding to share.
I guarantee he'll asked you "where to put things".
His shoulders are almost there.

For the millionth time an obstruction.
A tragedy "kind-less" like a mirth.
Part of the game.
Like a great-great title's worth.

Every dream in virtual reality.
Is fighting for their "song's" longevity.
I've seen heroes, build such long ropes.
Joining our "hearts"to their endless "brevity".












poem 368 by Earl Dinkin

I don't think so. Again my eyes were closed.
If nature breaks down, I'll enjoy the cloves.
I'll have a world to choose from. Yum Yum Yum.
But eventually I should wish her, (for equilibrium).

When we set sail; "at the Land we laughed".
Trust me I just want to thank you Mast.
You hate me "and that hurts me"; friend.
When over-rover Slows You down I hen.

A man so worried.
His "square bailing can" might offend.
So he writes poetry.
Until he's round again.

This one had a dream.
Some made it to the top.
Twenty percent-chance of Incredibly bad news.
Plasticine please stop.

When Shelly grabs a joke.
There's not much left to tell.
Talk about any-thing "but" ears.
The words "I've been-awake" might sell.

I don't remember the year.
The surface or elevating.
It's a bit like snoring.
And runs through a body dating.

Garbage is insanity.
Though it has graceful lines.
If I ever learn to speak good day sir.
Great-Grand Dad will drink his wine.

He's so delighted; this one is.
With rocket more like train.
Liquid flowing within given directions.
Words causing all his "plain".

I've given you a question!
Why are you bringing it here.
Because the mountain fell for it.
As solid as setup-gear.

Good suggestion. Yes that feels better.
Within-slippery-sidewalks there is so much good.
Repeat thier words if at first you need them.
Spell with letters seldom-understood.

Fractal Island. Is that your best alone.
It barely froze my tent.
Nicer more it-was to cows.
Wondering where Margret went.

Take me home away from here.
Be with me fractal stones.
My kindness ia always sleeping.
Her omni cat bemoans.

"Bursting" get out of here!
I can see her "Henry" legs.
It helps reduce the thefts she says.
Her names for chosen eggs.

I like sleep but Tory's banging.
Next time at four o'clock.
With sadness like it's raining scientists.
Whom could bemoan that.

It takes a gentle-hand "to guess her real appearance".
On the roof on rainy days.
Charlotte from down in three eighteen.
Mocked with words start bending "hey".

But hands and knees are fair enough.
Lock in place the magnetic poles of Earth.
Chestnuts and Willows please try to make me stay.
And sugar make a challenge please, that Willy can sweep away.










poem 367 by Earl Dinkin

When men on the moon first saw the earth.
Well the first time I saw you was like that.
Oh surely I was in such awe of your beauty.
But then I remembered where I was at.

If I gave you moon dust.
Would you throw it in the trash.
Or forgive a man for soon must.
If he was quiet enough to ask.

Moonlight silhouette of a flea inside a parasite.
On the stomach of mankind's all.
A look to the curtains, a touch of the havens.
And of course a wisdom's brawl.

Tune them oft as piano strings.
Or wings as oft as pruning.
Thoughts precious as sun lit dust.
A sight so meant for moon beams.

A man with an unblockable view of the moon.
By duplicating himself like a robot.
Odd floppy airplane that will never fly.
At bottom of lake facing hill top.

Hello moon. You're up next.
I tried to move "that brother".
My summer-fan is so nice.
Stand-back voice-discovered.

Extra extra read "All about it Fears".
Sound will not yield a matching star.
Lint can vary news by up to 3 years.
A man is trying to grow moonbeams in a jar.

He is brave!! Right over there.
The sun, the moon, and stars.
Running on unclear fiction.
I present to you, all cars.

I can "see" it in your skin.
He's arranging the size of moons.
And your eyes I don't understand.
You did when she found spoons.

But that's just heroics at any time.
If you rise to scratch the moon.
"I love avatars sir" she wrote.
They are spinach for the whom.

Tone's paintings are very quiet.
Like poise when you count the moon.
You almost hear each painting's decision.
Like when should you say it's noon.

And a very bright flashlight with four legs.
Shining at the moon at night.
Answer is less than a midnight glimmer.
But nothing can beam that slight.

Fortune and unfair with just enough Moon.
No one should want that much room.
For whenever it comes to something like that.
There's nothing behind me, I'm a robot perhaps.

Forget the lust. The river chose.
Daddies are made by vroom!
And sparkles! are showing on the counter!
Neptune is my moon.









poem 366 by Earl Dinkin
watch on youtube  https://youtu.be/XWEjNzHq_tw?t=225

I'll answer your questions.
Like the edges of clouds.
Smile when I'm maybe.
And paint how autumn bows.

Since we have reviews and points of view.
And focal points of no return.
I wonder how five leaf clovers grow.
Wherever lies the learn.

The eddies of the stream are slight.
The bravest leaves have known.
Choice at the master's keel of life.
The smallest turns they've owned.

With a wind that howls ever slowly.
And could take a man away.
That leaves the apples ever lowly.
I'll measure them-wrong and stay.

Entry now on a stage.
You know the most of all.
But never let the autumn win.
Reach anywhere near your Fall.

If men and women have used each other up.
Then let's exchange our fish bone keys.
I promise not to flurry much.
And I'll stay like autumn leaves.

A woman looking upward.
And explaining the green leaf below her eye.
It's for when a man loves inner nature.
And never moves for wind or why.

Going passed doing something before.
A tricycle, with only one back wheel.
Putting forth its weight a fraction.
Autumn, leave me alone to heal.

There are beautiful faces in the trees.
But only at the edge of the forest.
Of all the ways to hear the leaves.
The hush of the shy is the surest.

But October leaves, at midnight!!
Hold-the ocean-boats to wind!
It will pry the-riddle once-again.
From the hands of men.

Yes. The golden leaflets.
In the back there, fold.
Let her highlights enter sight.
Impress mankind and hold.

Hot commodity come on in!
Or however "that-saying" is spelled.
We were bigger at anonymous texting.
But then that's when the autumn fell.

To Tacky's alright then.
But excuse my autumn-nose.
I'm desperately in-need of pen.
Your "goddess" on a pimple shows.

But there's only rest, and lazy swarmed me.
And because Autumn looks divine.
I think I'll go into "her-word for slumber".
And ask her for a sign.

Do you ever think about the leaves.
And wonder why the water comes.
Haste partitions as a resource.
Self autumn as the quiet sums.

Action is a place.
Where sighs don't need to be.
Were every happy pulse to race.
Somewhere rustle leaves.

Shore lines talk in whispers.
And leaves speak soft as breeze.
I will shout as loud as grasshoppers.
To communicate less with thee.

Tell me only autumn leaf.
How do you like your brook.
Should the water be so calm.
Or move just oh so lill.













poem 365 by Earl Dinkin

What I saw, inside bamboo.
The funniness in a star.
That an evening inside out.
Is what the visions are.

Even the duck lives allot.
Is Time just starting with the same result?
Hopefully she will start painting again.
I'm going to thank her blue-consult.

But today has-told me allot today.
Eagles fly like ducks.
My stove range worships the best schematic.
And bets "aboves" on me for luck.

I don't think I'd like some extra burden.
We're not talking babies here. Just-watch-this.
Where couples together hang their cupboards.
A journey is just enough of-wish.

Where into the night.
What some understood, others understood.
I saw myself standing.
With famous feelings from meanderings.

In Georgia as good a place as any.
Faculty A vs faculty B.
I learned about taking care of it.
Doughnut-and-a-Tea.

What about this problem.
It's me who rests my head.
As they often say, I count my sceneries.
I'm zeroed with love instead.

Boat massage.
Why can't you forget your flows and ebb's.
And let things fall.
Stacked like things un-said.

My mind keeps ringing. My inner ears.
Expecting pressures. As if weather shares.
The claws of nature. Are a little bit dark in here.
Rhyming helps. Shouts a louder fear.

And then I hear it. Do it right.
Busy-Outside, The Sergeant of the Stage.
The Life you Spend, you Spend.
Milly isn't here that way.

A police officer.
Pointing to a flower styles away.
His heart strengthened.
By his portrait so softly made.

I tried to scare you.
But you're the beautiful one here.
Mirror mirror? How do people do it?
Protesting radiance. And trying to park sincere.

That's where the squares are on the sun.
That want to pull me in.
Don't do it. Say the outer orbits.
Flap your-percentages and spin.

If I ever run in heaven.
I will walk and ask one know.
How come slow is actually fast.
And fast is actually slow.









poem 364 by Earl Dinkin

Any world that can cast slow shadows.
Upon my flesh feels wise.
And all I need to do to choose one.
Is reveal my morning eyes.

With a wind that howls ever slowly.
And could take a man away.
That leaves the apples ever lowly.
I'll measure them-wrong and stay.

When fun day, has to choose a style.
A whisper quiet will always hide by rain.
As if the witness of, all it has seen.
Might have, louder slants than drain.

Stimulation addiction knows no bland.
Because the bland keep the bland to themselves.
Two ounces should be enough for a lifetime.
And should be stored on the shyest self.

Stimulation is sold in what's.
Some want none and some want lots.
The world is where that price is fair.
And what's between us finds a level there.

I learned a new word today.
Well actually I made it up.
It's all that fuss between one and zero.
When all men know nils~enough.

Where elephant stacking reaches the usual limit.
The good of any copy looms.
Near the fear of what it might be like.
If man understood cartoons.

Losing being that finest right.
A gracefulness only wisdoms toe.
Where problemless kites light up thin nights.
I fear blight men might know.

Listen to this idea? That weapons laugh.
They crawl all the way up you. And eat you half.
In Florida research is fine.
Try asking a practice~target, "can you spare a dime".

That music is by Taneyev.
Where I only hear note~b.
Asking a mother.
Would one-branch-make her a tree.

A typical y shaped decision.
Has a magnifying glass side that sees.
And an atrophied skill long since unneeded.
On the side where the past grew please.

She gets so small she wishes she wasn't there.
So she moves off to the shy.
Some men are always so hungry, but check him out.
He's how I feel inside.

There were many roads to find the new.
Each turn they took with dread.
They endlessly wandered a or b.
So I lived inside my head.

Every ten days a starving mind.
Finds one with mourned relief.
In a portion smaller than kind.
How rare is the sworn belief.

Today I mourned, that conversation.
True friends keep deep inside.
Because they know, our hibernation.
Would never match their stride.

Expectations steer my morning.
Alliances hear my shout.
Sitting on the front edge of bed.
Two worlds joined by doubt.

Where you can hide your wishes under any rocks.
With no needs of keys or combination locks.
Where your hands can hold rains of long divisions.
And leaves pile themselves in mourned decisions.

Can a simple thing be who.
As simple as the at.
As tiny as an inconclusion.
Yet two worlds fit through that.

Fighting only in fables I'll know all-of life.
An average of math last night I "meaned".
While asleep I found that famous ten minute egg.
I wonder what that "dreams".











poem 363 by Earl Dinkin

The saddest song I never heard.
The entire earth must play.
That of artworks failing their hooks.
No man should fear that way.

I don't think so. Again my eyes were closed.
If nature breaks down, I'll enjoy the cloves.
I'll have a world to choose from. Yum Yum Yum.
But eventually I should wish-her, (for equilibrium).

When we set sail; "at the Land we laughed".
Trust me I just want to thank you Mast.
You hate me "and that hurts me"; friend.
When over-rover slows you down I hen.

A man so worried.
His "square bailing can" might offend.
So he writes poetry.
Until he's round again.

This one had a dream.
Some made it to the top.
Twenty percent-chance of Incredibly bad news.
Plasticine please stop.

When Shelly grabs a joke.
There's not much left to tell.
Talk about any thing "but" ears.
"I've been-awake" might sell.

I don't remember the year.
The surface or elevating.
It's a bit like snoring.
And runs through a body dating.

Garbage is insanity.
Though it does have graceful lines.
If I ever learn to speak good day sir.
Great-Grand-Dad will drink his wine.

He's so delighted; this one is.
With rocket more like train.
Liquid flowing within given directions.
Words causing all his "plain".

I've given you a question!
Why are you bringing it here.
Because the mountain fell for it.
As solid as step-up-gear.

Good suggestion. Yes that does feel better.
Repeat these words if you feel the need.
Within-slippery-sidewalks there is so much good.
Spelled with letters seldom-understood.

Fractal Island. Is that your best alone.
It barely froze my tent.
Nicer more it-was to cows.
Wondering where Margret went.

Take me home away from here.
Be with me fractal stones.
My kindness is always sleeping.
Her omni cat bemoans.

"Bursting" get out of here!
I can see her "Henry" legs.
It helps reduce the thefts she says.
Her names for chosen eggs.

I like sleep but Tory's banging.
Next time at four o'clock.
With sadness like it's raining scientists.
Whom bemoans one drop.

It takes a gentle-hand "to guess her real appearance".
On the roof on rainy days.
Charlotte from down in three eighteen.
Words-start bending "hey".

But hands and knees are fair enough.
Lock in place the magnetic poles of Earth.
Chestnuts and Willows please, try to make me stay.
And sugar make a challenge please, that Willy can sleep away.

















poem 362 by Earl Dinkin

Cold hands, if you've watched the 70's.
You have to dig it out from stealth.
Why can't she say "this to me".
That she is angry at nostalgia health.

The answer is a wish for Mom.
May she have a clock like muck.
With Lego-love for Lego-Hands.
And Lego-Shoes that stick too much.

At fifty knots per hour, where do you park around here?
He's attracted to women.
But when they start unpacking this guy.
They find he's got all these names stuck in-em.

Hey what are you doing to me.
Aren't these a higher mixer.
I can't hear you please spook louder.
Dark Ghost of financial investor.

Where is your coffee.
The better song you're in.
How about this guy. We'll have to brew nicely.
Remind-me it's you he sings.

In the middle of nowhere a small green plant said.
On a one inch white stem here's what I read.
I think I thought of thought while thinking.
And magically then I thought of thinking.

Hiding in bushes at poetry reading.
Until someone arrives portage.
Running to be first one seated.
That's not dangerous that's corsage.

You bought Tree-Angels for that.
Knowing they're not acting.
Then you returned their favours.
With equal "inner" not reacting.

I can only suggest you use real visions.
On shores where the oars are sought.
Stored in each trickle, an ocean roars brittle.
That joy at one's "first sight of thought".

A Jackrabbit with one big-thumb front leg.
On a map rare speed.
It's thumb hurting from such deep surgeries.
Called what a woman seas.









poem 361 by Earl Dinkin

In the middle of nowhere a small green plant said.
On a one inch white-stem here's what I read.
I think I thought of thought while thinking.
And magically then I thought of thinking.

A Jackrabbit with one big-thumb front leg.
On a map rare speed.
It's thumb hurting from such deep surgeries.
Called what a woman seas.

Hiding in bushes at a poetry reading.
Until someone arrives portage.
Running to be the first one seated.
That's not dangerous that's corsage.

You bought Tree-Angels for that.
Knowing they're not acting.
Then you returned their favours.
With equal "inner" not reacting.

I can only suggest you use real visions.
On shores where the oars are sought.
Stored in each trickle, an ocean roars brittle.
That joy at one's "first sight of thought".

That could mean.
A dust, like angry sky.
I wonder where the yellow went?
I told you Byron lied.

That's the one! Hidden peace.
Wake the November sure.
The mighty SL! in my heart.
Come into, in-my-store.

Twice daily rascals!
Phone for backup sweeps.
One unbutton! Two unbutton!
Three, alert the meeks!

It's so upsetting! Do come in.
I'm trying to rearrange the door.
And stack the angles, in a heap.
The good of any-more.

What did I say?
The lion gate's the same!
BRAIN, don't say it!
So near a velvet tame.

I love that!
The same way, velvet felt, was rhyme.
And doctors yet so numb I'm sure.
Could repair a verse of mine.

With practicing license.
And a desert known as place.
Emily, for the heaven.
And Byron for the waste.

It's dark in here!
And no time has ever known.
Pass the buttercup, and some mind!
Cameras are dead in Rome.

Dandelion are still alive!
And forgetful as repose.
Making up, such a heaven.
I know! I know! I know!

Count them, six more givings!
The songs that living chose.
No one ever, invents a light bulb.
That doesn't know what shows.

The spiders dance in Neptune's honor.
Where passwords forget their pain.
Excuse me do you accept Visa here?
Earth is-my home again.

For love of time or money.
A river should be, so bold.
Ticker tape, or funny.
And suggestion, just as old.

Tangles be my corner shop.
Her hair, the yellow rose.
To stare forever into the mop.
And never banter prose.

With wrong for heavy, and light for rain.
Who knows where dancing goes?
Perhaps. The very-first hiding spot?
Beneath the yellow rose!

But I'm a statue! Hear me not.
Demure has no disclose.
Except to say, just one thought.
Five broom sweeps, and one pose.












poem 361 by Earl Dinkin

Do you know, that I spoke to Dan today?
He woke a scientist. "How can there be the abled"?
I bested him.
How can cobble taste the stable?

The last tent. And now it lets the rain through.
I baked her some bread filled with what she can't do.
Everyone wants to know what sounds so great.
If she never paints her words I'll wait.

A female standing in a massive tent.
With massive gears for her sans intent.
A male visitor to her massive Telescope.
Her hands offering him a Cantaloupe.

Ok come on guys.
Especially if you use charm.
The great thing about her mother?
You say your magic. Old test. Right yarn.

Like when they build "skateboard-tunnels".
Where skaters and "bicycle-commuters" could power sway.
Television please have "mercy oscillations".
For kites and wedding bands out of day.

Any Nun drive a pick up?
I have to move a stare.
My think fast was never what I'm saying.
It's permanently in repair.

Are the Himalayas well versed.
To anyone who climbs.
Summits cannot stop bubble gum.
Peaks "cannot" grocer time.

Believe in your studies up here.
Miss Peaks is always right.
All dressed up in I don't know.
Because of me a fight.

If these are good.
Why are they saddled.
The Arts are an average.
Of a medium's frazzle.












poem 360 by Earl Dinkin

Looking out a window.
And seeing a communications-tower.
Now fifty percent closer.
Than it-has-been for hours.

You want to hear a story don't you.
Well I'll tell you one for tea.
Just what is a land for?
And has no liberty?

Believe in your studies up here.
Miss Peaks is always right.
All dressed up in I don't know.
Because of me a fight.

Changes & pages!
Where priests are on the run.
Scary, with overcoats.
And does not drink the rum.

Any Nun drive a pick up?
I have to move a stare.
My think fast was never what I'm saying.
It's permanently in repair.

Eerie! The white horn!!
As chosen as the fun.
Almost like a lithograph.
No pilots steer by sun.

The gift of mirror!!
Roscoe anyone!!
That is the day that Neptune plays.
As binding as the scum.

Barney is the hero!
I'll tell you what he won.
Standing near the Euro.
With coconuts and thumbs.

Believe it or not, I like to read them.
Men's puppet and women's gun.
And smiles, I have seen them.
Holding up the Tun.

Past right here.
Nine times out of none.
One day per year.
Forgetting-equi-librium.

Arrivals by an engine's evermore.
The Frost-Goals, within two meek's.
His paintings-divide each cup of tea.
Her paintings-divide strong weeks.

Homeowners are the heroes!!
Witches signalling then-
That arrivals are-equations.
That skies can never pen.

I respect the costume though.
Atoms allowing bend.
Holding that bay of teardrops.
That halloween defends.

But October leaves, at midnight!!
Hold-the ocean-boats to wind!
It will pry the-riddle once-again.
From the hands of men.

Wave, at the goodbye chair.
Election night's tonight.
Sound-down like a clown.
Mini boats are glancing right.

Arresting a government, man's-binary.
On or Off like hoovering blend.
As ghastly, as, interstellar space.
Vacuuming my place again.

I don't care what drugs they're on.
They all-need hungry soup.
Some people say nothing sad.
Mad, mad, mad.

The fire logs, now are-plenty.
No tip-toes over clothes.
Burning alot, but never hearing.
Five pennies in the loads.

I am interested, by myself.
In the Fran on channel wait.
But the electric-eye is so sweet.
I hold you so, too late.

And now the rainbow listens.
Migration being born-or-pride.
Leaving behind an arching mission.
Along, somewhere there, I tried.

If these are good.
Why are they saddled.
The Arts are an average.
Of a medium's frazzle.

Are the Himalayas well versed.
To anyone who climbs.
Summits cannot stop bubble gum.
Peaks "cannot" grocer time.









poem 359 by Earl Dinkin

It was a very nice lunch thank you.
Under every tree a signal.
A stand up comedy you cannot breed.
Because society defends its Tinkle.

You'll actually then have one-thought.
For every one of her users.
You'll actually need to buy a flower.
Named "chance today of movers".

I have taken care of you to Mexico.
We can eat our hot-crossed-buns.
I'm sorry (very sorry). I'm blind too.
In fact my stir fry just spelled it loves you-true.

Please just let me finish my song.
Then I'll Rembrandt-where I left my hat.
Early next year I saw aeroplanes fly.
I just found a mistake for that.

His name is achy.
Let's give him "vitamins and see".
The whole beauty-of-oxygen is.
He vultures you off key.

Let's pretend that you have a leg.
A nice "bit of lonely" and a day.
Two or three particles to rub together.
And close to you some way.

Let's pretend you have a cigarette.
You moved it. And "so it stayed".
In order to "pillow" it needs Beethoven.
Relieving loss with pay.

You're lucky that they have no data.
Just all seasons within each dawn.
Do you think they'll notice us?
The first time, school teaches something wrong.

New exotic dancer wearing a make shift cardboard.
Box of gifts from her admirers (hung from her shoulder's lore).
She's giving a thick envelope to her Coat Check boyfriend.
"Ad-Infinitum" four.

A bird sanctuary veterinarian talking to a foul.
A shy disturbance making one duck flee.
Scolding his wife who made the tiny noise.
"Ad-Infinitum" three.

Secret agent, "undercover as a woman's boyfriend".
Explaining his mission, "details to her like crew".
As she listens while sitting up in bed.
"Ad-Infinitum" two.

A new mother overwhelmed.
Smashing smart baby crib gadget still un-spun.
After too many belittling instruction from a man.
"Ad-Infinitum" one.

A man with a spatula, "shocked to see cast-iron-chunk".
Break free from his frying pan, "paid for by euros won".
Scolding with all "the best tricks he has learned".
"Ad-Infinitum" none.

We find them posted.
But with ears "not home" eye paste.
Driving into.
Two months must be great.










poem 358 by Earl Dinkin

Are we doing this together.
Who's down for this escape.
Indian soup or fantasies.
There's other ways to cake.

He'll work over, to what we're working for.
Art cards being moved for a maximum-stun.
Did I mention that planes fly-allot?
Turn it on then. Till experts say it's oxygen.

It's all about reversals.
And practice till the end.
The fires of life and the trapeze pebble.
And the people money spend.

Fighting only in fables I'll know all-of life.
An average of math last night I "meaned".
While asleep I found that famous ten minute egg.
I wonder what that "dreams".

The continuance of all life depends.
On the inaccuracy of all minds.
Where incorrect feedback makes each hour.
Grow you differently based on rhymes.

Like that weird feeling, in an emptied home.
Balconies provide shivered irk!
Eery! the way, people are walking proof.
Their theory of how life should be, can work!

And the winds of change are omnipresent.
And they always heat seek the learn.
And where ever we look too long at slightness.
The meanings of life will burn.

Within each morning as smart as free.
I have to recount, the internal tree.
For within each time I dreamed of life.
Distraction stung abstraction twice.

When eyes of potatoes look inward each night.
They always contemplate their true meaning of life.
That expiry dates are printed illegibly on purpose.
To pass laws near a world's un-nice.

There's a fuse in life every ten feet.
They are sown for a harvest of dreams.
And oh how easy these lessons light.
By that candle of thought made of means.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.

To see who through a dimpled glass.
And know pi sums of lean.
My life fills up a painting masked.
Five symbols shy tons unseen.

In my second life I can pace for hours.
On no hillside called lichen's rift.
Where men who like her can think for powers.
And improve the song of if.

I almost thought about you last night.
Could you tell me more about you please?
The subconscious sees life with only five pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

And then I wondered, somewhere near my wander.
If everything, chooses between a or b.
And if one-life, is just ten trillion buy ins.
To find results which are better for thee.












poem 357 by Earl Dinkin

I would have gone in "Dutch myself".
But the raccoon-always "starts at dusk".
So in our minds lets say we dreamt of dining.
Without his garbage rubbing "Against" us.

Man against his pen.
Locked in combat till the end.
If you ever read these words.
Know I won by sunrise birds.

I suddenly detected. Someone against aversions.
Those ah-err hm-ah oh-well cold spies.
Their doing it, and bragging about it.
Unless it's just those telethon-guys.

Now I understand painting.
It works fluidly like self finds self.
Like dreams "form" up against other dreams.
Adding details, "moist" eyes will help.

Worried priest asking local woman.
Why did you quote me thus.
While laying on top of her under a stairwell.
Head against the morning rush.

Like passengers of a large ship and its captain.
Standing against a one foot railing waving.
Goodbye to an overboard woman.
Oh how our world loves saving.

A woman in a bed against a barn.
Being photographed if that's called bliss.
Domestic living at its finest.
But only if she exists.

Being no match against the common good.
I heard a knot start to cry.
Upon encounters where I stood on standings.
A community truth knew sky.

Isn't it against your money though?
Who will we watch today and why.
Are we actually in a graveyard?
Let's lean on something sky.

With neutral under dig-it in!
And rise against the clock.
Hampton road must now-await.
The slowest search for sock.

A woman's strong mean boyfriend.
Blowing bubble gum against your face.
New men with ten foot shoes.
Pointing fingers at dawn one pace.

The peaceful in constant battle.
Against the bored who would do anything.
Hand one a peace of paper.
And the other the fight that it brings.

I didn't think I was driving-along. We're all sick Ben
but it's a ride. I'll make you a promise. Duct-Tape
the hate "and you'll have an eagle".
With talent you cannot empty. I've tried.

















poem 355 by Earl Dinkin

Piping me from my canteen.
I'm not sure why he's doing this.
I'm better at sailing and I'm funny.
Double rabbit holes? He-wish!

And he's not even "stem cell sleeping".
But I have seen why he's fearing chance.
Sorry to bother your, "in despair".
It kind of does look like structured un-romance.

But you're not testing the wrong guy.
How there's a "bedbug" that bites.
What's that red mark on your back?
It can see all around him. I'll have to go with that.

Tomorrow's lesson when you were a child.
Why do you think you have a child's pace.
When "the air moves in" I sense the miles.
And remember we were Honda-Raced.

I cannot "right hand" white house gestures.
But I can "yard-gnome" for several weeks.
To understand such a snowstorm.
I can watch an acre's heat.

Like the cure I'm not upset.
"Everything" here is possible.
So it takes a thousand dollars to build a bridge.
And that's all of us. Beating the Meetings into a hospital.

Change her room number please. It's "Two in Bed Everyday".
I was trying to deliver her the latest news.
"What's in the Heads of the Truly Rich".
Not my thoughts in their way.

I like him. He's got a two such mind.
Moxy though. All his "freedoms".
I'm a bad girl.
I Listen to him all the time.

Everything has strength but why?
Even things not yet established.
So garlic. Have you got the message?
Yes he's really average.

Now let's switch him out.
I know what you're going to say.
Go down to headquarters. The approach was bad.
His "need water" ran-away.

My "voice is my spade" and I "think this is what".
You call passions from a grave "re-lating".
I also-think this is just plan B.
That something might be "calcu-lateing".

There it is, with magic shape.
This must be called their final.
I have a feeling one can always-awake.
With hand holding math's denial.

A rash wouldn't change "anything" though.
Especially songs not understood.
Beyond that I wash my face on rising.
And magically they're not that good.

Of course "you can't have dinner with yourself".
I haven't seen what a heaven said.
Can I have "The brief access exactly aware'd".
And adjustments with all the "lonely numbers paired".










poem 354 by Earl Dinkin

Fire the Mason Jars. Tickle fancy's.
Tenth grade cinema screens engage.
English jam tarts. Morning card sharks.
By the angles Men! "Out behave"!

Cut off your rifles men. We only need the butt's.
Private Ryan "but what about evening tea"?
I think I almost "understand" soldier.
But how could "sunset" evening me?

Still in diapers, sees a trend.
Its-about transportation all within.
Woman forced to transcribe her own "Psychiatric-visits".
Says to reporters "it was like Hell's un-end".

Realizing moments "stand like sandbox sand".
And no one is immune from having labeled hands.
And then it only takes "the most melting song".
To be slow-enough to mean "all atoms get along".

Yes our father's heart is wealth.
And although we travel slow.
We travel no further than poems can go.
Our Jimmy-the-Face would know.






poem 353 by Earl Dinkin

Have you ever had a cake Reggie.
They put sugar on your side.
Is that the basis for being one.
News film to Vulcan pride.

And he'll have a seventh.
I guess there's no science-fiction hot.
Did you ask for the hero's dear.
No I just thanked "the you know what".

I'm just stirring in some bills to pay.
And auditions, "for You'll get Apple-Scoop".
You have chosen wisely dear.
Casting Call Distance "To the Caribbean-Soup".

That they have to "sleep with cars".
And ride tracks down to their ends.
Lindsay "I saw your vision".
Sleep holds your yada friends.

But I see no "bounds in a car".
Mac? Mr. Mackie. "number Ten".
Your prince in a bottle sir.
Try not to "dent her" again.

In "Holly-Brook" did I mention.
Soap tends to leave oil soft.
We should probably collect the keys or something.
Both lights and darks will wash.

There's an argument.
We must be pretty close to Tear.
In order to tease them with one season.
Let's throw "the art in gear".

Magnetic earth.
Be kind to me.
Magnetic heavens.
Leave time to be.

Schweitzer.
Would if she were sand.
Enough.
Lightning in her man.

Ballerina.
Would you take his hand.
Locust.
Can I have "you understand".

Yes I have a moat "others call a ditch".
Drainage some would call a brook.
On a quiet night "I named upheaval".
Others would name it look.

Only one face "please this time".
Stop "that" is not your safe.
Your's is the wind "that the window screens".
Horizons can never take.

Answer anyway.
Miss Best is barefoot in your cloves.
Needless to say "needless wins".
Rhymes!!! "hide yourselves from prose".

Age twenty bought eyes.
Enough to "asterisk name".
Age fifty bought shy's.
Enough to rust "window panes".

Please tell me "what's in your head?"
Marching towards the falls.
I only know there's a "billion bright".
Unchosen "poetic halls".

Capable of smiling with stubble gone.
Touched all stars but was it worth it.
Arm strong but nothing to say.
Come see for yourself the storms fit.









poem 352 by Earl Dinkin

Where is it sandy in the ocean.
In right hand to behold.
Hey Guy's! Don't be so tough.
Stay inside gets inside I'm told.

Who knows where the good ones are.
With accolades dressed in thorns.
Explain the reason for re-use of boxing.
No passion when someone's born.

That is just my way Howard.
I can finish the toys from lore.
It really is something big I can't let you study.
Two honey mints might war.

I'm sorry we need more city timing.
Think months and months of that.
Happy go strange what is she wearing.
Listen and mention hat.

With shadows from the pages between us.
I'm sorry about your ear.
I'll page myself often from the dance.
And just think about you there.

I will almost "the almost start".
And trolley the almost wind.
My station is, whatever you've bought.
Much hope for when you grin.

I used to love this stuff.
I mean "when oxygen is friendle-ing".
To hear it make the sound of thistles.
Babies in our jostle-ing.

In the comfort zone this afternoon.
It always returns myself.
And sac's my freedom.
Sending it to someone else.

Because there is a scholar.
As mission'd as the Queen's.
A prisoner.
To whom I "writhe" the seams.

Plastic chips in goldman sacs.
Only hearts can hell.
Petty standings have heard the wishing.
Down with inner tells.

Extra extra read "All about it Fears".
Sound will not yield a matching star.
Lint can vary news by up to 3 years.
A man is trying to grow moonbeams in a jar.







poem 351 by Earl Dinkin

Focus attention where you want tension.
As though thought must somewhere Teed.
To change a world by the tiny mention.
Oh how I wish talk freed.

A force so wishless were it found.
Even kindness could knock it down.
Weakest is the know within.
Of all I do not comprehend.

Design a sink, make it gold.
Newspapers can you, flow of this.
Fill with wealth, and had behold.
And in a diner, make her wish.

Somewhere else other than mission.
Where reproducers bright the scariest grin.
Soft and quiet men near soft and quiet women.
Fearing oh how I wish the slight could win.

I fear the transition from night to dawn.
Because that's how quickly my voice is wrong.
And late at night when I only own a door.
I wish I knew what a manor is for.

And I also wish for growth of man.
Or less semblance of unique.
And a blanket warm as a failed strand.
Storing the technique.

I wish we could be wordless.
And correctionless like time.
And measured like two moments.
That think so slow they rhyme.

I wish there was a place where all creatures.
Get together and learn from one another free.
Especially all the vultures there.
That place must be in me.

In there is a bravery so contrived.
It nearly can't exist.
To look on all the near before me.
And not move or make a wish.

Where I glanced among their legends.
How slowly my wish unfurled.
While scared there within their engines.
I vowed not to hurt their world.

So softly.
A masterpiece of rain.
I've forgotten in-out or-so.
I will wish again.

I wish there was a movie called Fine Tuning.
About how people grow.
How they change their inner thoughts.
Until themselves they know.

Make it about "a train in mid air".
With a feedback loop.
Its merely self worth swooping backwards.
Making solid self worth mute.








poem 350 by Earl Dinkin

This man is genius. About things I want to know.
Like Cemetery fishing.
Big destinies. Dark Mittens. My corner. My kitchen.
flies within my bowl.

Or some times a dog carrier.
Like so many things attached to horses.
So many arguments. And so much talking.
I want to thank all kitchen forces.

And a vast machine, that the penny hogs.
Sleeping while I'm awake.
Is it a dance machine? Or a passion machine?
No one will see me wait.

Waiting, listening and freezing.
For Gotcha Gotcha. Mouse.
Tonight the air is telling stories.
It's paradigm devout.

Dogs have it home so long.
Tired in the gym as if that's the function of meat.
But I'm too old for exercise.
How I miss remembered heat.

Take a day like Tuesday for instance.
Strange how the clouds roll in.
Beach Restrictions bumping my nose.
Till Friday knights' her friend.

Yes "beyond" the "clock" is the giant door.
That I came back to see.
Elliptographs "in all directions".
Where do "they" sell such greed.

Gentlemen awaken.
We "absolute" of name.
As-sane as hardly any left.
Salute "dog bowls" hold all same.

Dilute belief there are scientists here.
I think Recklessness is here again.
Nine or One, also make good pets.
Just the rain old-fun.

There are "signs" that "all" are equal sir.
Rover, Rover, Run.
I have the coordinates memorized sir.
Do we dare "define" what's fun.








poem 349 by Earl Dinkin

It was just a test. But was never removed.
I'm glad it was just the two of us.
Let's stay away from that stuff called guess what.
As you can see it burns by wind gust.

Known as where the crickets shy.
Where fame is the least of man's.
I'm above within below the din.
Wondering if you have plans.

The signal to toys ratio.
Is a measure of a website's aim.
A sand where design clients, never.
Suspect that a Tile made fame.

There is an un-disrespected String.
Because the Kite knows Fame.
But within the weather's Deal or no Deal.
Inner height Types just the same.

I try to stay away from that.
Ergo women tracks remain.
There within inner field.
So far ahead she fames.

Like the seashell wears the ocean.
Beholding the sand has ears.
Knowing that fame needs no talents.
Only volunteers.

A plate of leftovers in a refrigerator.
Very strangely not getting warmer.
Table twelve just asked for fame.
Very strangely from in that corner.

Inside a giant harness.
A metaphor of name.
I was thinking-ladies.
Is two dollars fame?

Standing up.
I wasn't, waiting fame.
With midnight always set to noon.
And undecided sun for whom.

Blow her some tobacco.
Delight in all her fame.
Round numbers like two Cadillacs.
Odd numbers like her drain.

Specialties. On your mark.
Rope and so much game.
Julie, shine your pirouette.
And Romeo, your-fame.

Large man leaving movie theater.
Pulling up his pleats.
Saying "there's that poor guy from that channel".
As he sees you choosing a seat.








poem 348 by Earl Dinkin

Here is a token of that greatest gift.
It's worth a million homes.
Familiarity the most precious sift.
And where we keep our knowns.

Then nail the roof to make it last.
And pelicans will-rise from floor.
But never mind the walking "through".
No rust will give them more.

Here is my gift of misdirection.
First. I wrongly go down from care.
Then I surprise you with elevation.
Chin up from the prides we share.

In the corner of a stand for it.
I'll give a hint, there are mountains.
Which I'll show you when someone wants you.
And mega ice storms, turn to fountains.

The greatest gift to give yourself.
Is non-dysfunctionality.
What you say is your finest wealth.
I'm in love with your polarity.

Thus is not what one is.
It's the changing in between.
Though I give you an ample gift.
It's the rearranging that I dream.

Think about your next hiccup.
Focus on it inside your chest.
The next one just won't happen.
My gift for you to test.

It takes fifteen years to make that moment.
Because giving has no past.
And fifteen moments to make one near.
At fifteen cares per crass.

Give it up, all those stars again.
My motion will "now begin".
Ludicrist are all my charms.
Only Sony makes all wind.

It wasn't could, giving it away.
That makes the getting up in morning.
You understand who seldom care.
If sirens hear a coffee scoring.

As "pro man" feeds on his last dime.
And turns the key over to the next astute.
As "unemployable man" then looks around.
His new diet finds another. Endless truth.













poem 347 by Earl Dinkin

Argue with someone for what they do.
Or direction their words might lean.
My favorite armament though has no who.
They can't argue with what you dream.

Intention is my favorite word.
Rare as defeat meets lung.
As valuable as our right to speak.
Is the power to hold our tongue.

If we spoke by colors only.
Oh what things we'd say.
But our world is hurt by thrown glee.
So my favorite color is gray.

Where does mind hide high fidelities.
And level thoughts of my favorite melodies.
Songs so stung by such tall keepers.
And played so wrong, on each life's small speakers.

A single playing card in a void.
Illustrating my favorite things.
A mind missing fifty one cards.
And the wisdom that game brings.

A thinker's thoughts made of smallest thoughts.
Made of land made of land where the angle shops.
There among memories made of memories lots.
I make favorite longings made of hiding spots.

A comedian testing the hearing of his audience.
By increasingly elaborate means and drastics.
Allure which always seems to be unheard.
And perturbed are my favorite tactics.

Symbols are my favorite ease.
The newspaper is filled with them.
Read the news instant free.
And you don't cause the world to end.

A woman's beauty is timeless.
It's all about what she wears.
My favorite sight when I see her coming.
Is the accomplishments behind her ears.

Of all the ways to cause no reactions.
Deadpan is my favorite stance.
It lets you read what people say.
And never hurt their dance.

To push down garbage, in a kitchen waste receptacle.
Or that spring loaded lid has won.
If there is a favorite sting for me.
Alas its work is done.

With adequately as my favorite word.
I try to shave each war.
Blightless like my Apple Macintosh.
Perfection is just being sure.

I have a favorite color.
It's called let the women decide.
It looks very good in any light.
And if done wrong uncrys.

This is my favorite night club.
It's called The Waste of Space.
It's built on top of stilts you know.
Do you think it has too much grace.

My favorite moments of my success.
The only times I really know.
When I clean my computer screens.
That's when I'm a pro.

When I do not smile.
Where is my favorite dice.
Locked in dreams.
Or locked in ice.

In my favorite dream of endless rooms.
No thirds are heard for miles.
Where the subconscious is in control.
We use no words or styles.

Near the edges pierced unnamed.
With the strangest tacks of meeks.
Favorite art we hang unframed.
On a plane that does not preach.








poem 346 by Earl Dinkin

I think I became small today.
So it's traditional to wear my uniform.
Sun dust sparkles, within a darkness.
Are "saluting" to my lesser, hello-storm.

I'll believe in unfurling nonsense.
If uncocooning can save a world.
Or if the theory of hellotivity.
Can incline a woman curled.

I'm only drawing colors from pictures.
Like the interesting much of yellow.
So can I please love you, like a stammer.
And live forever within more hello.

Fish say hello.
The same way a field of cotton tries.
Happier in the evenings.
Just before the test of eyes.

Like telling time by a clock hand's shadow.
I need just one source of right.
So as near as I can tell it's hello.
When winter strikes the night.

Hello moon. You're up next.
I tried to move "that brother".
My summer-fan is so nice.
Stand-back voice-discovered.

But-just how do-we get there?
I mean that storm when we were all surprised?
Where the "Hello I like your Bow-Tie"!
Becomes the only thing that almost dies.

Hello folks. How are you doing.
Do you "want" anything North.
First checking her mirror on the lower landing.
I fear the Cigarette-Seller-Woman's course.

Want to be inspiration has no flow.
To knock but remove no fear.
Real inspiration is like nose picking.
Hello! Is there anybody here?

Interesting but I'm not going there!
Salmonella! I think I'm late!
Antenna-rehabilitate the air.
Please make the hello-wait.

Come in we are making progress.
Ten days finally has mended-skin.
Including the ten ton truck in forward.
Hello coffee how you doing friend?

Menu make it happen please.
Hello is this end-covered with device.
And would you ignore the "is he employed".
Yes I would pardon you. Pyjamas deployed.

And you then stirred to morning.
And in your eyes I shone.
"Hello sleepy head", I'd say.
"Guess what the coffee's on".

Hello profits, meet the Kids.
And then also meet the Roads.
Hey gorgeous, are you nervous.
Understandably so.

All this darkness "must-implode".
Get out, "get out of here".
Do we need-this-orange?
Hello? We're loft impaired!










poem 345 by Earl Dinkin

French dog is for tea sport.
Yes very well Jessica, is hesitant.
And it hurts one self to be so narrow.
Thank you Mr. president.

Here by sentenced to just in case.
Because maybe needs its own deterrence.
Thank you please to everything kind.
Oh and of course please stop all currents.

A children's charity drive thankyou ad.
Cryptically written, where words need pride.
Using several advanced symbols.
To make educated donators teary eyed.

Lines of change pre-composed.
Are you done with that.
Comes from heaven thanks forgiven.
Very Deeply, lost a hat.

Thanks to electronic "names".
I'm seeing it's label face.
The worst "art" of unfiltered-news.
The dark shadows that we taste.

Thank you, thank you, very much.
Let me start by asking you!
That's a mistake from what day?
And was climbing part of it too?

Save-me to-say with sufficient tonnage.
"I've got your Nickel right here someplace".
Don't worry. I didn't care.
Oh no! What's wrong? Thankyou open-space.

Being given very Dusty Vintage Wool Sweater.
And Politely being Thankful.
A Bus making a Difficult Turn in Life.
Refusing the Offer of the spoiled Tranquil.

Relative asking, for money, and laughing.
Thanks chummy! Slap money! Dance leaving!
And an ashtray with ledge, and a purified edge.
For non-smokers to empty with pleasing.

Android? Is that a fishy lobster?
Well thanks, that helps a bunch.
I'm feeling much better.
Where should we go for lunch.

And then there's the people going nowhere thank-you.
For what's a poet to do.
Only looking slightly upwards.
The greatest un-disturbing view.

What is a career?
Is it physical therapy?
Should I use it on myself?
Like thanks allot "John Wealth".

Whew that was a close one.
Man did you see that guy.
He allmost asked a woman out.
Thank god a breeze went by.

Oh and could you please become warm to touch?
Not as cold as a morning clutch.
Not as hot as a favorite scream.
Thanks alot dear movie screen.

Like a circle of hooded monks and my brother.
Releasing steam from my apartment ceilings at dusk.
Like a circle of hooded monks onboard a boat saving seas.
I thank sofas are my bravest cusp.

Thank god mountains all have peaks.
So climbers can end their dangers.
I fear the climb that never meeks.
So thanks for the end of angers.









poem 344 by Earl Dinkin

Like a man with ten thousand homes.
Within my mind I'm homeless.
Excuse me is this seat broken.
And are the windows timeless?

With nothing as solemn as window grime.
I'll ask as if wind were mine.
Within the harbor between two endless scopes.
I'll ask the din to dine.

Sorrow weighs too much for some.
Years being dragged behind.
Yet they only weigh as much to sprung.
And raise a window blind.

And when she looks at the raining frogs.
And wonders why life is sad.
Through endless darkened hallway windows.
She sees my reflection glad.

Window open and the wind knows how.
Could you teach me what should men do.
Lonely like the autumn leaf.
Is your friendly home like you.

Where the cleverness never goes.
That's where reason never grows.
Where men of warmth must go to class.
Breath steams up the window glass.

Rest oh wind that carries sin.
And fear what the heart calls merrier.
The 4 am pen must have no friend.
Or the treason of a window's barrier.

A window is the prettiest picture.
Of winter that I know.
There I'll hear the inner lecture.
Where all good snowflakes go.

What's dead-in-me "is" right here.
Savings in-place. Electrocute him dear.
There are eagles "here" in this Guy!
With stilled-windows and stilled-eye.

What on earth is this word calm.
A storm would have to ask.
It is a mystery I can't explain.
Would say the window glass.

Looking out a window.
And seeing a communications-tower.
Now fifty percent closer.
Than it-has-been for hours.

Well I'm sort of aiming at evening.
If the breeze lets me stay.
I keep trying to look outside but miss.
Then see inside my way.

Watching a motorcycle speed away.
From this view. Its-finest minutes.
On a kind of highway it will barely know.
Because sadly it has no limits.










poem 343 by Earl Dinkin

In his phone book.
A doctor-generic loose letter saves.
Keep em coming hears allot.
Impossible is just harm's way.

Only a music lover will rescue you here.
Sing at your own risk of shun.
Musical instruments are mixed with rescue gear.
But saddly not all men hum.

And how-has your music deserved such wine.
The big guy at your work defines.
Occasionally de-boarding, without stopping.
To begin the slips on time.

I'm living in a can of soup.
Where music makes the man.
Hidden until opened up.
But until then I plan.

Yay! It's a poem!
It just had-to feel like napping.
It knocked down all the music clefs.
So this floor might need some waxing.

Odd today I liked all music.
But I will never like all poems.
But being the world's most hurtful word.
I place my compass home.

Draw up the important stuff.
Milk-bags had their say.
There's nothing big to drink in there.
Music "heard" about it's day.

And should the music be fast or slow.
We'll know by the face of gain.
Year of the two eye blinks given.
I'll be arriving on that train.

It's not her fault.
That music, FM's Sara's desert.
Kind of like the weeds in snow.
They won't believe in Everest.

Within the nature of these fingers.
Please wrap them more and more.
What-are my best intentions.
Why won't your music score.

Because the music stares at tambourine.
Then dips-in the banjo mixer.
The flow goes through, the inner lean.
Towards the extra-note, for thickener.

Here we are, in front of an old-truck-stop.
(Those positive, will see a store).
And to our right, you see-musical notes.
In barrels of ignore.

A man with no musical talent "returning".
An instrument packed in meat to a music class.
His cartoon character front saying meekly.
Known reality hears his beeps but laughs.

Oh gosh what's "a voice to say".
"In his heart", is Mem Orray.
Stunned as if Montana was.
Her egg shell white each day.









poem 342 by Earl Dinkin

Shut up and bring the Sargent in.
To shut me up until she's mellow.
It's some kind of damp sugar.
Outside, you become that fellow.

This will be, like last time right.
No one needs to carry this around.
Imagine knowing how to hush.
The extremes below a cloud.

In town there is a stranger life.
Barbie's diamond-wealth.
It's like a tank. Here's shampoo.
Where water came from drank.

That's a "hair" dresser's missiles.
They blinded two-thousand sterns.
Collecting noone has two dollars.
When they hear she never perms.

You won't get away at the end.
Money has those talons.
And you've got this job to do.
When you seek, a sense of balance.

Do you want to go home.
Runway "Past" has springs for capture.
Now with ginger "be nice to me".
A "migraine" region asked her.

It's time to stop asking same.
Nurse? Is this a mall.
It has never come up before.
Dividends are so small.

You've got hair at the end of your lease.
At nine thirty I'll tell you why.
Everybody experiences prisoners.
You're about to get lighter nigh.

You're into body building?
Christen the State! She's gone.
It's a highway. It's a party.
Now where is that demon wrong.

Wheeling someone.
Someone more soul than seeds.
I'm filming not directing.
Can George anyone Gus her "please".

And try to get the power struggling.
Yes years "after" being alone.
I've "nuanced" the "paint" to help.
There's no question art is sewn.

An ounce of wine went somewhere "main door".
I seen it at Lack-on-Sure.
Do not disturb my cabinet though.
A Bluetooth padlock schedules more.

Entry now on a stage.
You know the most of all.
But never let the autumn win.
Reach anywhere near your Fall.

Her "second" on stage code.
I don't understand.
Always break a heart's direction.
Like "dunes" would try for sand.

Zero decibels please.
And the poet's inner voice is paid.
Noise canceling headphones on.
Now it can hear the days.

And "in the air".
Positions every one.
You "shouldn't" be standing please.
It's going to talk to your mother's hum.

Oh gosh what's "a voice to say".
"In his heart", is Mem Orray.
Stunned as if Montana was.
Her egg shell white each day.

Who has got this bad boy.
And trying to figure me out.
If you could ask an afternoon.
Does milk or coffee doubt.







poem 341 by Earl Dinkin

Like an offshore.
What are you doing here flowing one.
Moving enough to gently-implore.
Paintings no higher than none.

A painting shall always have magic wings.
But will fly forever between two things.
It will rest upon the rocks it knows.
But will oft as thought fly far as chose.

Go sadly.
So-that the "forth-night" might hear.
I created the table for you.
Little plastic mines, suspect clear.

Toss a boat.
Any one can here.
Scribble is a function.
Capsize the pen cap beer.

And bubbles make no potion.
I ran the light! Fire steer!
Have you ever heard of Mange.
I row to eradicate, only a guy out there.

Watching the progress bar.
Why are you so nice to me.
Tummy erased erasion!
Of me they cannot see.

Contemplating the impossible question.
By sitting center of the frozen pond.
When wanting to feel closer, to the truth.
That's the only "guest" of gone.

Entertainment having no other "gear".
Paintings were my only way.
With no engine in between.
I get infinity (per) "no-morality-play".

True inspiration is like bottled ice.
The Klondike will, forever grow.
Arrange a team and throw some dice.
And be prepared to know.

Starvation as a "sinister's" dream.
Ideas won't like sand.
Give them snow and ice for heaven.
And listen hard as grand.

As faintly as all shadows tilt.
And "only" horizons "steam".
So turning into consumes "still".
Only a tundra keens.

Then Adirondact the morning.
Crack open five thousand-miles.
Soul "being only" electricity.
Who's toast pops up for styles.

Prepare to go to work as thus.
Keep hidden from the wind.
Knowing the Klondike "of the mind".
So Barely moves the brush within.

Remember you woke-up, in the dark.
And felt the tent-floor bare.
I guess you really wanted nothing.
And found, no-electronics there.

But there is a "staple" on the horizon.
Far behind our eyes so rare.
Who knew you had-to be so lonely.
To short the currents there.

Gray silhouettes of man and woman free falling.
In fetal positions seven feet apart.
Excuse me miss are you falling alone.
May I please share this art.

Since they put me in charge of the not moving stillness.
With no poet's care I'll jest.
I was wondering since we are both free falling.
Can I hope your breeze might west.







poem 340 by Earl Dinkin

I could have minded my own business.
Like "she" did that to you.
Right there, why so much?
I'm the Robin's egg, it's true.

Flying together tonight.
She, impressed him chimes.
Me and you, stop it, stop it.
I can't do this a thousand times.

Occasion liter pour your wine.
Shots heard only, in ears of mine.
Divided days that rapture lays.
A paved-song sings what stays.

Noise where vegetables knock for game.
Hunger team ease your train.
Drop not, stock in thought.
Rewind be kind oh rain.

Winds dangerously forecast as high.
Cold makes true-night-schools end.
Here I would trade my coffee for.
A map to here home-stems.

Nine were Wednesday.
And leaped like gold to sand.
Antique-ing into secrecy.
Like barking is to band.

Breathe again and live again.
The shortcut to the fin.
Dark-towards hunter-nights.
The Savannah pushed within.

Shoe the cobra. Cue the din.
That, lobsters never meet.
Bubbles like the sands of time.
Dreaming angels to a street.

Torment bay, my little friend.
So small as look outside.
Where, lightning on one finger tip.
Has more within than shy.

Framework, looks good on you.
Though, don't-forget the rains.
For deserts only never-knock.
Until a light switch gains.

Crumple up, all years be friends.
Across one-page of climb.
FedEx in-betweens the mountains.
Mere decimals only fine.

It wasn't quite so hard as shut-up.
But the grass was ridden-hay.
Today I got a sweet proposal:
Sternum buried man's expressions yay!

My name is desperation.
Come and visit us if you fall.
Where you can visit Doctor Tea.
Pure Coventry on his wall.

They had a real chance of sitting-here.
Who had no stupid brains.
I certainly, wouldn't want one.
They immediately number rains.

I'll sit right here and watch!
Prim and, proper "as" cloned-feet can be.
Selling them as-mere action.
Fifty words as-were from me.

Yay! It's a poem!
It just had-to feel like napping.
It knocked down all-the music-clefs.
So this floor might-need some-waxing.

That little structure, my ordered mind.
That way to heaven's gold.
Where lady Chance! Mops Allot.
And her river looks so "hold".







poem 339 by Earl Dinkin

Zero degrees inclination.
Is my only friend.
I can see her in a war of words.
Is she up or down defend.

When I look at constellations.
I can see what your dreams are.
You'll have one million thoughts a month.
But you only get five stars.

There are ten people in a darkroom.
If they can prove that they exist.
With an arsenal of only odd behaviours.
Divide pi in-two plus this.

No deal nor should has yet impede.
What is swirled by the power of wants.
As rhymely small as the heard indeed.
Is the unstoppable returned response.

I know you have responsibilities.
And lots, and lots, of boundaries.
With everything being so crazy.
And a lifetime of only flounderings.

Meander!
Often writes like me.
And then brings back.
Responsibility!

Post-apocalyptic food-delivery response.
Requesting your order be re-sent.
With more adherence to perfect protocol.
Please always name your vent.

When playing poker against a display rack.
Of information pamphlets lose.
Five pixels beats a thousand tacks.
And appropriate response beats news.

And the winds of change are omnipresent.
And they always heat seek the learn.
And wherever we look too long at slightness.
The meanings of life will burn.

Since we have reviews and points of view.
And focal points of no return.
I wonder how five leaf clovers grow.
Wherever lies the learn.

The true teacher just passes the butter.
And all the learns of earned finesse.
Like a cat and an owl in beanbag chairs.
Need I mention permanence.

This is wonderful. What is his name?
We want to be like that.
There are hotels we've misunderstood.
Own it maturity's hat.

First river boats and heaven moats.
Then escalate "onion pain".
But remember you cannot game "no game".
The "maturity score" can't be gamed.

Man with deformed arm.
On cloud not-reaching down for luck.
Busy-river hung sideways.
Mature-Woman not reaching up.

Thoughts are like a waterbed.
Did you get any sleep at all?
For any belief that rises.
Another one must fall.







Poem 338 by Earl Dinkin
Poem 69 minus me by Earl Dinkin

When he looks at the oblong stars.
You see that they are broken right?
Do you also see their lost-serene.
It's going to be a bad day for night.

Because the music, stares-at tambourine.
Then dips-in the banjo mixer.
The flow goes through, the inner lean.
Towards the extra-note, for thickener.

A few dark clothes and beverages.
For the experimental king.
Trying to mine for mind again.
Some space, and resign to pen.

Bold as even writing sins.
As much as heaven has no eyes.
And statement onward delivers "light".
Afterwards the meanest prize.

And how-has your music deserved such wine.
The big guy at your work defines.
Occasionally de-boarding, without stopping.
To begin the slips on time.

And underlings.
Let's recoast the shore.
To, empass the decadence.
And remind the floor.

Like Harper as a diligent.
"Tired" beyond all the escapees.
Unaware of skeletons-below.
While sleeping under trees.

And so begins, such a story.
Kinships contain no spare.
I heard that rockets run on money.
That lift the beverage there.

And an empty Sudan from your mother.
From her Serengeti tray.
How many fingers are on the numbers.
That can lift the March that way.

Where slow-alarm clocks never planed.
And deserving showers must rust "unmanned".
Waiting for gold's asbestus-sorrow.
Ingesting instead a fused-tomorrow.

Bob Dylan and the entrance.
Let's begin the true exam.
Is that all, "the next line is"?
Let's begin the test of sand.

They're insatiable actually. Is that how they're able.
To consolidate alot of their clearings?
No, because I just found.
A whole box of their informal earrings.









poem 337 by Earl Dinkin

I would ask you to go for coffee.
But freedom holds me back.
Somewhere in the perfect heavens.
Have you seen a cure for that.

I would love to stay and chat.
But ear-plugs are my art.
And across, the dust of deserts.
One photon has my heart.

I would-give a kiss to learn.
Why their interruptions burn.
Is such hurt the reason why.
Warm fronts speak cold fronts shy.

I would-give a kiss to know.
Why our centers turn so slow.
I would live a wish to throw.
Why the gentler am we stow.

Jaded flustered and cynical.
Hot tempered and fustrated.
I would hell my pinnacle.
To never be that disabled.

I would break the strongest ropes.
That could hold where never clings.
But I have the weakest of all hopes.
And my curtains have two strings.

I would be your gentle lover.
You would hardly know I'm there.
Just like your home drip coffee maker.
When you make one cup and stare.

Where would I hide all darkness.
If it was all you feared.
I would hide it in the larkness.
And smile if it teared.

Winds dangerously forecast as high.
Cold makes true-night-schools end.
Here I would trade my coffees for.
A map to here home-stems.

I would like to win, for the wind.
For it's sadness, that goes through trees.
The mind is such a sad-less wing.
That smiles, if dust recedes.

Where does "the nowhere" hide the vast.
Hair growing back slow not fast.
Where does a calendar's eons hide.
Angers the bed linens would never try.

If ufo's had only one human.
To ask, "what was humanity".
Because electricity never decided.
I would say we were justice-tree.

Take me Down to the Movies.
For Inner Tubes.
And Hush like Judy's.
Yes I Understand.








poem 336 by Earl Dinkin

There is a man.
Calling himself "no traffic controller".
He is counting your name.
With a black and-orange shoulder.

Why don't you repair that.
How would you want to make it dream.
No it doesn't work like that.
Are we talking about resin machines.

Isn't it against your money though?
Who will we watch today and why.
Are we actually in a graveyard?
Let's lean on something sky.

And if they've covered up her picture.
Then let's download every hill.
Let's then pledge allegiance once.
Shouting "Anything for a Daffodil".

We're just trying to do our stuff.
We agreed with that so painfully.
Who do we work for everyday?
I thought we agreed "occasionally".

Yes her husband served her for a lifetime.
Then his release came-up.
Twelve "Turkeys" at all once!
Just what are we talking about.

"I've" waited for many inner-ears.
Do you "think well" of that sound.
Should I let the bees hear-this.
That anyone can clown.

Look out. He's on you.
Yeah my dad was such a warrior.
"Like how wolves" begin at north.
So much "riding on each courier".

Like Vancouver within a mitten.
East-Morse code with a spine.
And February upon a book.
"I put-down" named Heart of Mine.

It's love is "actual".
Did you understand "Today".
Yes numbers cost a pretty penny.
Should-she choose an un-bent page.

But there's only rest, and lazy swarmed me.
And because Autumn looks divine.
I think I'll go into "her-word for slumber".
And ask her for a sign.









poem 335 by Earl Dinkin

When you walk near a puddle at night.
And you see it contains the stars.
Then you pretend you comprehend.
That is what atoms are.

Near the subatomic scale they grow.
The who is following who.
And way above the planetary scale.
They harvest the me nearing you.

Excuse me are there more stars or atoms.
Which way should one pay one's toll?
Should we sit quietly until all are bored.
And is this training going to Be One's Role?

If all atoms were just solar systems.
Where would I choose to live.
I would travel farther than clever knows.
To be in her tear of give.

Isn't it weird that things go right.
Who knew that atoms drive.
Right here so deep in the meaning of life.
Who knew that fathoms pride.

The atom which mattered said to the atom unsung.
I love you but please don't watch the fun.
Have you ever been lonely within a breather.
That's kind-less, where pearls send all levers.

Well let's see if you count the sun.
Then divide by a mist of stars.
And put all atoms in a clockwise circle.
I'm forty three cookie jars.

Turn the lights off when you leave.
The night time makes me sure.
Fearing all atoms are solar systems.
And electricity was war.

I know there's alot of atoms.
But one somewhere contains your song.
And when you call yourself bad things.
I go there knowing that you're wrong.

If I owned a magic company.
I would call it eye duct works.
And there in lab ten twenty three.
Atoms would hold thoughts to perks.

Let me raise a toast to artists.
Dreams and atoms are just lots of dots.
With the only way to be or see things.
They connect the dots with thoughts.

I saw an amazing thing today.
A choice was right or wrong.
Inner judgment was weak as may.
So atoms were quite strong.

To push or to shove.
And then, news one way to watch.
And then forgive my atomic number.
That bullied up one notch.

But oh, I wanted to show you, while we're here.
"That it is all" just sand again!
Come on! Show and tell, this "Table".
To Hooters and Winners now. Atom number ten.

I respect the costume though.
Atoms allowing bend.
Holding that bay of teardrops.
That halloween defends.

Two art patrons with triangle heads.
Looking at the center of my pie shaped painting.
If they bunch at the atomic scale somehow.
I'll know after hunch by tainting.

Am I the only one who thinks.
All atoms are solar systems.
Or am I the only one who drives.
In the mind with polar pistons.

I just want someone to take me home.
But atoms can't do-that now.
It buried us.
In-ways only rivets know-how.

If you don't mind I'll have it black.
Since coffee comes from havin.
Lifting a sugar cube takes a trillion years.
If you count the seasons of atoms.

I'll stay off the fingers.
Leprechauns are-not new.
Luck has nothing, to do with it.
All "thirds" are atoms too.

Who supports who has concerned me late.
But I've never seen an atom lie.
That's the kind of thing you learn in school.
The lesser heard the greater cry.








poem 334 by Earl Dinkin

Where is this-boxcar going.
Is it near Satin-Sheet's-Dispair.
Where rolling thunder will never "out deep".
A head asleep in cares.

Who holds who among enemies.
In sharing eyes not far.
To this I toast you dully.
May we all be what we are.

So softly.
A masterpiece of rain.
I've forgotten in-out or-so.
I will wish again.

Every person getting one quatrain.
A one two punch that lies.
Correcting itself, when it knows them.
With an almost reach that shy's.

To not dream, but see still visions.
Which are as scope as shy.
Not near, five points any world can offer.
Paint a sixth point called hidden why.

Stack toilet-paper rolls according to hidden messages.
And they'll become an elaborate mess.
That's cool knowing too much. about a world.
Each stung becomes the dawns of chess.

I fear the transition from night to dawn.
Because that's how quickly my voice is wrong.
And late at night when I only own a door.
I wish I knew what a manor is for.

If only eyes could see through walls.
And woman could see through manners.
Two women large and small.
Staring at a man's new scanner.

Two women large and small.
Watching man locked inside a santa suit.
To only want to do what's right.
Women with keys to laughter mute.

I put six fresh keys in the battery compartment.
But there still seems to be no light.
And they just rehired more office flower waterers.
Could you re-explain true right.

No light, no sound, no merits.
Destination between the words.
Where you'll find our spirit.
That place that's made of thirds.

In my favorite dream of endless rooms.
No thirds are heard for miles.
Where the subconscious is in control.
We use no words or styles.

Style-goes where newness leaks.
The same for cost was we.
Where to shine the stance next week.
Do not look or see.

Where the lilies turn to morrows.
There the week fields lay.
And elevens only stand in morals.
Where the meek deals day.

My aunt introducing me to a friend of her daughter.
Who strives to act and dress like me.
Nothing on a train track, built for delivering future flowers.
Shaped how a rose could be.

We are near the edges pierced unnamed.
With the strangest tacks of meeks.
Favorite art we hang unframed.
On a plane that does not preach.






poem 333 by Earl Dinkin

Mountain have sex you know.
How Colorado finds each morning.
But you'll want something else I guess.
The clouds below are forming.

Nine were Wednesday.
And leaped like gold to sand.
Antique-ing into secrecy.
Like barking is to band.

Breathe again and live again.
The shortcut to the fin.
Dark-towards hunter-nights.
The Savannah pushed within.

Shoe the cobra. Cue the din.
That, lobsters never meet.
Bubbles like the sands of time.
Dreaming angels to a street.

Torment bay, my little friend.
So small as look outside.
Where, lightning on one finger tip.
Has more within than shy.

Frameworks, looks good on you.
Though don't forget the rains.
For deserts only never knock.
Until a light switch gains.

Crumple up, all years be friends.
Across one-page of climb.
FedEx in-betweens the mountains.
Mere-decimals are only find.

Well you should go to Infrastructure.
In stock in just five minutes.
How far? Well don't give up.
The rockiest smell is infinite.

That table you just set.
With numbers "from" this summer.
I really want to do this.
What ringing-ear discovers.

There are several apples you can play.
Like how great a person is.
May I suggest the shyest one.
Kathy on the lightest twig.

There you go. Take a few steps back.
Why waste such-a toxic lore.
Of course young man.
We have seen all-men unsure.

There's something in it's bathroom.
First-words from out it's mouth.
Yes we sponsored him.
And offered mountains to his Health.










poem 332 by Earl Dinkin

In the language, of digital cameras.
A pixel is a metaphor.
Which means within, poetic brains.
We wash our screens with never more.

To see who through a dimpled glass.
And know pi sums of lean.
My life fills up a painting masked.
Five symbols shy tons unseen.

When navigating the land of people.
In the forest of what's truly going on.
I envy their skill of knowing clearly.
Invisible symbols of hearts so strong.

The world is exactly as exciting.
As stimulation-levels too low recede.
Like a poet saying you have a symbolism.
As normal as wind blown deeds.

Symbols are my favorite ease.
The newspaper is filled with them.
Read the news instant free.
And you don't cause the world to end.

Let's raise a toast to symbols.
And all that they can say.
Try to find them but never will.
They hide like yesterday.

When playing poker against a display rack.
Of information pamphlets lose.
Five pixels beats a thousand tacks.
And appropriate response beats news.

There are five reasons near any center.
I suspect most teacups know.
Here's a toast to infinite finite.
That internal five pixels glow.

Like breaking a twig in four places.
Long art titles are no crime.
Thinking alone are the five spaces.
Joined by art broken fine.

Five is the "rain" best numbered wrong.
Few-enough to know what's going on.
That-some look up and see every star.
In a world, where soul-cells guess wrong and-charge.

Since we have reviews and points of view.
And focal points of no return.
I wonder how five leaf clovers grow.
Wherever lies the learn.

The fabrics of oceans are stretched so "sight".
Where we hide in the captain's eyes.
Have you ever had a universe help you.
Where five Hollywood stars resize.

Would you like to see my art.
I own a five pixel camera.
Five symbols is all it takes.
And lonely folds the drama.

Then my five pixel camera.
Answered her question in kind.
Inside must be simple.
Because outside is all time.

As mysterious as always knowing.
My lonely paintings are zero wise.
As simple as constellations.
And complex as counting to five.

When I look at constellations.
I can see what your dreams are.
You'll have one million thoughts a month.
But you only get five stars.

I almost thought about you last night.
Could you tell me more about you please?
The subconscious sees life with only five pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

I stare at five 24-inch displays.
And bravely steer the nil.
At an empty desk for thinking only.
Near some hours on a window thrill.

Suppose you had a problem.
Suppose you understood.
Suppose you had five pixels.
And five symbols were that good.








poem 331 by Earl Dinkin

A new bath.
Twenty minutes a day.
Why wouldn't he.
Red wines and garlic say.

You can't phone his apologies.
Excuse me, your shoulder is arcing-sparks.
Oh. I was trying to get to the boats.
Or sharks.

In this area right-here.
I think they use a guidance system from above.
Her coveralls and her yard stick, to the table.
Arc-Angels, chalk boards love.

Can he go pee.
No I don't think they need to. Not this year.
To keep things simple though.
They typically go each tear.

Is just "one call", all your phone can handle now?
Oh, my FLOTSAM! What-was that?
Everything you would ever need.
Ocean Services, call her back!

It'll mean half your gear Mr and Ms Heyday.
Do you want to change your names now?
There's only one way you can solve it though.
You'll have to pay for extra wow.

Miraculous County Stranger?
Things-just can't be all-that wrong?
Ace-Tissue and Re-Issue.
No answer from you this long!

I know you have responsibilities.
And lots, and lots, of boundaries.
With everything being so crazy.
And a lifetime of only flounderings.

Save-me to-say with sufficient tonnage,
"I've got your Nickel right here someplace".
Don't worry. I didn't care.
Oh no! What's wrong? Thank-you open-space.

Any ashes would just fly by us now!
By "March Madness", or maybe dawn.
Everything is dry under a web.
So safely we'll move on.

But I wanted to show you, while we're here.
"That it is all" just sand again!
Come on! Show and tell, this "Table".
To Hooters and Winners. Atom number ten.

All-right. Ok. "Don't forget your name".
Beer spots? Ok, don't forget-those.
They're filling and taste good.
And like wine becomes the nose.

I really wonder how Jennifer is doing?
Or going-to be while-we are gone.
She'll be guarding her lisp with pigeons.
At least I'm hoping so with such song.

But-just how do-we get there?
I mean that storm when we were all surprised?
Where the "Hello I like your Bow-Tie"!
Becomes the only thing that almost dies.










Poem 330 by Earl Dinkin

In my second life I can pace for hours.
On no hillside called lichen's rift.
Where men who like her can think for powers.
And improve the song of if.

If I owned a famous newspaper.
I would name it, people doing what they want.
And at the bottom of every page I'd print.
A white rectangle for your tears to haunt.

If I owned a magic company.
I would call it Eye Duct Works.
And there in lab ten twenty three.
Atoms would hold thoughts to perks.

If I ever run in heaven.
I will walk and ask one know.
How come slow is actually fast.
And fast is actually slow.

If I started jogging and then maybe swimming.
And perhaps maybe bicycling too.
And then stepped over the international date line.
Could I have a date with you.

If I could have a magic wish.
I'd see in five dimensions.
The fifth would show true distances.
From chance hope and ascensions.

If I aim my dreams towards wind devils.
Should I report that I preferred to cope.
Indiscernible fluctuations or massive fluctuations.
Just how should I adjust world scope.

If upon the floor by noon.
The dust of thought has fell.
Then hear the moment swell.
A voice speaks oh to yell.

If a teacher is mad at a student.
And a large red bird flies in through totality.
If it lands on that student''s finger.
Is that the nature of reality.

If the correct were corrected without transgressions.
As far as why farms could knew.
And felled sideways each demand's two lessons.
Would that be dancing for true.

If only I could be a quitter.
And reactions were that slow.
Then all the world could be a sliver.
In reaction to that toe.

If I look at that star with all my station.
All mistakes great-men made are "hue".
Like that way all men turned into granite.
Celebrate with no world''s undo.

If only roses turn his head.
Then why would he need them all.
A hillbilly holding his "false" two-front teeth.
Getting ready to go to mall.

If-we can only test the hour.
And "fix" it like a shoe.
We were "the gladly" better behaved.
Putting back that awful glue.

If there "had" to be a somethingness.
My dime would make a hill.
As if there was only nothingness.
A oneness where whom is-still.

If towards shadows I cast a spite.
Key has no time for me.
Sea has no time for non friends.
As only I have time for tea.

If there was such a thing as a shallow-dream.
Could there also be a shadowed task.
No, tea would be a crowded heaven.
If any man could ask.

"Then it starts", and the hill starts changing.
Heaven in repose.
Forget all that dust has told you.
Talking fuels prose.

At the coordinates of true fine arts.
On the hillside of never preach.
The drop of water, that is true man.
Finds crevices not fit for speak.










poem 329 by Earl Dinkin

Propitious summer.
Sadly tell us why you're here.
I'm testing you.
Someday you'll get used to clear.

Upon the super brain.
Ashly's super-pyramid.
You cannot turn "off" beliefs.
All laws report to id.

I read about you in the nineteen-seventies.
Ladies "with" invite.
As Orangutan, as I could stand there.
Lettuce filled me nice.

"Reading" what are you doing.
Sir she is already here.
Craziness cancel her finesse.
And then bang on some pipes I guess.

It's uncanny.
He just made ten thousand dollars.
Momentum says his hands are hurting.
Very ingenious for an a Otter.

But then I lost some "things".
Like just who am I.
Was I a lightweight or extra dreamy.
Historians please advise.

Ok flatten holy statements with a rolling pin.
And you'll need a robin's head too.
This will be a "table" that is really unique.
How much money you make is you.

I'll call it an "annotated cello".
And pretty fast at sea.
How many times it-comes back to you.
You wouldn't talk to me.

Smart. I've got to admit.
Afternoon-now "soon to be sun".
You need one, any plan, even a book.
No brainer, gather me, and done.

Only three?
We can't have you answer "all-four".
Whatever you say is-ok.
Slap the hand for more.

If-they're going to be silent.
They will want more be.
Nice kings for nice mothers.
All rivers awake for tea.

Point to the dots oh fancy home.
I swear the cabin has such peace.
There's no explaining what that means.
My dreams have discovered lease.

There-is one bakery in sight.
A couple of people have gone.
Is that the same as opinion-harbour.
Where I've eloped with wrong.

In your company how it shows.
Just in time for bees.
My ugly sweater for entertainment.
Am I safe explaining trees.

Desperately in high measures.
Banks would disagree.
Loot is heavy don't touch one cuff.
Her eyes hold too much sea.

I have enough "prisoners" she said.
Abandon hope at door.
A friend of mine if I had one.
Would caution that's amour.

The-ways of living where fortunes dream.
From sky to ground might ask.
Are fevers just an in-between.
Where lightning knows no path.

Cars can oh through intersections.
But two ways I pretend.
Pause for just eternity.
For that light to change again.

Or ponder with some uncertainty.
Which direction never ends.
That time of choice a moment.
That's poetry; my friend.

Interesting but I'm not going there!
Salmonella! I think I'm late!
Antenna-rehabilitate the air.
Please make the hello-wait.








poem 328 by Earl Dinkin

I'll call it an "annotated cello".
And pretty fast at sea.
How many times it-comes back to you.
You wouldn't talk to me.

Smart. I've got to admit.
Afternoon-now "soon to be sun".
You need one, any plan, even a book.
No brainer, gather me, and done.

Only three?
We can't have you answer "all-four".
Whatever you say is-ok.
Slap the hand for more.

If-they're going to be silent.
They will be.
Nice kings for mothers.
All rivers awake for tea.

Point to the dots oh fancy home.
I swear the cabin has such peace.
There's no explaining what that means.
My dreams have discovered lease.

There-is one bakery in sight.
A couple of people have gone.
Is that the same as opinion-harbour.
Where I've eloped with wrong.

In your company how it shows.
Just in time for bees.
My ugly sweater for entertainment.
Am I safe explaining trees.

Desperately in high measures.
Banks would disagree.
Loot is heavy don't touch one cuff.
Her eyes hold too much sea.

I have enough "prisoners" she said.
Abandon hope at door.
A friend of mine if I had one.
Would caution that's amour.

The-ways of living where fortunes dream.
From sky to ground might ask.
Are fevers just an in-between.
Where lightning knows no path.

Cars can oh through intersections.
But two ways I pretend.
Pause for just eternity.
For that light to change again.

Or ponder with some uncertainty.
Which direction never ends.
That time of choice a moment.
That's poetry; my friend.

Interesting but I'm not going there!
Salmonella! I think I'm late!
Antenna-rehabilitate the air.
Please make the hello-wait.









To Drowning Men Send Glee
poem 327 by Earl Dinkin

Of all great ships upon the sea. The best of
which will ever be. The ship of lost
identity. Where even on the nicest day. A
voice will shout all hands at bay. Man over
board the voice will say. And to the railing
all will come. To see who possibly could have
no fun. And someone shouts to the man at sea,
"Tell us sir what do you need"? "What pray
tell could your problem be"? But the man not
answers any cries. As panic now keeps him
alive. And everyone now steps aside. In great
relief as captain arrives. And with great
authority he does yell. For he throws words
to save as well. "Whats the matter son"? says
he. "Are you bored to death"? He shouts times
three. And they wonder all in thoughtful pun.
How will they send this man some fun. But the
man knows not what all they throw. As
fighting for his life he goes. And this is
life each day at sea. On board the ship of
lost identity. And sometimes if you listen
well. Towards the ocean from your cell. You
can sometimes hear the mighty cry. "Man over
board!", then wistful sighs. And if by chance
you ask of he. What could you do to send him
glee. Don't send him words or thoughts do
tell. A life preserver works pretty well.







poem 326 by Earl Dinkin

Trust me.
The jewels are the thieves.
I'd like to wear one "scone". Hands up.
More wine before it breathes.

Within the nature of these fingers.
Please wrap them more and more.
What-are my best intentions.
Why won't your music score.

He needs to be asleep.
He's selling it. Just wait.
Like two-bit rusted Cadillacs.
The buns we'll have to plate.

Are we doing this together.
Who's down for this escape.
Indian soup or fantasies.
There's other ways to cake.

Quite a substance isn't it.
Do you "have one" carrot more.
In what country.
"Interviews" do they let pour.

Guyana.
Diamonds a la Lac Leamy.
Round trees.
There's not much else to say.

Within the smoky air.
Where coughs do not compare.
The natural "habitat" of raisins.
That travelers repair.

I've seen that ship "divinity".
Why-did it not come here.
With-glaciers old as morning.
Just cream with extra stare.

To-starboard west at ten knots.
Who's afraid can cry.
Heaven or no-daffodils.
Plain doughnuts have caught my spy.








poem 325 by Earl Dinkin

Somewhere there beside the action.
Two leers behind the acquiesce.
Loft in the garden of main distraction.
I'm hoping they build their finesse.

How about, a frost-chilled garden.
Where massive pumpkins grew.
Sirens loud at let the dogs out.
Small bridge over maybe two.

Large Purple Onion in Garden growing.
Into a Once in a Lifetime-Shape.
A Male Mosquito on a bedroom wall making plans.
To afford Columbo doctoring, waits.

Viewed upside down house plants left too close.
To the unrailed edges of their garden decks.
A nice white house with a large photo of its owners.
In a pearl such is grown are her she objects.

It's not just such a simple problem.
It's complex like the spelling bee.
But if you garden the hours right.
It ends in justice like a pageantry.

Or ponder with uncertain chimes.
Rose wake you missed her.
I dreamt I tripped and kissed her.
I tripped a thousand times.

With wrong for heavy, and light for rain.
Who knows where dancing goes?
Perhaps. The very first hiding spot?
Beneath the yellow rose!

House guest with hands in pockets.
Stepping forward too shy-to-say.
Roses are the same you know.
Adding stealth that way.

One hundred steps? Karen where are you?
If you do the math I'm nine.
The strongest wind blowing out of those candles.
The accidental rose for your sublime.

A red rose and a genie lamp.
Dropped from a bridge into a river.
Its magic required one more love.
Than my heart could deliver.

Yes they do it odd for you.
On my train at the very next trust.
Yes the roses were brought, from me.
He works for me conducting hush.

Yes I'm inclined to finding her.
The "rose" less-traveled "by".
Look at this. They slayed an ocean.
What chance of love have I.

Miter-box. Ruptured hose.
Prepare the "scent" of rose.
And add some detour-Myosin.
For what the hell who knows.

Like roses in the Klondike.
That Klingon's hold so dear.
Pandora holds my head from shivers.
And acclimates my "beer".

A hillbilly holding his false two front teeth.
Getting ready to go to the mall.
If only roses turn his head.
Then why would he need them all.

The spear thus flows to shield.
In the hand that also throws.
Yet no breeze be uglied thrice.
By the art of the rose thorn's pose.








poem 324 by Earl Dinkin

Please, please, please. This is about the smarmy.
Here "inside" your head like speech.
All I need is-to hear you breathing.
Target "You've Got-Lots Just-Teach".

It must have been a mother machine.
I'll really need you to solve this-one-Weeps.
No good. I already asked him about pastrami.
Lord knows how this-one beeps.

C.e.o. leaving disabled employee.
In the lobby facing windows.
Saying "keep up the Good-Work receptionists".
Then returning to important symbols.

Attractive man and attractive woman.
Sharply dressed in white.
Running extras "fast" in city.
Where starting-signals bright.

Worried priest asking local woman.
Why did you quote me thus.
While laying on top of her under a stairwell.
Head against the morning rush.

I met John a little bit.
His medication is in a storm.
Is he ok?
Two minutes left till warm.

What happened?
Lions from above.
Mildred in the afternoon.
Push one-button love.

End justifies the means.
That's evidence for the lab.
Wow, never once entanglement?
Yes microwaves are that sad.

Price Pockets.
And then look towards the vast.
Standing on the nothing much.
Just a few interests built to last.

We are stronger than we think.
To pass and pass and keep.
And thinking stronger than we look.
The safe in which we deep.

Two pool-table installers.
Repairing cloth under warranty-work.
Do they think it's paid for.
Secret wink for secret smirk.

Just the payments. Quick as possible.
I like the Labrador.
Are you throwing money at us?
So that's what homes are for.

I learned a new word today.
Well actually I made it up.
It's all that fuss between one and zero.
When all men know nils-enough.

That is not your hat.
That is not your town Fedora.
Inspector I have solved the case.
He longs for his ignorer.

Now where is that diner where we can order deep.
And ask for the truest depth of man.
Where fire and spark believe long enough to mark.
And flourishment becomes sit or stand.








poem 323 by Earl Dinkin

Now adjust the focus then measure the light.
You'll see how the shadow contagions might.
Zoom out and you'll see too much illusion of edge.
Zoom in and you'll see too much blurry pledge.

Oh what irony an eye becomes.
When a tear can hold despise or love.
And the hardest heart with hate filled stare.
Will have mementos too somewheres.

Today in school we learned about lift.
So first we learned about lifting by pulley.
Did you know when balanced broomsticks drift.
One man's majority becomes another man's bully.

To learn new things for my own use.
And not learning for use by others.
With the straw of knowledge I choose to drink.
Because the straw to breath just smothers.

Like the puppet slowly rolling down basement stairs.
With a smelly shoe on its face lands nice.
There's something about the bottom of cares.
Which bears thinking to one's self that's life.

Now look closer but not too near.
Do you see the thoughts in thirds.
Do not judge the drivers harshly.
But can you see the speed of words.

Where I glanced among their legends.
How slowly my wish unfurled.
While scared, there within their engines.
I vowed not to hurt their world.

A woman in Florida safely watching alligators.
As she thinks about the importance of tools.
Like a three foot globe of the earth on a desk.
Which is actually just a man's ass on a stool.

Until we find the real reason.
The truth will have to do.
We can only know so much.
So there's always something new.

Supply and demand and all known motions.
Started by the slightest new emptiness.
How do modern suns with sunlight in tons.
Know whenever we try happiness.

Like dripping cola into a pile of ashtrays.
It's called the oldest complexities effect.
Just mix in tall trees from zeroed suns.
And more what does the young gain from that.

How about we just trust what the experts learn.
And look deep into the unknown frost.
Like complex and simple in the explainable pimple.
Undivided till the truth had cost.

Crop Circles talk in circles.
The same as everything we know.
Please clockwork universe speak to us.
We pushed far the-not new snow.

Well let's see if you count the sun.
Then divide by a mist of stars.
And put all atoms in a clockwise circle.
I'm fifty three cookie jars.









Poem 322 by Earl Dinkin

Fish say hello.
The same way a field of cotton tries.
Happier in the evenings.
Just before the test of eyes.

Yes you heard me right.
I said because my-pants are pleasurable.
Turn them "off and on" but don't forget.
And that's it.

My ideas come from neurons honest.
Where I've studied long for promise.
Where I've looked-out from dreams for-glory.
And known my lightning's stories.

So lets get to work. I'll show you guys on Monday.
November is the "month" mothers want to be.
It's amazing he writes "poetry" that tall.
I think there's a "mistake" in his bottle. That's all.

Wow. Now-she can "get" publicity.
Like "events". But her "arms" are still right here.
My news-brothers are coming down.
All that alien-stuff is weird.

Rain cheque. Got it. Just her beauty.
Well mainly I "built" that show.
I think she's right about her heros.
She sings their "songs", but really slow.

And all that changes I'll Just-bet.
He is seriously letting her go.
Your brain is funny. Sadly some disease.
Please "play" Rock a Bye-Intimacy. (low).

That's a week for Danny.
And that's a big issue squared.
He's gotten married.
With lots of cold over there.

He knew.
Like "where do you want to place the shed".
He's very tired.
Like Iron Puffs. Versatile and red.

Many people are so-down to earth.
But not me.
More like being night for them.
I'm free.

There's no such thing as fiction.
Let the truth be told.
I'll draw our world with tooth picks.
The heart said to the soul.








Poem 321 by Earl Dinkin

The rut.
And the search for treasured gold.
Who can see further than their wife.
Yes. Eyesight is that old.

Have you found the socks yet.
Yeah. Those band-aids for the soul.
In that river called the-washer.
A "lust" that strong I know.

With headboards for such dreaming.
Such a climb it said.
Wakening for one moment.
That's radical screamed a thread.

Gentlemen "man" your teacups.
Awesomeness must be fed.
And no one enters such a club.
Whom coffee burns instead.

Discouragement.
Within the morning-pour.
Where avenues spell the words "one cup".
To those who read rain more.

Bishop.
In the factory brain.
The longest commute to-make such art.
And poems so glad you came.

Society.
Now that's a heavy clock.
If anyone ever finds it.
Lord knows it's dust will not.

Ragu.
Rises to the melting-spot.
And listens to the neuron fires.
And cooks a river's thought.

Have you ever seen come-hithers?
Were-they paintings? Or inner thoughts?
Did they quote their own-commas.
Did rain ever-fill such pots.

Time to hit the brown stone then.
Spinning is almost art.
Forgive the mess. I'm cleaning up.
The engine parts that start.

And Falconry.
Apartments in the dark.
And curtains.
With talons for-missed such-heart.

Searching for a better-snow.
An alphabet that's for livings.
A disabled wind that keyboards-know.
The installer left for Lemmings.

Here she comes now resting too.
Landing on the winters.
Holding out an arm for two.
Returned keys for beginners.

Victorians never feared that mist.
But why did they save on moss.
Like the search for treasured gold.
I guess I'll need such loss.







Poem 320 by Earl Dinkin
hear this poem-320.mp3 


This with bravery and secrecy wrote.
And delivered in urgent times.
Dear friend please read then burn this note.
My memory has outlawed rhymes.

They like the thought of you so much.
All my brain cells took a vote.
They want to think of you everyday.
So here's a poem they wrote.

When men on the moon first saw the earth.
Well the first time I saw you was like that.
Oh surely I was in such awe of your beauty.
But then I remembered where I was at.

Are there any good books that love me?
Like how the Dewey Decimal system cries.
Like that way I wrote ten thousand quatrains.
And stored them in your eyes.

Have you seen where I've been looking?
I can't find it anywhere.
I thought I left it inside my freedom.
So it could be any care.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.

If you hear me speaking just ten words.
It's because I'm thinking of ten thousand heards.
Like for instance, because they love your eyes.
Wherever you blink them, a river "dries".

You know how lasting silence is.
When a finish line remembers a race.
When you catch me glancing.
I try to make that face.

Here with the irony of giving you flowers.
Like the knowing that activists sleep.
Are the results of all the known April showers.
And the please laugh I'm trying to be deep.

Could you please tell me your coordinates.
Are you currently fast or slow?
Meek or angry, thoughtful or active.
Let's kiss and I will know.

Did you know hubcaps are just as round as wheels.
It's a mystery that eludes my eye.
Oh and would you please be my girlfriend.
There's a reason but I don't know why.

I would be your gentle lover.
You would hardly know I'm there.
Just like your home drip coffee maker.
When you make one cup and stare.

Would you like a cup of coffee.
I know this place that's on no maps.
Where the rivers are so lonely.
They hide in the water taps.

The things we do in time's climb.
They are the crystals we form.
So yes I'll have a coffee please.
With just enough heaven's warm.

And all the clocks that time forgot.
And the hourglasses too.
And start them all at once.
To time my love for you.

A bus, a townhouse and a ground level apartment.
Unfolding more beautifully than a quest.
And the storms within were the storms without.
Who could have ever guessed.

A valentine I give to thine.
And pretend we were divided and then.
Like Plasticine in a child's dreams.
We forever recombine again.

And you then stirred to morning.
And in your eyes I shone.
"Hello sleepy head", I'd say.
"Guess what the coffee's on".

Join me for coffee in the best frontier.
Where no place has greater depths.
Testing our souls to points of "tear".
Sitting on our front steps.

I'm writing a song about you.
The first note should last ten years.
And then I expect in a morning rain.
Note two might sound like nears.

It's an experiment with rain and a sideways sky.
With every psychic saying they don't know why.
Please answer cloud glancer with a morning vertical nod.
I was wondering if you've also been feeling single flawed.

Were that I an iceberg.
With no hope of knowing thee.
And you were but a lovely ship.
Oh yes do sit here please.

Please tea look for me. I could become your see.
Where it takes thirty years to steer one decree.
I'm in an instant gloat, from a distant far.
Where inner heavens turn towards. Look where are.

Slow life person I've just noticed your sale.
I'm a slow life person too.
Could I please buy your one ticket for life.
To see fast people become sherry till chew.

Please forgive me when I reach for change.
I know I should move faster than stop or pause.
But the distance needs faith and the years need arrange.
When you're moving at speeds of operas.

I'm only drawing colors from pictures.
Like the interesting much of yellow.
So can I please love you, like a stammer.
And live forever within more hello.

And including all our muscles.
Please visitor do come in.
Wild-blueberries and the hush inside.
Onward let the trusts begin.

Your chimney, is corrupted.
I know because I stare.
If harbors have erupted.
Please forgive my shadowed air.

Wild horses in a fast gallop.
So envied by all slow carts.
Please forgive my latest fear.
High speed remarks.

I am just a camera.
So please don't "merry" me.
Hold me very still like drama.
To see a world I see.

Like a sunset known by only camera.
Like a picture of its unknown tree.
Please imagine your favourite canyon.
And at most remote know me.

I'm a safe very-could!
Destination Hollywood.
Perceiving what it's meant to be!
Second-exception! Please November me!!

It's a different theme, at a party!
And very scary heights, oh my!
With embodiments, and a coffee stain.
Please-never tell my kitchen drain.

The explanation that dies by words.
Like the shimmer that dies by sun.
As gentle as the river tells you.
Please forgive my words of none.

Here by sentenced to just in case.
Because "maybe" needs its own deterrence.
No thank you to everything kind.
Oh and of course please stop all currents.

Dance and forget the placement of light.
Every pixel knows.
With more giving than per second can trite.
Oh please forgive my prose.

When our eyes see a rare moment and forfeit.
Just how are such windows shy.
Dear NASA please put a teddy bear in orbit.
And give it a good view of why.

Though diamond may be the hardest stone.
It's not quite the hardest thing known.
When broken heart lungs ask why.
So hardest is the breathless cry.

Famous man dropping famous woman.
On a beach by accident.
I'm sorry if I let you down.
The world is such an adamant.

I'm sorry I forgot to phone you.
I painted myself into a corner.
I call it lower half of woman crouching.
Holding photo of tiger before her.

Please break up with me on a rainy day.
And meet me under a tree.
So when it hurts and I can not breathe.
You'll hear the rain... not me.










poem 319 by Earl Dinkin

Make it official and so dark.
I'm set for Santa Claus please.
I'm so glad I "invented" you.
I mean "invited". (coffee cream)

The best feeling in the world.
Is to know that you're caught up.
To just place your coffee down.
And ask yourself now what.

Right for candy! Wrong for gold.
My very-berry castings.
Liver-shiver, I've been told.
Is ripe, and filled till taskings.

Well let's see if you count the sun.
Then divide by a mist of stars.
And put all atoms in a clockwise circle.
I'm forty three cookie jars.

First a coffee shop.
Then majestic wolves and horses.
Third a frog in a protective cage.
Then unknown snakes and forces.

Coffee makes people talk to each other.
Where un-excitements never share.
And bland woman how, goes our morning?
Let us burst-compare.

All I want is the loneliness.
From the ideas as lips as eyes.
And conversations wearing the inspirations.
And the sweetness black coffee hides.

If there is only just things.
What happens with importance.
Would you like a cup of coffee.
A universe loves orbits.

I was going to ask, does he paint houses?
And are these "doughnuts" nearly-day-old?
The Tardis alone might fetch some-goods.
But that's no excuse, for manners.

She visits the coffee shop frequently.
Frequency is how to tell.
Heros hide in higher specdums.
You have to fine tune well.

I'm not telling you my dreams.
Wait a minute they're full of junk.
Cookies and coffee houses every moment.
How does she stand up.










poem 318 by Earl Dinkin

If you can admire it.
And swing it trough the storms.
All of them want "to do" something.
And Nun like "fast-best-warms".

Who do we know.
"Who" did-not come-here for she.
So-sorry they were late for class.
Is this "snow-kiss" history.

You've never "seen" normal too.
And you've never listened to that hue.
You've never applied the breaks in the clouds.
And they keep-running from your dew?

Sip. Do it again. Lie down.
And bet some honey on that toaster.
She-has inner-eyes this big, that hot measure.
And we both know he will coaster.

Precious Neural Roman Benches.
Scattered throughout my mind.
Where I can rest far long enough.
May I please quest her rhyme.

You're my hero. What's next?
It's simply sad-above the zero.
It's your bank account so buy.
Smart counter-things for Nero.

Airplanes are new this time of year.
I'm so in-love with "empty".
And sheets again never-known.
It's not that bad or Bentley.

Ha ha. Do you see.
In the bedroom. What's down there.
That's the morning's clever spot.
As winter as rivets air.

It's not her fault.
That music "fm's" Sara's desert.
Kind of like the weeds in snow.
They won't believe in Everest.

Dam strait! What's in front of you.
Get off at "exit time".
Then Margret past no "inner state".
Zero-sins say every sign.

Entree's are at least a ghost.
Fill honey suckle frames.
Lower eyes to the gallery floor.
Envy all the stories of stains.

Aw shucks.
That's the wind from great bear vent.
Where lovers walking have nearly sunk.
There's no dancing-here I've lent.

Pop it in there. Rabbit stew.
And-morning the great relief.
That reading glasses never knew.
Lines tearing grim from grief.

To give his shirt on.
He had to lose his heat.
We can't let that happen.
Fumble the quarter he keeps.

Like an offshore.
What are you doing here flowing one.
Moving enough to gently-implore.
Paintings no higher than none.

I just want someone to take me home.
But atoms can't do-that now.
It buried us.
In-ways only rivets know-how.

And-trucks.
Leaving my gravel road.
On the evening I took too long in daylight.
To buy such crude "dream code".









poem 317 by Earl Dinkin

If you can admire it.
And swing it trough the storms.
All of them want "to do" something.
And Nun like "fast-best-warms".

Who do we know.
"Who" did-not come-here for she.
So-sorry they were late for class.
Is this "snow-kiss" history.

You've never "seen" normal too.
And you've never listened to that hue.
You've never applied the breaks in the clouds.
And they keep-running from your dew?

Sip. Do it again. Lie down.
And bet some honey on that toaster.
She-has inner-eyes this big, that hot measure.
And we both know he will coaster.

Precious Neural Roman Benches.
Scattered throughout my mind.
Where I can rest far long enough.
May I please quest her rhyme.








Poem 316 by Earl Dinkin

How about we trust what the experts learn.
And look deep into the unknown frost.
Like complex and simple in the explainable pimple.
Undivided until the truth had cost.

Can a simple thing be who.
As simple as the at.
As tiny as an in-conclusion.
Yet two worlds fit through that.

Hers was a quietness more than rain.
That a party of noises could not name.
You know that darkness where simple should.
I seen her once where the willow stood.

Then my five pixel camera.
Answered her question in kind.
Inside must be simple.
Because outside is all time.

Complex and simple share a trust.
To trust the other is there.
They'll never meet but always touch.
Within your eyes like cares.

Though big pictures fight alone like wind chimes.
Storm never has seen one lose.
Their strife so simple like boarding inclines.
Warm tethers but it must choose.

Again and again it never ends.
Un-loud like a dancing rain.
Somewhere in the faster light.
Not now, something simple claims.

Ask me About That sand-flow!
I'll know with some simple luck.
Both the talk show, and the banjo.
Mere strings no man should pluck.

Tall woman standing on helmet of construction worker.
As they watch the sunset seem.
The world was once a simple place.
Where man knew where was gleam.

Am I allowed to call you the speckler?
Because fragile loves the simple song.
Where at-the center of every heckler.
Somehow the art world grows our wrong.

The art of an artist is their real bio.
If it's simple then so was their strife.
They would pick discovers sure as pick their colors.
And mix choices sure as they would mix life.

As mysterious as always knowing.
My lonely paintings are zero wise.
As simple as constellations.
And complex as counting to five.

And as a derivative of homely life.
Though such little pains.
Through the roof of simple-nice.
Oh such little rains.

Do you know, why simple lied.
About why complex was rude.
It is the only betrayal of fine.
To fail to hide the crude.

It's not just such a simple problem.
It's complex like the spelling bee.
But if you-garden the hours right.
It ends in justice like a pageantry.

Succumb to all such rhythm.
Thus the universe has ran.
The simple act decision fights.
Each person codes each sham.

A universe with so much to learn.
But oh I'm crushed by gloom.
For all I know are simple things.
And you just left the room.










Poem 315 by Earl Dinkin

It's all going to make sense eventually.
But right now there's not-enough wagons to harm.
So let us hold "the rain" "like handles".
And "sniffle" towards my charms.

I want to talk to you about not pushing me well.
And so the deal is steel I'll do an essay once a week.
Where exactly do lobsters come from.
And could you pull me away from that deep.

I Imagine we author our own lives.
But we are never allowed to curb.
With only enough time to think "what word comes next".
During the second we urged last world.

Like a French dog is for tea-sport.
Yes very-well Jessica, is hesitant.
Like it-hurts one self to be so narrow.
Thank you Mr. president.

So the electronic fun transfers.
To the ePaper news at-tunes.
All the choices for naming realities.
We made on the 3d looms.

Because all of us are "woven".
Because the "crisp is air".
Because of "absent-mindedness".
I don't have a joint-account to wear.

Five is the "rain" best numbered wrong.
Few-enough to know what's going on.
That-some look up and see every star.
In a world, where soul-cells guess wrong and-charge.

When navigating the land of people.
In the forest of what's truly going on.
I envy their skill of knowing clearly.
Invisible symbols of hearts so strong.

Where all my newspapers worry me.
Just who am-eyes.
I cannot pay "for all" those windows.
That broke "my poetic wise".

Listen to me.
About our newest decider.
That will make the world's.
Greatest distracted driver.

Lots of "still quiet" quotes.
Eastern "standard time" to close.
Why is someone "else so" dear.
I must have-given her my prose.

You wanted recognition.
And reflection in the panel.
Relax, you are the wounded picture.
No support group though, up channel.

I would like to win, for the wind.
And for its sadness, that goes through trees.
The mind is such a sad-less wing.
That smiles, if dust recedes.

I was standing where men must stand.
Among sunsets for those who stood.
While there I held one grain of sand.
And heard that you've done good.

Converting circles into squares.
Requires every-triangle side that shows.
The mind of men, hurt in golden moulds.
If you intrude on that, hide glows.

A Woman wearing a gold necklace looking down.
At many dirty pots and pans in a sink.
Why do schizotypals isolate.
You blink.






Poem 314 by Earl Dinkin

Where you can hide your wishes under any rocks.
With no needs of keys or combination locks.
Where your hands can hold rains of long divisions.
And leaves pile themselves in mourned decisions.

When a man sits down to think next movement.
His eye turns inward and he plans improvement.
And when the wind makes the sound of could.
He gives the campfire and his heart more would.

Thank you, thank you, very much.
Let me start by asking you!
That's a mistake from what day?
And was climbing part of it too?

Let me ask you around a storm.
While everyone is wide awake.
Who is writing, down near the ask.
If pimples make the same mistake.

A typical y shaped decision.
Has a magnifying glass side that sees.
And an atrophied skill long since unneeded.
On the side where the past grew please.

After all leaf regrets have healed.
How far should a tree sway health?
I know how a man fools his enemies.
But how does he fool himself?

A rat wearing a gas mask rooting through garbage.
Next to a sleeping bag loud.
Hi tech low tech apple cow worm cow.
At the bend in life we proud.

If I look at that star with all my station.
All mistakes great-men made are "hue".
Like that way all men turned into granite.
Celebrate with no world's undo.

Excuse me miss have you seen them.
I fear I've lost all pets.
Those situations that trick a man.
To act out played regrets.

Like the lightning bolt the river bends.
Were we cursed the turn arrives.
A million mistakes a million corrections.
The no sugar mistake disguise.

Weigh the heavens more than thrice.
And define your world by errors.
But bend the wisdom only twice.
Then comfort pain by layers.

Misunderstood, means the cause of all things.
And misunderstandings become crystal hearings.
Mistakes I've heard, make inspirations.
So let's hope that our-order sparks earrings.

A dentist testing out the advice he just gave.
By brushing his own upper lip.
Make no mistake that the hush of silence.
Is morned, marred within the quick.

The world nears all her cusps untold.
And steers by her rudder rot.
Rhyming nothing quite so old.
As the tiny private thought.

Succumb to all such rhythm.
Thus the universe has ran.
The simple act decision fights.
Each person codes each sham.

All day I hear planes and buses.
And proud cars with no collisions.
So once a month I paint for your walls.
Some forever mourned decisions.











Poem 313 by Earl Dinkin

London "forks". State your names.
Do you want your visa's back.
That's fantastic. It's been ten years.
We've had no flavor but loud's of clack.

Would you mind spending.
Some time in the booth with me.
Our jumper-champion named "However".
Is planning very well I see.

I can "see" it in your skin.
He's arranging the size of moons.
And your eyes I don't understand.
You did when she found spoons.

Do you know-who is home.
Collection Plates or Jumping?
Is it "something" that sounds sincere?
Like growing crowds what do we have here.

Come in we are making progress.
Ten days finally has mended-skin.
Including the ten ton truck in forward.
Hello coffee how you doing friend?

I can't think so save the Poly-Sporin.
You know that you're not dying right?
"Just page one" in Los Angeles!
You soon can eye your dishes-bright?

Moon shine? Yes I know.
So one for supper at The-Green-Belt.
Isn't that wonderful! A can of soup!
And plenty of rum that your uncle dealt.

Hot commodity come on in!
Or however "that-saying" is spelled.
We were bigger at anonymous texting.
But then-that's when the autumn fell.

And now wings can even "go-through" mud.
And we'll need to hope this "pin" from my throat.
I want this. Let's go dancing.
One two three. And the "stethoscope".

Is that all we've got?
Who will play the Didgeridoo?
I guess there's nothing "else" in here.
Maybe the MoMA exhibit has a different view.

Job seekers! I'll play you "The Value".
And climbing up as-much.
This will get very expensive.
But welcome to my "hunch".

Explain is this "where" I'm saying to you.
Vancouver has a hampered road.
My grandson if I ever had one.
Would understand that code.

Android? Is that a fishy lobster?
Well thanks, that helps a bunch.
I'm feeling much better.
Where should we go for lunch.

To Tacky's alright then.
But excuse my autumn-nose.
I'm desperately in need of a pen.
Because your "goddess" on a pimple shows.

It's all going to make sense eventually.
But right now there's not-enough-wagons to harm.
So let us hold "the rain" "like handles".
And "sniffle" towards my charms.








Poem 312 by Earl Dinkin

"Tylenol" try monitoring this.
I don't want you to get nervous "beyond" the guards.
And I hear a-drunk saying don't do this "again".
But I've got an idea "here" pretend.

"Laugh" and get away from of the spokes "of" the moon.
Where by and large that's true.
He was being "roofed" where flies are dead.
For Maggie then. Because she's womb.

He "is her" son. So he's in the sun "today".
In this facility "are contaminated seats".
We need to keep all "moms" from them.
Imagine if we had fifty hours to "neat".

Second story the rise of mouse.
"Hunger" tell the lost machine.
"Bacon ride" the El-Capit‡n.
It has "hammers" soft as cream.

Does that sound "clown" funny? Likely not.
It only Capricorns' the heart.
And sparkles-rich with numbers.
Where breakfast helps allot.

Low or high walks into "the door".
And tells the fabric more.
Soft as-is the message was.
That's not-what words are for.

So make the famous stitch in two.
Any-college "climb" will do.
And if China will participate.
I've heard the sun will too.

Oh my god. That worked out well.
I've gotten "very" lucky here.
I'll ampersand that lucky-thought.
And her "valedictorian" tear.

So what's "the difference"?
Well those are the very pages.
Just bite your apple-soup whatever.
So full of antique-sages.

Then nail the roof to make it last.
And pelicans will-rise from floor.
But never mind the walking "through".
No rust will give them more.

Such "applications" have two-fists.
Because "humanity The-Bird" can't soar.
And one-wren lifted up the only cup.
The "song bath" of outdoors.

Within the "actuality" at a party.
Where "focus cleans the lean".
Where all "expenses turn to luck".
Who sleeps within their dreams.

Just read the books called "Cap your Business".
And "Dandelions in Short Supply".
"Rough Housing Anyone".
And "Generals in Disguise".

Because "last night" the software won.
With its goodness great as sky.
Waiting for fifty-bucks behaving.
Very very sorry Miss. Their antlers are-shy.








Poem 311 by Earl Dinkin
~
Imagine each gear so incredibly small.
Time to look at your clockwork-universe.
Now imagine each "thorn" moving immeasurable ratio.
Time to turn on your cement-truck "turn a verse".
~
The spiders dance in Neptune's honor.
Where passwords forget their pain.
Excuse me do you accept Visa here?
Earth is-my home again.
~
And, as I rotten, through my book.
The pinstripe, is my stove.
And bathing answers every nook.
That Neptune far out chose.
~
The gift of mirror!!
Roscoe anyone!!
That is the day that Neptune plays.
As binding as the scum.
~
List the waves as speculation.
All designs, by make believe.
Insinuating Neptune's morning.
That such a mate can leave.
~
Crop Circles talk in circles.
The same as everything we know.
Please clockwork universe speak to us.
We pushed far the-not new snow.
~
I see women on step ladders cooking in kitchens.
At their ten foot high counter-tops.
And embedded into their ambitious soccer fields.
I see their giant shopping carts.
~
Forget the lust. The river chose.
Daddies are made by vroom!
And sparkles! are showing on the counter!
Neptune is my moon.








poem 310 by Earl Dinkin

I think you'll need a calendar that holds the
heavens hues. And all the clocks that time
forgot and the hourglasses too. And start
them all at once, to time my love for you.
The rushing sounds of sands, nor the songs of
clocks nor moons. Nor the winds of stillness,
nor joys could silence you. Mine ears would
hear thine laugh so gently, times army could
hide nor gloom. The brushing of a finger. Who
fears that sonic boom? Just a pupil in my
eyes, now learns the song of you. Clocks nor
calendars nor raindrops. Autumn spring-time
blooms. These the things that know me. Your
happiness I your tune. Count them, count
them, for me. For chimes or sun filled rooms.
Are numbers that escape me. I can only count
to "you'ne". I'm sorry. Were you saying
something? Your watch was shinning "in" my
eyes. I guess it's almost noon.



poem 309 by Earl Dinkin

There was a dimpled glass between us, such as
I had never seen. Colors shouted
independence, did animate with seams. That
you did move such wonder. Your dance of
thoughts did gleam. A man can only wonder,
what shines inside your dreams. All the hopes
of women dimpled glass combines. All the
hopes of men. Strong or soft enough. Bends
light if eyes need all such shines. Thus a
wish so hard to fission. Two-hearts would
divide. A storm of thoughts and visions. One
doorbell could decide. What a world of
circumstances, could sparklize our fate.
"Here's a pi for our desert I hope I'm not
too late".







poem 308 by Earl Dinkin

To breed a pair of unicorns, oh be prepared
to wait. Raindrops must not be awoken, for
unicorns to mate. Arouse the trees, arouse
the leaves, arouse the lakes and streams. But
let the raindrops dream in slumber, for
unicorns to tween. As soft as pillows each
one tuned. Let grass hold on to mornings due.
Raised each bend by hoof or mane. The
unicorns will oft remain. And in the gentle
morning mist, the air must be as warm as
kiss. The sunrise must not scare them too, or
they will see its speed and rue. Move yond
sun with whispered air. Pick a spot and leave
it there. And if the unicorns do hear, seeds
and dusts and lost eye flares. They might
just might give way to ifs. They oh just
might. just might and wish. Move toward the
ways of bliss. Its hard to do, but has been
done. Unicorns don't always run. Listen
listen that silence shared. The unicorns are
always near. I thought I heard one just right
now. As I heard you just say thankyou. As the
waitress poured our cheer.






Poem 307 by Earl Dinkin

What we-condense we-are.
The bus safely nets-us-far.
I've been here so-much.
In Canada eh? No touch.

I know I'm "reading" it.
Because it's engine caught on fire.
What we have here is a tropical fish.
We are in the kitchen, as-soup-mix.

I'm never going to let that happen.
Wasting west, "I do".
His toys playing "around it".
They're in the museum with bullies too.

On the hill-closer "look at me".
With mother but where is other.
When they go to prison Humpty.
They don't need you being Grumpy.

I "mean" it would be "mean" (if he stayed).
To the Jackal then. (He-could if-would).
Hi I'm Hank.
To the X-rays. (as much as good).

You would "have" to turn up the heat though.
What's beneath "you" is dust to air.
Why can't she go back to being Morse code.
A moment in heaven. Or a highway slowed.

A park in the desert (fishing and purple baskets).
You're intense. And my luck is gray.
Answer the question boy.
There's more on the way.

I can't tell you.
The day is still on the table and armies are advancing.
Forests are forest in forty years.
A spike in your Sunday. And the chanting ears.

Japan right?
Hoover could use a clue.
Telling the oak wood "I understand".
I'm hurting "me". Not you.

You know what? That-too is radio.
Where "in" "the past" do you live.
If you wanted his hands. You wanted cloth.
Sorry I'm-just standing in.

Adjacent to my own-flashers.
Where a storm is moving through.
A very basic energy on a hook.
Modern wine wants "you" shy too.

I have a question obviously.
Can I take my "insect" to the doctor?
I'm glad he hasn't placed-any fun.
This is going to be "bad medicine" "son".

What's dead-in-me "is" right here.
Savings in-place. Electrocute him dear.
There are eagles "here" in this Guy!
With stilled-windows and stilled-eye.

Hello moon. You're up next.
I tried to move "that brother".
My summer-fan is so nice.
Stand-back voice-discovered.

Five is the "rain" best numbered wrong.
Few-enough to know what's going on.
That-some look up and see every star.
In a world, where soul-cells guess wrong and-charge.





Poem 306 by Earl Dinkin

Wrong gravity boy, played with wrong gravity toys.
And never would he go out and play.
When he looked at the sky he would fear it and cry.
So the planet he clung to or died.

And all the right gravity children would see him and then.
They would laugh as hard as they "said".
So wrong gravity boy would go home and shy.
And sleep in his wrong gravity bed.

Wrong gravity boy, became wrong gravity man.
And people now see him alone.
To the earth he still clings, and no smile it brings.
Since he knows not how smiles are shown.

Now he sits home and clings, to wrong gravity things.
But occasionally out he will go.
To see right gravity people, in right gravity places.
And to touch right gravity "stings".

And he wonders each day although never will say.
What is wrong with wrong-gravity "stay"?
In these modern days, as we point in all "ways".
Does it really matter which direction we weigh.

Covering a diamond encrusted man hole cover.
That no one but a turtle, knows is there.
A bus zooming past a bus stop shelter.
Blowing fast food litter into the air.

Diamond is not a pretty thought.
That shelter of the saddest king.
Each minute of an average moment.
Disturbing its inner swing.








Poem 305 by Earl Dinkin

There are ten people in a darkroom.
If they can prove that they exist.
With an arsenal of only odd behaviors.
Divide pi in-two plus this.

When navigating the land of people.
In the forest of what's truly going on.
I envy their skill of knowing clearly.
Invisible symbols of hearts so strong.

Silent centers move so slowly.
They hardly move at all.
So bravely in a room of talkers.
I see silent centers crawl.

It's all about reversals.
And practice till the end.
The fires of life and the trapeze pebble.
And the people money spend.

Like that weird feeling, in an emptied home.
Balconies provide shivered irk!
Eerie! the way, people are walking proof.
Their theory of how life should be can work!

It's a starting point, that is exactly half.
Whatever her lover doesn't whisper. Plus one thing.
People should be fully attractive.
Do you know how to measure one? Times wing.

Extra-Clues "opening" a bakery.
Where "people" can always win.
A chance to phone "themselves" for fun.
And hear their-sage within.

It's actually a very big event.
People who use "discoveries".
Mighty cold or mighty hot.
I assume you'll have-warm-butteries.

You see that distance over there for instance.
That's the prettiest glance you've named.
People are best described by the invisible alphabet.
And complete thoughts are a nuance shamed.

Coffee makes people talk to each other.
Where un-excitements never share.
And a bland woman, how goes our morning?
Let us burst-compare.

A whole box of lonely nights.
We paid for this adverse.
A stomach wavering chain reaction.
I have-people. Tell a nurse.













Poem 304 by Earl Dinkin

Somehow I'm quite optimistic.
And I go on patronizing inner say.
Oh, no, He serve pages.
I'll have the "not-around-here" tray.

Chapter nine everybody!
Cue the policemen's watch at noon.
I'm "reading" a lunch that happens tenderly.
What the heck did I assume.

I'll try some of that "liken" up-a-bit.
With some "barricade adore".
What's that like? Your program?
What's happening Mac you board?

Traps. Traps. Kind of cross?
In your place, sir take a bath.
In the medium. Seeds I mean.
It's the "sounds" Siberia-wraths.

Are you drunk? Hey you!
Are you "sleepy" from Canada Eh?
I don't know what it means?
But It's what it is "ok".

Are you sick? You've got yourself some wine?
You can do it! You can do it!
With hero-hero hero "factor".
And not a single dime.

Make a choice. It's in the book right at ya.
Now that is class. Oh right. Good call.
For every wind storm in all the world.
Her makeup covers all.

She isn't climbing over that alcove.
And she can't be that secure.
As I was saying at Howard's Inn.
It's the drinks-that happy cures.

It priceless! And you left it "there"!
Now I'm ashamed of heart.
In your face twinkle toes.
Now it's everywhere nothing-smart.

But that's just heroics at any time.
If you rise to scratch the moon.
"I love avatars sir" she wrote.
They are spinach for the whom.








Poem 303 by Earl Dinkin

Where the wish obeys all motions.
Improvements are at the heart of sand.
Lonely cries into the deepest notions.
Where heaven divides man.

Arresting a government, man's-binary.
On or Off like hoovering blend.
As ghastly, as, interstellar space.
Vacuuming my place again.

Moonlight silhouette of a flea inside a parasite.
On the stomach of mankind's all.
A look to the curtains, a touch of the havens.
And of course a wisdom's brawl.

Where elephant stacking reaches the usual limit.
The good of any copy looms.
Near the fear of what it might be like.
If man understood cartoons.

Those moments when clouds look fast to a man.
And stars compute in his head.
And the sum of a man shines each night.
And he doesn't believe what he's said.

I'm a man, and I have jell-o fingers.
But the whole world needs to know.
If only I could type this out there.
That traffic is made of people's prose.

With the unteachable self we know is there.
That earliest man soon found today.
As slowly as deadpan rhymes might hour.
I'll don't know what to say.

The correct way to use correctional lurid.
Is to apply some galaxay.
And upon man's history of improvement.
You must dare not stop his way.

We shall never see a man.
Have self knowledge without a fan.
For any men who lived in barrels.
No approval was the worst of perils.

Where is that diner where we can order deep.
And ask for the truest depth of man.
Where fire and spark believe long enough to mark.
And flourishment becomes sit or stand.

Where the difference pays a man.
His balance scale of goal.
A cruel trick that newest price.
Each piece is worth the whole.

Where man looks there he goes.
Learned mosquitoes say.
And where he finds incline in dreams.
You'll find him there next day.

Man never falls on his own icy driveway.
The way spiders don't stick to their web.
While we stand upon the words of history.
Please forgive the slopes I've said.

Words that build are told for height.
Rare among none we say.
As easy as living a few stacked right.
To measure a man's decay.

When a man sits down to think next movement.
His eye turns inward and he plans improvement.
And when the wind makes the sound of could.
He gives the campfire and his heart more would.

And I also wish for growth of man.
Or less semblance of unique.
And a blanket warm as a failed strand.
Storing the technique.

Man against his pen.
Locked in combat till the end.
If you ever read these words.
Know I won by sunrise birds.

Known as where the crickets shy.
Where fame is the least of man's.
I'm above within below the din.
Wondering if you have plans.

When mankind broke the sound barrier (sorry).
Soon every man could talk.
So anything stronger than zero meaning.
Could ask you for a walk.

Someday I'll tell you and you'll be glad.
Why I invented the phone.
It has to do with a song of silence.
When a man's alone.







poem 302 by Earl Dinkin

Homeowners are the heroes.
Witches signaling then.
That arrivals are-equations.
That skies can never pen.

Hello folks. How are you doing.
Do you "want" anything North.
First checking her mirror on the lower landing.
I fear the Cigarette-Seller-Woman's course.

Oh dear. There's a message under that cup.
It shows me the number in receivership.
It's closely-rolled with evening sounds.
And thank-you very much.

It's not a statement.
And yes it brakes on earth.
Living like an Orangutan.
It's even higher-nightmares work.

And it's very-solid. As if she was looking out.
And the car had such "sure sounds".
Imagine the money it saves.
Does it also come in frowns.

Act one has arisen.
Where "three" will not suit plain.
To the tune of Captain's Clover.
Or was that just my written aim.

Pilots in training trying to stop.
World class arctic pilot-teacher.
Jokingly trying to put the stove-fire out.
To tease them with his reacher.

Then school teachers and students.
Holding passports now arriving.
At humorous-teacher's home on Sunday.
To beg him to be more "serious and rising".

A female teacher with a stopwatch.
And a drum roll sound-affect.
Telling students a test "has" begun.
Then sealing her lips to rest.

A little "down" on the idle. And it might-work now.
They'll have several in stock I'm sure.
Well forty or so accounting-for-talking.
Today might leave "I'm more".

And "that" would be another "he'll be saved".
If we paint it extra "night".
It will probably need two coats again.
If he "is" someone she will like.

Can I offer you anything else.
Yes please, near the right.
That pack of Northern I suppose.
I've been thinking about that light.





poem 301 by Earl Dinkin

Like reaching down into a vowel.
To feel for a single we.
I can never predict, that when I miss you.
Eyes will perceive not see.

Like dust before, and dust after.
The dustpan shows no find.
My mind holds, your only rafter.
Somewhere high, as kind.

Near human perseverance.
As lovely as a tea.
I hope its mist approves you.
Your twist of lemon me.

I live within an un-opinion cabin half-embedded.
Into the upper corner of another cabin roof.
Where depending upon the current time delay.
I can fear the perfect aloof.

Today I won't be going to a market.
Because a vagrant, will trip on pearls.
Where no such thing as doing-nothing.
Will show me oh-how-strong-are-worlds.

A typical y shaped decision.
Has a magnifying-glass side that sees.
And an "atrophied-skill" long since unneeded.
On the side where the past grew please.

Everything with zero-emotion.
That is odd to me.
When I "say" to zero-motion.
No-one answers glee.

Could you please tell me what time it is?
I had the hands of my watch removed.
I wanted to live my life more "astrally".
But unfortunately my class has moved.

To spies then, with pocket dna analyzers.
Secretly searching the world for shyness.
And all their telescopes facing northward.
Let me toast to that best-be-side-ness.

To "show" gravity or centrifugal force.
Which is better the skate or scam.
To be the endless towel dispenser.
Or empty picture frame with hidden plan.

All these paintings face the walls.
May you live in happy sees.
Light is the hardest easy swing.
You flip them with believes.

Excuse me miss have you seen them.
I fear I've lost all pets.
Those situations that trick a man.
To act out played regrets.

Around your toaster I hear things.
Lovely is one such word.
That goes on anything not yourself.
How envious butter heard.

I wanted some alone time.
I strapped myself to-your dream stairs.
It started with, come on up.
A diamond and what's in there.

She dances inside my sky thoughts nightly.
So I can never go up there.
Staircases are-only for the idle.
I will always rest down here.



poem 300 by Earl Dinkin

Beta fences. I'll put them higher.
That she should work so hard.
Here's my name. Read it feeling stumped.
Society's own-card.

I'm assuming there are back-stories.
At least I think there are.
We'll have to start counting what-becomes.
Apologies attempting far.

For seventy thousand dollars.
I'll kindly hook it up.
That's the one I gave her.
This brittle paved good luck.

Have you read any magazines.
This time we'll need much more.
One fingerprint.
When I'm down to house good ore.

Nice bathroom. Clean kitchen.
Moratoriums are made this way.
Rising above the tractor.
With hinterland in the way.

A woman searching cupboards.
Her house And vast loved land.
Shadow "of man cloud" holding coffee.
Overcast moving bland.

Like a cueball scratches. After being mentioned.
By advertisements on the table.
That's cue speed fifty three.
The speed a shadow finds a mansion.






poem 299 by Earl Dinkin
~
I've got your back here. Chew on this army.
Radio hour. (time to find out).
I'll show you a "blanket".
Get the handsome out.
~
In a place, where it ends up.
I have no idea what you're talking-about.
Why is a man so glad to see you.
Turning it into a game. Can I help.
~
Well that's impossible.
It's-residency, isn't initiated until June.
Here's a direct link to that question.
Almost right. Almost broom.
~
Woman arranging notes and graphics.
On a cork-board seen when I look up.
In the name of the game.
That's for us.
~
Man-unable to disembark-back door.
Of an empty-bus dreaming-how.
In an unexpected and dangerous location.
What should he dream now.
~
Contestant one, do you have anything to say.
Yes. I'd like to say it's flashlight-season.
Spotlight on black lamb top bunk resting.
Hidden among several Quilts and reasons.
~
I'm imagining.
The-neuron that could never will.
That loves counting done elsewhere.
That-gallery that will never thrill.
~
I suddenly detected. Someone against aversions.
Unless it's just those telethon-guys.
Their doing it, and bragging about it.
Those ah-err hm-ah oh-well cold spies.
~
I'm doing work here
We're investigating, someone six-months before.
John, wouldn't do that.
For lack of a better sure.
~
Deep-woman thinking.
While a tiny shy hand reaches.
Out from the years it "proudly" slept.
Oddly just, to touch her neck.











poem 298 by Earl Dinkin
~
She makes the finest living.
To over calm my nerves.
You're going to be disappointed.
She's like a friend to-me, dear Curve.
~
I'm making that up. It's enough.
Bird me. Seed me. Sow.
On the other hand it's pretty obvious.
Newspaper, Aviation, Throw.
~
There's her house right-there.
I have associates that-will close.
Very shortly they will-be landing.
"Are any" thumbs right-here apposed.
~
While we were in the valley.
And likely I was scared (who knows).
We won the series soon enough.
And endless fun for toes.
~
You got your camera in the seventies right?
Its inner potato shows.
And the president said "stay inside".
Just glancing slight the Olds.
~
And then there's the people going nowhere thank-you.
For what's a poet to do.
Only looking slightly upwards.
The greatest un-disturbing view.
~
If we can-only test the hour.
And "fix" it like a shoe.
We were the "gladly" better behaved.
Putting back that awful glue.
~
You guys stop filming that dancer.
She hasn't "dampened" morning dew.
She's too expensive for proper dining.
Eyelids that's your cue.
~
Whatever your curse is.
Don't tell her it's not me.
You'll want "one" with "colours" in it.
I only throw "far" as tree.
~
It needs more T's than this.
One of the "spokesmen" said.
Nikon! You've found it.
Orange, blues and red.
~
There had better be "mighty mountains".
But show me please with-what.
How-about unused Thursday's.
L'artiste forgot.
~
Wow I just felt in love again.
Protecting now the soon.
News-as lightly as the stem.
Would ever storm cocoon.
~
The people who were building it.
Dew process asking why.
I chewed my thumbs to wonder-them.
If words can stack that high.
~
What's wrong with you.
A river that "so" soapy.
I've seen a dangerous thing.
The rain it feels like, hopefully.
~
All my newspapers worry me.
Just who am-eyes.
I cannot pay "for all" those windows.
That break "my poetic wise".







poem 297 by Earl Dinkin

Try not to speak rice of America.
The only way to go.
Dancers in the blinding snow.
The deep earth-anchored nightclub table woes.

Where only being dear to each other.
Like sunflowers, wheat and corn.
Does the sun create every news breeze.
Does togetherness weather storm.

Gold and yellow and Whittaker sir.
And not less than a perfect ten.
Ouch a friend.
The hanging upside down boxer's den.

Sooner or later there's a whole flow.
And you get to drawer all that sand.
Take me down to the Movies for inner tubes.
And hush like Judy's yes I understand.

Let me think delivery.
Garlic wash your hands.
Priced at three quarters.
I'm the Man.

Ok let's see here.
Fly the broom to-morning Reveille.
Through the longest ever "learning" tunnel-"glide".
(to Emily)

Drag me into something.
I'd like that holy lighting.
Snap the foot back on.
That component, again so frighting.

Draw up the important stuff.
Milk-bags had their say.
There's nothing big to drink in there.
Music "heard" about it's day.

Now they're also bright. We're done here.
Benny Will, prime real-estate.
We haven't gotten any further.
That's my "kind" of rain oh-grate.

There's the hand that makes you up.
In the event the one page needs.
Or doesn't have "conversations".
And you go into Men's-Store seas.

We still get blocked everyday.
We'll need sand around the trust.
Everybody needs to know their stuff.
Ambitions please but tough.

Freakin sand. Like lovers lust.
Not going to happen here.
Waiting for just, the right moment.
Soft-rocks at nightmares-ear.

It must be some kind of sight.
The mirror does not see.
Hung above the cradles pen.
I'm blaming me I'm we.

Gas and copper cutters.
And an entry zone for needs.
For the problem. We "are" rehiring.
Hoping sand at neck recedes.

Lots of still quiet quotes.
Eastern "standard time" to close.
Why is someone "else so" dear.
I must have-given her my prose.







poem 296 by Earl Dinkin

In my wobbly apartment building.
Where I talk as far as Emily.
I search for my lost party shoe.
On the floors braced to my family.

The weight of Shakespeare on a chair.
As old as disdain glass.
I caught the writer moving so.
The hardest sting to ask.

Fire is paper or Dali.
Heavens have no words for pollution.
Aspire will never question an ally.
Or another man's strategy of evolution.

With practicing license.
And a desert known as place.
Emily, for the heaven.
And Byron for the waste.

An artist moves everything that is not a brush.
The brush just gets in the way.
I looked at a Dali this morning.
This evening I returned a tray.

The Satisfaction of Replacing.
A Bedroom doorknob perfectly.
A painting for Plato who hated.
Painters and poets worthlessly.

Can I sit in your chair?
So tart this Jane of sanity.
Does that make sense to you?
To be as soft as Emily.

And here is the seven forty five.
Right on times and true.
And men begin the castings then.
The wait at Shakespeare's shoe.

Hold on! There's Justin Timberlake.
As actual as a nose.
He writes bread! And I'm dead!
Oh god let's pray for toes.

Like Harper as a diligent.
Tired beyond all "the" escapees.
Unaware of skeletons-below.
While sleeping under trees.

Is it true That he has edges?
People saying peanut-butter Does-Have Sound?
Ronald Reagan even said in China.
Can you find-me please such brown.

Gleaming teaches soak the sun.
Gliding teaches run.
Upon the hindered, shelves we delve.
Where mildew teaches none.

Time oh what a wondrous vessel.
To journey through the number pi.
How elusive is the positive thought.
Like a broomstick I balance thy.

Let me think delivery.
Garlic wash your hands.
Priced at three quarters.
I'm your Man.

Ok let's see here.
Fly the broom to-morning Reveille.
Through the longest ever "learning" tunnel-glide.
(to Emily)








poem 295 by Earl Dinkin

Just standing, with milk on scarf.
Like misspelled words from me to me.
Too-far from a mirror.
But not "too far from" the sea.

Listen to me.
About our newest decider.
That will make the world's.
Greatest distracted driver.

Extra-Clues "opening" a bakery.
Where "people" can always win.
A chance to phone "themselves" for fun.
And hear their-sage within.

Doing it for caviar.
Vomiting just the right "say".
Place setting the retractable table.
So good-saints go away.

In the corner of "a stand for it".
I'll give a hint, there are mountains.
Which I'll show you when "someone" wants you.
And mega ice storms, turn to fountains.

You "even" bought a car "The Legend".
The rough-open-sea said flat.
With eight perfect "movie" cylinders.
And true, "Wait I'll second that".

It could be the powerful outdoor-lantern.
That makes the patio-parties bleep.
I'm sure it can still "find an estate".
It's just a "whack model" once a week.

Or it could be like my old Mac Pro.
I mean, when I took it apart.
Or it could be like my dishwasher.
That needs to be "shaken" to make it start.

Here's the last-thing we have on paper.
I'm going to un-attach it now.
But please be careful, and just don't look.
The mailbox could have wow.

And this is where you'll stay.
I've already set-up-shop.
Restrictive clothing of course.
And Saturday's, full stop.

And "this" is your first handicap.
Looking around the room.
Here are the first choices.
But forget about the broom.

Junk should be piled on.
And swine the "image" some.
"Expensive" street no longer.
Not going to happen. Done.

What we'll remember sailor Jane.
Supper-you're-Predicting.
Hey girl throw the Dice.
Ocean Horizons with all the fixings.

It's not perfect Science.
But Numbers are Good for Me.
And Lake Effect doesn't do That.
Here's to exploring tunnel three.

No successors walking out the doors.
Getting no "answers" Science Roars.
"Ok" that's enough fighting "please".
Answering "that" the monkey screams.













poem 294 by Earl Dinkin

Stimulation addiction knows no bland.
Because the bland keep the bland to themselves.
Two ounces should be enough for a lifetime.
And should be stored on the shyest self.

Today I mourned, that conversation.
True friends keep deep inside.
Because they know, our hibernation.
Would never match their stride.

Carry these books to another grave.
"Mountain" our course on Like-us.
I don't know what to do about it.
Keep vibrating the drumstick-dust.

Who applies the brakes.
Who keeps warm the keys.
Heroism, chivalry.
Wands that water weeds.

Prepare to go to work as thus.
Keep hidden from the wind.
Knowing the Klondike "of the mind".
So Barely moves the brush within.

The stings that make a world keep working.
I suspect are the things half overheard.
For oh how boring would be perfect tuning.
If communications had harmless spurs.

Teach someone a lesson disease.
Has a privacy at it's center called loved.
Right where teach someone a lesson breeze.
Keeps a privacy at it's center called doves.

Try to begin, so I know it's new.
And try to leap deep, into authorize.
What is a people, in hero words or less.
And try to leap keep, into scrutinize.

To change your mind must seem so hard.
To keep it safe from breeze.
And throw a hate away were thus.
The chain that needs no key.

Every hassle has a moat.
No pristine mind would cross.
Circumference sized to fit the keynote.
And keep the thoughts in sauce.

As restless as the thermostat.
That learns to fear the glance.
My soul forever chasing balance.
Keep pride or someday dance.

Artists and poets are found by witch hunt.
And humanity is searching it's true.
Just keep pointing an admiring finger at others.
And hope they don't point one at you.

If we all think about it hard enough.
We could change the speed of light.
So yes I'll have a cup of coffee.
And keep you in my sight.








poem 293 by Earl Dinkin

The psychics and the poets in the forest.
Have similar mating calls from mind.
But the complex will only explain to psychics.
What the poets will only explain to rhyme.

Do you ever feel, a breeze at night.
And think you were kissed by plan.
That moment needs magnetic north.
I guess that's where I am.

Could you please tell me your coordinates?
Are you currently fast or slow?
Meek or angry, thoughtful or active?
Let's kiss and I will know.

You would know me less by near.
Nor I should kiss for disappear.
How shadows twine thyn revery bright.
My heart a bulb you give one thought each night.

Sleeping homeless on abandoned bus and hearing.
Homeless woman sing about seeing me today.
Stowaway male kissing stowaway female.
And a universe pushing dust away.

If I tuned my antennas to that lowest frequency.
Somewhere far away from your kiss.
If I spoke point-one new words per year.
Would you know that I exist.

Why don't we stop here then.
And kiss me on the nose.
Eight-percent is plenty.
How much "does" my "placard" show.

Attractiveness like the wryless kiss.
Steers the heart as a full deck of cards.
How I would miss your tenderness.
If the jokers were shore'n in shards.

I suspected, he, was there.
That mastodon that kissed you.
He would have Shelves so strong.
For raging river issues.

Like I would kiss you to wake you up.
I love how your listening counts.
Waiting for years to dine with your nears.
So quatrains I can recite unannounced.

To kiss you I wanted more than life.
I'm sorry, I don't know why.
I could have told you how the universe worked.
But this moment not why I cry.

I would give a kiss to learn.
Why their interruptions burn.
Is such hurt, the reason why.
Warm fronts speak cold fronts shy.

I would give a kiss to know.
Why our centers turn so slow.
I would live a wish to throw.
Why the gentler am we stow.

You know those lapse of never time.
Where you don't-know a second hand exists.
Well turn right there at that never wrong.
And that's where the bland get kissed.

To also be at home like dust.
Where size prevents no stars.
Elephants kissing the new ease of mouseclicks.
In the non event of cars.

A warm power supply, powering a cooling fan.
Mutually long.
Needing each other's kissing.
So good and song.

Or ponder with uncertain chimes.
Rose wake you missed her.
I dreamt I tripped and kissed her.
I tripped a thousand times.










poem 292 by Earl Dinkin

Zero degrees inclination.
Is my only friend.
I can see her in a war of words.
Is she up or down defend.

As soft as being all things at once.
As mean as caring strong.
Where she dreams dichotomy.
There I rest my song.

Behind a chimney covered front door.
In the middle gaze of Hollywood.
She boils the kettle once again.
While it's raining frogs and all is good.

She norms by golden counteract.
The less of her would seem.
With beaut force and diamond thought.
The woman for me must dream.

I try to stay away from that.
Ergo women tracks remain.
There within inner field.
So far ahead she fames.

New-secretary with-many tooth-picks.
In her hair by the end of day.
From other secretaries, blowing them at her.
Threw straws to make her stay.

Word trappings.
"Anaconda" is in the clear.
If she gets too tired; "Boundaries".
Then go around her Fear.

Drew rapture, drew on her face.
If tennis was a ball.
Nothing changes everything.
Behold her corporate wall.

Then eagerness came down the stairs.
Like laundry within the clothes.
But I only saw her inside face.
And adjectives in my froze.

Like an irresistible supermodel.
Showing the newest unapproachable fashions.
Like a woman setting up her first art show.
Of artificial fruit in a restaurant, passions.

The world nears all her cusps untold.
And steers by her rudder rot.
Rhyming nothing quite so old.
As the tiny private thought.

She stands and holds the friendless.
And eyes horizon's loan.
Frayed with time for stillness.
She is the warmest home.

Guess wisdom in all the shuns and winds.
And on all-sunned-men and she.
It's within no unturned type of zero.
Dear mist of wiser things than me.








poem 291 by Earl Dinkin

Massive raises its head.
For funny charger time.
Mistaking colossal's help.
And humanity's "flame" as mind.

Mind keeping every overdose.
Like the way we were.
Attention to detail's silver coast.
Moustache oh "I" concur.

The head that bounces. Let-me go.
To talk and put-me in her lap.
Hungry Hungry Hippo.
My ears that never quack.

Nearing RoGaine State. Do you want-to.
The timelines are the trouble.
Where is that ageing pillow.
I've never heard of stubble.

Alright agent Lisbon.
Do not talk about "this".
You and I are off-to the races.
I-hear Candle Glow might-fifth.

So height, and no arrests.
In the closet light.
There the moths know what they're doing.
Torturing the night.

That glass there.
Deformed so near the nightstand.
If I ever look-that frightened.
It's by the hand that took the less-than.

But I have new insight.
Fragrance in her hair.
Absent there for hours-I-get it.
The beauty of her-stare.

Like roses in the Klondike.
That Klingon's hold so dear.
Pandora holds my head from shivers.
And acclimates my "beer".

Agent Lisbon. After-her.
Cargo pants and all.
When-heard, it sounds so magical.
"The Tiger and the Wall".

But I have left that ring.
Commercials also-might as well.
Dancing to that flickering light.
Stars must never yell.

Specialties. On your mark.
Rope and so much game.
Julie, shine your pirouette.
And Romeo, your-fame.

Where is this-boxcar going.
Is it near Satin-Sheet's-Dispair.
Where rolling thunder will never "out deep".
A head asleep in cares.

Officer "Wheelie"? Will it be ready?
Will it, run on steam.
No. Everything has another reason.
This-head turns to lean.

Massive raises its head.
For funny charger time.
Mistaking colossal's help.
And humanity's "flame" as mind.






poem 290 by Earl Dinkin

Suspicion will always need a suspect.
Earned by the tip at eternity's fine.
That two-way sting that also respects.
History's reason to find.

How about, a frost-chilled garden.
Where massive pumpkins grew.
Sirens loud at let the dogs out.
Small bridge over maybe two.

Department store saleswoman seeing-man.
Crossing a rope-bridge from her vast TV's.
Of all the ways to impress your heavens.
Have you seen where I lost my trees.

A pretty model on a catwalk-stage.
Walking passed toilet on the stage with logo.
And a happy car, on a happy bridge.
Almost passing a fashion hobo.

Breakfast hash-brown stuck to shoulder.
Kitchen-timer stuck to nose.
Dropped from a bridge into a river.
A genie-lamp and-one red rose.

Watching removal of a mask from a puppet.
Biting erasers from the pencils of nations.
Mosquito on the side of a nose bridge at night.
Eye to eye with the course of impatience.

There is an un-disrespected String.
Because-the Kite knows Fame.
But within the weather's deal or no deal.
Inner height Types just the same.

To face the less and see the best.
To respect their minds of more.
To turn around and see the-bound.
And shudder at the seeming bore.

Respecting stylish-folds, in my brother's pants.
As he explains something-complex to my sisters.
A rich-person's car hitting one poor style.
Near luxury hotel, no blisters.

I respect the costume though.
Atoms allowing bend.
Holding-that-bay of teardrops.
That Halloween defends.

That-was Impossible look-at this.
Let her go oh Henry.
A bridge that-far Bernadette.
Their whistles chew so Bentley.









poem 289 by Earl Dinkin

Where is that diner where we can order deep.
And ask for the truest depth of man.
Where fire and spark believe long enough to mark.
And flourishment becomes sit or stand.

To make a decision without the twist.
When innocence gets that notion.
To walk unwrung where writhe persists.
That nice directionless motion.

A typical y shaped decision.
Has a magnifying glass side that sees.
And an atrophied skill long since unneeded.
On the side where the past grew please.

Should I love you with lines or curves.
My paintbrush needs to know.
Wherever decide becomes decision.
That's where eye will go.

All day I hear planes and buses.
And proud cars with no collisions.
So once a month I paint for your walls.
Some forever mourned decisions.

Succumb to all such rhythm.
Thus the universe has ran.
The simple act decision fights.
Each person codes each sham.

Tone's paintings are very quiet.
Like poise when you count the moon.
You almost hear each painting's decision.
Like when should you say it's noon.

A million decisions all day from.
Each between come nor gone.
But as a person better becomes.
The difference hums not that long.

Where you can hide your wishes under any rocks.
With no needs of keys or combination locks.
Where your hands can hold rains of long divisions.
And leaves pile themselves in mourned decisions.

Focus attention where you want tension.
As though thought must somewhere teed.
To change a world by the tiny mention.
Oh how I wish talk freed.

Like a man's last cigarette lighter.
At the end of hundreds of them on a bar.
I look each day towards the permanence.
And wonder where you are.

Only a music lover will rescue you here.
Sing at your own risk of shun.
Musical instruments are mixed with rescue gear.
But sadly not all men hum.

Where your caution still looks new.
And twenty billion people grew.
I'll think of coffee and pour a true.
Was I among the ones you knew.

I'm going to change right now.
I'm sorry but I wish I could remember you're there.
Where you can not buy, all that sorrow.
Is it still going to be there next year?

Where you'll find our spirit.
That place that's made of thirds.
No light, no sound, no merits.
Destination between the words.

You know those lapse of never time.
Where you don't know a second hand exists.
Well turn right there at that never wrong.
And that's where the bland get kissed.







poem 288 by Earl Dinkin

I don't know. Well if-you desperately need.
But I don't like-you. What would you do?
Alcohol doesn't move. What does that mean?
Damn position. To the orphanage. Top shelf please.

And so it was there was stipulation.
And not a train was lost.
And above each tie in an endless sky.
Blew a mist of possible frost.

Contemplating the impossible question.
By sitting center of the frozen pond.
When wanting to feel closer, to the truth.
That's the only "guest" of gone.

Sometimes I curl under my blanket.
And pretend I'm a one celled life.
Imagining what frictions are possible.
And then discover I'm only a nice.

Yes it-was impossible.
That-one got away.
It positively stayed inside.
We think it rhymed with "hey".

So please un-focus the evil eye.
Until it becomes the most broad in scope.
And impossible to guess where it might be looking.
Within the vast before or the vast future hope.

I would dear a woman carrying no purse.
Who's cargo pants maybe are-not stoppable.
Near man's wrist bending upward indicating-stop.
In the most manly fashion possible.

And the sunlight would then travel.
At impossible to measure speeds.
And wash away the shadows.
And fill my dreams with trees.

Let's move this down soon as possible.
There's some gum, now pick it up.
An Orangutan could do it.
No, I mean the mop.

I will not hold my fingers to air.
When impossibility is due.
Because words, are flying to the meanings.
That typewriters always knew.

How is it possible.
You make me feel this way.
You've thrown no rivers.
You have lift no day.

I'm really tired.
The question is "I know what I need".
A weekend.
And impossibility.








poem 287 by Earl Dinkin

Today I have to turn off my confidence.
Where do we go from here?
Doctor should we get some help?
No. That's how "wedgies" steer.

Quit burning my tongue please.
Ok shut your door today.
He seriously has her number.
But that's dental blades away.

Well "cold" can be a lot of things.
Steer left, to see your art.
Definite-ly helped with that.
Ninety cents to start.

I swear.
In what movie did handsome "void".
There's definitely someone over there.
Please don't be paranoid.

The U.S.A? You're standing on it.
On Fridays it has great-times.
It grabs a few Cold-Mountaineers.
Hard lessons opinions climb.

I hate yellow fever. I'm very upset right now.
You can lower the load? Well fine.
There's "Manny".
He hit the road right-on-time.

You're not too dedicated.
There are stronger ways to be.
I'm calling "Timber".
But hey! That wasn't me.

The name is on it. Can you "Imagine"?
Right beside his house.
All in the-name of boredom.
What stays in mouse stays mouse.

But I have questions for-you.
Pain or shouldered goods.
Dress stains for one hundred dollars.
Masks behind the hoods.

Yes I'm inclined to finding her.
The "rose" less-traveled "by".
Look at this. They slayed an ocean.
What chance of love have I.

Miss Henry will be here at nine.
Set out the spoons and silver.
Oh damn!
I think Earth is at the Wilburs'.

I meant tea. And hold the mighty door.
To distract me, throw her stone.
Tell, her mother's secret.
Did-she bake the scone.

Yes. The golden leaflets.
In the back there, fold.
Let her highlights enter sight.
Impress mankind and hold.

Listening is on it.
Once they get roads roads close.
To the tunnel once again.
My darling apropos.

Forget all those dishes.
I never want to seem.
I thought they were the signal.
Right turn at Sofa's dream.

You want recognition.
And reflection in the panel.
Relax, you are the wounded picture.
No support group though, up channel.








poem 286 by Earl Dinkin

Each day I wake and drive another nail.
To hold my house to the mountain brine.
And hold in place the saddest face.
You can buy with peace of mind.

Have you ever cleaned a keyboard.
And accidentally wrote a letter of love?
Or ever cleaned your mind so well.
You only spoke in of?

The continuance of all life depends.
On the inaccuracy of all minds.
Where incorrect feedback makes each hour.
Grow you differently based on rhymes.

Each mind has become a governance.
Forehead countries have poured their "two".
The warm-war has become us.
It grew these flowers for you.

I saw a meadow where the saimed were wheat.
Where each stem wept the claim for tall.
Neared were the minds that never conceit.
And compare was the real force of all.

Like the quiet mind reaching out a hand.
To catch a friend's falling book.
We look upon the all of man.
Glancing long at brief chance or soot.

Every ten days a starving mind.
Finds one with mourned relief.
In a portion smaller than kind.
How rare is the sworn belief.

I love our minds and how we think.
And how thoughts are hills and wavy.
But there's something missing I'm not sure what.
Like perhaps there's not enough of maybe.

A few dark clothes and beverages.
For the experimental king.
Trying to mine for mind again-
Some space, and resign to pen.

It's dark in here!
And no time has ever known.
Pass the buttercup, and some mind!
Cameras are dead in Rome.

That concur is a revelation.
And resist but a way of time.
To know that we exist.
And philosophy hurts mind.

Let's offer this toast.
To the peaceful minds.
Those truly curious.
Solving childish whines.

It's always dankest before the wrong.
Where haven in the mind repeats.
And hurries shine upon the shone.
Where the worries can grow obliques.

Where the tailgaters fear the future.
And those tailgated fear the past.
Where a time line is a point in space.
And the mind's eye goes to ask.

The Internet is a very long snake.
Inside I lie down and dance.
When the mind dips down one notch.
I move one inch then chance.

I think up to look at stars.
And think down to look at seeds.
Would you mind if I think of you.
Horizons are the weakest needs.

Converting circles into squares.
Requires every-triangle side that shows.
The mind of men, hurt in golden moulds.
If you intrude on that, hide glows.

I would like to win, for the wind.
For its sadness, that goes through trees.
The mind is such a sad-less wing.
That why smiles, if dust recedes.








poem 285 by Earl Dinkin

To spies then, with pocket dna analyzers.
Secretly searching the world for shyness.
And all their telescopes facing northward.
Let's toast to that best besideness.

Everybody knows where they think on the dart board.
And lovers love like rain.
Soft in a corner, away from excitement.
I'm trembling fearful of her name.

That is where we'll meet.
Divide the number pi in two.
Where lonely philosophies touch once.
A single night's truce wooed.

A futuristic person's head.
DNA modified into being a goat.
The same way people, once-tattooed.
How many houses are on the back of their-boat.

What was heaven or what was hell.
That can use such whips from one brain cell.
From what begins like a typist's eyes.
No man can count all his autowise.

And an empty Sudan, from your mother.
From her Serengeti tray.
How many fingers are on the numbers.
That can lift the March that way.

It was named after the best of them.
To the front, and center.
"Boy" I know one-thing.
The average calculator.

Hydration being the only sinew.
That Lakes can share through roads.
And because all-charcoal filters eyes.
Count men among the toads.

And now the rainbow listens.
Migration being born-or-pride.
Leaving behind an arching mission.
Along, somewhere there, I tried.

DNA, the lonely wishing machine.
Like cue sticks trusting-unknown.
Nah! Ignore that silly pain.
Quatrains know, their own way home.

Well yes that is kind of odd!
Like cue-balls with crazy spin.
Unlike even-numbered geometries.
That always scratch without that wind.

People are the boldest landscapes.
And where I fear to run.
If I wake from ocean sand shapes.
I must have met someone.

As mysterious as always knowing.
My dream paintings are zero wise.
As simple as constellations.
And complex as counting to five.

That impossible walk art gallery.
That is as walk as mars.
With two porch chairs soft as romance is.
In a house above the stars.

Like a man with ten thousand homes.
Within my mind I'm homeless.
Excuse me miss, is this seat broken.
And are the windows timeless?









poem 284 by Earl Dinkin

When I'm old, I'll see you with one pixel.
And I'll know you by your, one pixel Fame.
Right about now, I think I have five-pixels.
And way before that, I think no quatrains.

Of all the styles among inactions.
I sadly-choose quatrains so wilfully.
Because our world does not need poetry.
Only quotability.

Every person getting one quatrain.
A one two punch that lies.
Correcting itself, when it knows them.
With an almost reach that shies.

Do you suppose there's any truth to the rumor.
There's an endless long table between minds.
Or that words of a quatrain can be in love forever.
Or we could know each other like rhymes.

Eight more quatrains then?
And before it snows today.
And walls I've measured, living-once.
I'm tempted to say they sway.

In love of life no splinter grows.
And quatrains are the pain for those.
Where within the smart of my never art.
True enjoyment flows in droves.

New quatrain first lines show.
There are many ways to go.
While second, third line and last.
Remind us there is a glorious path.

Like a bird in love with a cell phone.
My eyes must show false glee.
At the stare where men must be unknown.
I leave quatrains for thee.

I have paintings within my life.
And quatrains within my mind.
And within the hope of knowing you.
I give posters of my time.

Like I would kiss you to wake you up.
I love how your listening counts.
Waiting for years to dine with your nears.
So quatrains I can recite unannounced.

Are there any good books that love me?
Like how the Dewey Decimal system cries.
Like that way I wrote ten thousand quatrains.
And stored them in your eyes?

Aside from all the plates-Nadine.
What's the best disguise?
For 51 dollars and 20 cents.
The soft quatrains have eyes.

With fine dragons for dragon storms.
I can't journey enough words to slew.
I think I can sell you the final moments.
Each quatrain lands home safe on dew.







poem 283 by Earl Dinkin

Well I'm sort of aiming at evening.
If the breeze lets me stay.
I keep trying to look outside but miss.
Then see inside my way.

Now adjust the focus then measure the light.
You'll see how the shadow contagions might.
Zoom out and you'll see too much illusion of edge.
Zoom in and you'll see too much blurry pledge.

Indiscernible fluctuations or massive fluctuations.
Just how should I adjust world scope.
If I aim my dreams towards wind devils.
Should I report that I preferred to cope.

Now I understand poker.
To aim one must not stray.
To make the sound of thunder.
Some dreams must be thrown away.

From where I aim my efforts, with so much care.
I boldly be sure only my blights are there.
Knowing "uneven" blossoms having faster moistness.
Might claim the light I dear.

Focus attention where you want tension.
As though thought must somewhere teed.
To change a world by the tiny mention.
Oh how I wish talk freed.

Kindly able the winter mock.
Isn't that where good pins aim.
A little less snowfall frock.
One summer must not wane.

And, that is life.
Let it aim right-here at shy.
I'm not the type to sew a pocket;
Perhaps "eager" is the best "word" why.

Where the alphabet can leave like wind.
And even the adjectives may think of spin.
Where the uncaged focus may roam or be.
And even the news hounds sleep touching free.

Act one has arisen.
Where 3 will not suit plain.
To the tune of Captain's Clover.
Or was that just my written aim.

In a massive long hallway at four in the morning.
Near the stranger at the other end in rain.
You'll find a suggestion box narrowed at the top.
A deterrence to a feedback's aim.

With a focus so sharp it knows no needing.
The river of my time here.
Have you ever lifted your heart from reading.
And watched a raindrop tear.

To aim not hurtful words at thee.
As archers' trounce go wry.
If I could be the air they move.
When angry arrows fly.

To steer a hurricane aim your thoughts.
Then aim your eyes right there.
Change direction of your slowest knots.
Then bravely resume floor stare.

Sweet attention to focus thee.
Upon the world in front of me.
To watch their shadow's lonely-dance.
Untill you see their eloquence.

Dopamine! Yes how clever.
Radical! Until send.
How to make a million never's.
Outside a self made pen.







poem 282 by Earl Dinkin

On the night I saw a faint Morse code.
From far beyond a spider's thread.
I discerned that signals carry power.
Because power only carries dread.

I saw enough beauty.
Today to choke a horse.
It was a tuft of carpet.
That looked like you of course.

I always know when I'm in love.
Like trees a desert lends.
I thought I saw you twice today.
Of course it always ends.

Neighbours are the true horizons.
So I do not need a sky.
Within the unknown depths of hearts.
I see all the seasons why.

Of all the wrongs a world can blame.
I hate my voice the most.
You see a man hole cover crime.
But I see a coast.

My cat sees continents in the corners.
And constellations in the jars.
And though I never say good morning.
I see near things in the Fars.

Silent centers move so slowly.
They hardly move at all.
So bravely in a room of talkers.
I see silent-centers crawl.

Because I want to stay informed.
I read newspapers of our world at play.
But in my mind I see their real mastheads.
The Plague of Thin Skins Today.

I am just a camera.
So please don't merry me.
Hold me very still like drama.
To see a world I see.

I'm in love with Normalcy.
I seen her twice near Perfect Lake.
She had no reason to make a choice.
But there's no such way to hesidate.

A woman's beauty is timeless.
It's all about what she wears.
My favorite sight when I see her arriving.
Is the accomplishments behind her ears.

I see women two floors down.
And stairs are scary things.
To rise so high no insect flies.
But oh how memory stings.

But then as if they could not tea.
I see them trying tangently.
And as they walk down thumbtack road.
I see the day they never hold.

I see women on step ladders cooking in kitchens.
At their ten foot high countertops.
And embedded into their ambitious soccer fields.
I see their giant shopping carts.

Impedance was a test I see.
That stood between success and me.
Things I finally found in shun.
Turning them less than anyone.

It's all about the word impedance.
Do you dream of that.
I see a dance on figure skates.
To stop you they react.

Mostly in Muskoka now.
He'd like to meet, all priests in the Regina Sea.
The good news is, they-surround you.
I see what you're doing. You are saving me.










poem 281 by Earl Dinkin

I'm not going to do services anymore.
I can't. Someone put their hands in too.
They are "peckering" better than dogs.
Our-lives are better than you! Not true!

I was walking along-the lonely.
Honey, we talked about this.
There were two men in there.
Mutual Man, and Shift.

I told-you I can't do that.
The sun is warm near me.
I knew it would take this-long to explain it.
Behold. "I got lots from thee".

Apex-the-Stone will take you home.
Who on earth is he?
He is like a smile full of groceries.
And he can mend your tree.

That answer won't suffice?
Do not look at me.
I've seen the bedroom twice.
Equations-forgot that key.

Call the general manager.
To solidify your screen.
Like his appearance on Jeopardy.
Husband-Theater, I think you mean.

Surly you can reach the furniture.
Who said you would be the one?
Expensive host? Expensive simplicity.
Neck of the woods, you won.

Modern drama serials.
Glitter on tv.
The best is yet to come.
I almost gave-up that dream.

It's equally nice to do that.
Is-there anything else?
In the hall there is one message.
Sorry. I Forget the house.

Of course there's super something.
Like the cold-raven in the hall.
Don't forget your Leather-Gloves.
Yea, baseball has it all.

Who's watching your new submarine.
Post Secondary Class.
That robin-egg washed ashore.
I guess you call that trash.

That's my dreams associated with it.
So I can paint the other laughs.
Kindly leave your ten-foot shoes.
Where I can paint their paths.

I can see everything is going-downhill.
Instant instructions, equal gobbly goop.
Have you seen my other ice-flows.
Yea, I know all about "that" route.

Like the tv, is the channel.
Could you please pass the "pout".
Why on earth is sunlight washing.
Every pixel "out".












poem 280 by Earl Dinkin

Tell me in rhyme so I know it is truth.
Which unstoppable force can move hell.
If it shines in your eye or causes first cry.
Heed way it's the need for approval.

Could you please tell me, what is a vote.
Is it cold by nails, or warm by coat.
Where exactly, can one go try.
The loneliest digit, at the end of pi.

Could you please tell me your coordinates.
Are you currently fast or slow?
Meek or angry, thoughtful or active.
Let's kiss and I will know.

Because all of us are "woven".
And because the "crisp is air".
And because of "absent-mindedness".
I don't have a joint-account to wear.

I almost thought about you last night.
Could you tell me more about you please?
The subconscious sees life with only five pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

Could you please tell me what time it is?
I had the hands of my watch removed.
I wanted to live my life more astrally.
But unfortunately my class has moved.

After grabbing the nearest vest or cloak.
On the way to the test of steam.
On behalf of all the best use for hopes.
Can you "tell me" what each career cleans.

Because-I'm a baby.
And because I write on-and-on.
And because I taste for mountain soup.
The urge to copy "far is gone".

How my morning knows no night.
Friend why do you haunt me so.
Just on the other side of sight.
Roams mind as far as know.

Why do what the eyeball caught.
To impede the not that hinders.
Much by men so tired fought.
So grows the thought that lingers.

Why don't we stop here then.
And kiss me on the nose.
Eight-percent is plenty.
How much "does" my "placard" show.

Because the ears aren't numbered.
And because science, wore no dial.
And because I-heard "know-all" thunder.
I seem to be up for the while.

If there's anything, I've left not-right, please tell me.
For as I dust I'm goofy.
If a flower is wrong! or cup, out of place.
Now that could, wow be juicy!

No point in naming clouds.
Why didn't you tell me sooner.
They pass by fast like eyes of strangers.
Named not once we fewned her.

Tell me only autumn leaf.
How do you like your brook.
Should the water be so calm.
Or move just oh so lill.

Because the random does not skate.
And because I'll never, speak to tree.
And because the shadow does not leap.
My "Lust" shall never ski.




poem 279 by Earl Dinkin

The fabrics of oceans are stretched so "sight".
Where we hide in the captain's eyes.
Have you ever had a universe help you.
Where five Hollywood stars resize.

A will that would of touch a said.
If wish, its only need.
To be at odds with shadow's light.
Old struggles inside of me.

A pretty woman in a hospital bed.
Holding her new born baby.
Now she carries the bus to work.
And looks towards the maybe.

A man with an un-blockable view of the moon.
By duplicating himself like a robot.
Odd floppy airplane that will never fly.
At bottom of lake, facing hill top.

A single playing card in a void.
Illustrating favorite things.
A mind missing fifty one cards.
And the wisdom that game brings.

A paper airplane dividing a feed of punch cards.
Where one side, has no holes or seams.
I would ask you softly to have dinner with me.
If I could just compute what that means.

A man's thirty-foot ham radio bench.
With countless homemade devices.
Not knowing how to put batteries in.
So he piles them on for niceness.

A Rhinoceros with horn cut off.
Admiring a future bed of flowers.
That's the way I look at you.
When I see you sleep for hours.

A man successfully patting his head.
To drain the sand out of his brain.
A large deep and interesting excavation.
In front of a man's domain.

A poster calendar, of extinct animals.
Once upon a man's work desk.
Holding a squid in the palm of his hand.
Worrying about the perplex.

A teddy-bear being bull dosed.
Among garbage on a perfect beach.
Let's raise a toast, and mourn in silence.
For the pressures caused by speech.

A rat wearing a gas mask rooting through garbage.
Next to a sleeping bag loud.
Hi tech low tech apple cow worm cow.
At the bend in life we proud.

A light saber to cut antenna rod from her armor.
To rescue milady from tangled vibrations.
And my usual house blend no sugar please.
With the usual teddy bear topping evasions.

A door with a sign indicating a future.
Place where neutral-people can speak.
Where interruptions, become repairs.
And yell can become tell deep.

A warm power supply, powering a cooling fan.
Mutually long.
Needing each other's kissing.
So good and song.

A human being isn't that a thing.
Built to fall apart, if you watch it sing.
If it had its moment, what would you say.
If it was pertaining, to its justice that day.

Her eyes don't need to see me.
So I must have blocked her view.
As if the sun had asked for tea please.
And behind me poured a true.

With an ocean of currents.
So crazy with flaws.
The machine of wishing.
Has the greatest cause.












poem 278 by Earl Dinkin

To speak I need to mold a vision.
Let us raise a toast and laugh.
But know a thought divides a wisdom.
Let us mourn its other half.

To be most proud of an empty quiver.
And not wield a frozen whip.
To stand in the way of an endless shiver.
And not need a spoken quip.

No harm is a stone made of tongue grown stale.
If said though the stone will fail.
And tea has an enemy with watchful sores.
In so much pain from the stones it hoards.

When of courses become just smart enough.
To make hourfull gongs and drums.
And the dawns become just smart enough.
To use showerful longs and strums.

If the correct were corrected without transgressions.
As far as why farms could knew.
And felled sideways each demand's two lessons.
Would that be dancing for true.

I'll try not to speak among unchoices.
In the grave yard of the jeers.
Where I'll stand, and fill with spokens.
Flowers no one wants to hear.

To be so still we never get that illness.
Will a core shaped wrong un-please.
There is no pill to cure the thrill-less.
Of the teach someone a lesson disease.

A university of higher learning.
Showing you a slice of pizza.
And then without a worried word.
You understand the teacher.

Where man looks there he goes.
Learned mosquitoes say.
And where he finds incline in dreams.
You'll find him there next day.

For the folding conclusions that pro man makes.
And all the false ends he claims.
For the strength of a beautiful toe man stepped on.
There's a sheathing for all his names.

No hand held out sideways over a brook testing air.
To feel what trees fall upon reason's softer.
Uncared within one never been there.
Is all a universe has to offer.

When you look at the knight of a shining star.
How does your love begin?
Does it song on a planet years away.
Or does it slow within?

With ties of untold believe strings.
There's knowing there's a single strand.
Excuse me miss have you seen things.
I hear there's a distant hand.

I can only give you all humanity's behavior.
Molded by the dins of past.
So here is everything for the complete space traveler.
As you turn each page please vast.

The core of a lightning bolt is the clumsiest tool.
That gambles wrongly on what it thinks it should hate.
Addicted to eighty years of bending.
Details that won't go into the crate.

Explaining plumbing-pipes in a tavern.
Once I was in a world that nice.
A pedantic in his old age.
Too happy to be in second life.











poem 277 by Earl Dinkin

One to one. Are they toasting fun.
Their feet tapping every beat.
Not one to none. Our once each sum.
Our slowness tapping kind of neats.

I play a game I call the unknown sure.
Where I'll find some detail on a public floor.
And wonder how no one has ever seen it before.
Then imagine I know how its warmth I wore.

How sinned is the heart when torn.
Ten thousand times a day.
Coward like the fate of warm.
The mind's eye won't obey.

And the stimulation will never fall.
And no more than needed ever tall.
To make an evening a warm must end.
And normal must stall to make a friend.

Warming up a lucky lottery charm.
By dangling it inside a toaster.
I'll never understand a day.
And my cup just hit a coaster.

I love the time before morning.
And the bird songs just before dawn.
Words aren't mean before warming.
And the sleeping are never wrong.

She stands and holds the friendless.
And eyes horizon's loan.
Frayed with time for stillness.
She is the warmest home.

She left a note on her kitchen counter.
Saying put dishes away Are in morning.
So I left a note on her tv set.
Saying I have gone to your shore for warming.

Who applies the brakes.
Who keeps warm the keys.
Heroism, chivalry.
Wands that water weeds.

I think up to look at stars.
And think down to look at seeds.
Would you mind if I think of you.
Horizons are the weakest needs.

Each mind has become a governance.
Fore-head countries have poured their "two".
The warm-war has become us.
It grew these flowers for you.









poem 276 by Earl Dinkin

Could you please tell me what is a vote.
Is it cold by nails or warm by coat.
Where exactly can one go try.
The loneliest digit at the end of pi.

Woman proud of man and standing.
Behind him and holding his shoulder.
Wherever a man owns horizons.
No endless warm is colder.

The power to change the tv channel.
Is far more powerful than that.
How like cold metal among magnets.
To dream ah but choose the act.

Oh let me tell you stories cold.
That no one can compare.
There is a place so lovely.
Called the tv static stare.

There are monsters oh so fierce.
So horrible no strong can cage.
Oh what creatures are so cold.
They'll brush off your home page.

And if you imagine each thought was warm.
How could such a hot be normal.
Oh sweet choosey dragon how I wish.
The average cold trip was formal.

Fire makes fire and cold makes cold.
Who avoids that war filled dance.
Warm makes warm but lasts a moment.
Yes heavens are found by glance.

Winds dangerously forecast as high.
Cold makes true night-schools end.
Here I would trade my coffee for.
A map to here home-stems.

To stand on that dam between rich and poor.
Where money is water in dreams of doors.
With its cold as old as self permissions.
The world only sells them thought partitions.

Dare to teach the sun a lesson, and hide
in the freezing cold. Let the be world
teach you gently, or by its sting be told.
To whet oh pliable soul.

It's actually a very big event.
People who use "discoveries".
Mighty cold or mighty hot.
I assume you'll have-warm-butteries.

Oh and could you please become warm to touch?
Not as cold as a morning clutch.
Not as hot as a favorite scream.
Thanks allot dear movie screen.

The 15 and 17 inch plugs are-complete.
And because I always, have cold feet!
I always rev-up, every day that-Specials.
But then my "Igloo", of-course says, "No hassles!"

My art needs no actual space.
As if hearts need no December.
That day I learned how cold is haste.
The true gallery is called remember.

As secretly as ground is cold.
Glee carries a secret best.
Wearied by a weight so old.
That oh we might say yes.

In my wobbly apartment building.
Where I talk as far as Emily.
I search for my lost party shoe.
On the floors braced to my family.

If all these words, ever become you.
And found older, than an ice-age.
Like all cold hopes. May they become the clue.
That our signal got lost in the message.






poem 275 by Earl Dinkin

I will never go to parties again.
Because they have two million rules.
Number one is don't eat the peanut.
That one always surprises fools.

The atom which mattered said to the atom unsung.
I love you but please don't watch the fun.
Have you ever been lonely within a breather.
That's kind-less, where pearls send all levers.

To live eight decades with no fun.
And not rebound the leer-able option.
Like a weird judge behind a small room divider.
I unfold love across my bench too often.

The air conditioner, half believed in heat.
The baseboard heater, half believed in cold.
To enjoy such fun from wasted teamwork.
They secretly hid their belief in droll.

Do it yourself. Suit yourself.
Have a nice time and fun.
Too bad for me, I'm like a person.
Stronger when I was young.

A man driving a car.
By looking down at his knees.
Steering the way a mountain does.
No fun no game no keys.

Eerie! The white horn!!
As chosen as the fun.
Almost like a lithograph.
No pilots steer by sun.

Oh, and I am also very-fun!
Rough draft! I wasn't expecting that!
You're forever showing no opinions there.
So writing, please put stunning here.

It's not that funny, that he's trying to get out.
So they're sending their youth gangs too.
Games aren't fun, without device.
For all the good they'll do.

And with an un-silver wing span.
Do you see me not flying too.
Echoing not far as a fun can.
Do you hear me not calling you.

Hostile to all trends.
Willing to only one.
I stand among all hell dressed men.
To salute her setting fun.

Hers was a quietness more than rain.
That a party of noises could not name.
You know that darkness where simple should.
I seen her once where the willow stood.

Until the announcements, are completely different.
I will hear these yesterdays at nine.
I'm alone, and where's the party.
Say it say it. Say these words like crime.

It's a different theme, at a party!
And very scary heights, oh my!
With embodiments, and a coffee stain.
Please-never tell my kitchen drain.

Twenty attractive young people dancing.
Their party inside a cellophane bubble.
Empty cellophane street cube at night.
My in-box of zero trouble.

In the bottom drawer with the un-fixable amount.
Of tangled twine seen hardly.
If you need some sing look in there.
Where I threw the fun from parties.

A contest winning drawing by a child.
Titled hallway to a nightclub for the bored.
I look for you there in the lonely hours.
Until drawn where the reason is stored.

I have a favorite night club.
It's called The Waste of Space.
It's built on top of stilts you know.
Do you think it has too much grace.







poem 274 by Earl Dinkin

For the very same reasons, that my government.
Should never give me the right to drive.
I will never dangerously give myself.
The right to talk, more than eyes.

I'm going to change right now.
I'm sorry. But I wish I could remember you're there.
Where you can not buy, all that sorrow.
Is it still going to be there next year?

None of your business. Where's mom?
America is about 1945 deep.
Walking in driveway-snow, just before.
Passenger-side of a slow moving Jeep.

Looking out. I can't see.
Isn't that ten-times taller than you?
July is on your June note card?
Big and inflamed. Move over I'm going too.

Excuse me miss. Is this vehicle a Taxi?
Take us to First-Symptom avenue please?
One block over before night Tremors.
And before your husband sees?











poem 273 by Earl Dinkin

Quick now you have zero time.
To invent psychic power and predict.
Too late, your mind's made up.
And lightning grew a world at tip.

Then when no one sees you.
Shine night through seven days.
Where there's pensive trace a lark.
And you've made poetrays.

When we're awake we think at our tips.
Where our lightning bolt chooses explore.
But when we're asleep we think at our root.
To direction our lightning bolt's core.

Like the lightning bolt the river bends.
Were we cursed the turn arrives.
A million mistakes, a million corrections.
The no sugar mistake disguise.

Weigh the heavens more than thrice.
And define your world by errors.
But bend the wisdom only twice.
Then comfort pain by layers.

No two lightning bolts share same notion.
No two snowflakes play that game.
So the only, quest that I can hope for.
Double quotes might leer through same.

I wonder why we dream.
They must mean something.
The lightning bolt asked.
When it's core bent hunting.

Then my five pixel camera.
Answered her question in kind.
Inside must be simple.
Because outside is all time.

There are five reasons near any center.
I suspect most teacups know.
Here's a toast to infinite finite.
That internal five pixels glow.

Would you like to see my art.
I own a five pixel camera.
Five symbols is all it takes.
And lonely folds the drama.

Like breaking a twig in four places.
Long art titles are no crime.
Thinking alone are the five spaces.
Joined by art broken fine.

To not dream, but see still-visions.
Which are as scope as shy.
Not near five points any world can offer.
Paint a sixth point, called hidden why.

To see who through a dimpled glass.
And know pi sums of lean.
My life fills up a painting masked.
Five symbols shy tons unseen.

When I look at constellations.
I can see what your dreams are.
You'll have one million thoughts a month.
But you only get five stars.

I almost thought about you, last night.
Could you tell me more about you please.
The subconscious sees life with only five pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

When I'm old, I'll see you with one pixel.
And I'll know you by your, one pixel Fame.
Right about now, I think I have five-pixels.
And way before that, I think no quatrains.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.







poem 272 by Earl Dinkin

Thank god mountains all have peaks.
So climbers can end their dangers.
I fear the climb that never meeks.
So thanks for the end of angers.

Losing being that finest right.
A gracefulness only wisdoms toe.
Where problemless kites light up thin nights.
I fear blight men might know.

I put my faith in Corporations.
Individuals I fear.
That's the opposite of misguided rust.
Yet the sleep well of unsteer.

Do you hear that sound in the distance.
I fear it every night.
Where I'm most alone three feet from you.
That distance must be right.

Excuse me miss have you seen them.
I fear I've lost all pets.
Those situations that trick a man.
To act out played regrets.

I always flip through channels up.
Fearing the down like nights.
Only problem now I fear.
Is the karma at such heights.

A farce for mixed up people.
Na, I wasn't really there.
Wild "beers" and calm events.
That's one-produce I fear.

Yes it's a very big city!
And also just a big amour.
So it's called the stereo section at Sears.
And mostly for purchasing cars I fear.

I fear them like the stings of heaven.
Voices are thoughts' syringe.
What is unsaid provides the power.
So read my poems and cringe.

You should know I fear fast words like static.
So we should probably speak like storms.
The same way mammals discussing their feeling.
Honk their moan two horns.

Only thing ever stopped monster headache.
I need those Everest hill pills again please.
Because I fear I might get a painful illness.
Their say what they think disease.

I fear the transition from night to dawn.
Because that's how quickly my voice is wrong.
And late at night when I only own a door.
I wish I knew what a manor is for.

People are the boldest landscapes.
And where I fear to run.
If I wake from ocean sand shapes.
I must have met someone.

I often look towards great Storm Vents.
And I fear the-Stance most of "Tall".
They'll choose so fast in just one torment.
The side "Yet Not" believed at all.








poem 271 by Earl Dinkin

You're missing something.
Arrange, arrange, arrange.
Doodle to the messenger.
That's what I want to change.

Have a peanut man.
Put it in your ear.
Just-watch what happens.
The second-report is near.

It was named after the best of them.
To the front and Center.
"Boy" I know one thing.
The average calculator.

Stand up.
And almost take a bow.
"Danilions", count them.
Now suddenly say-Ow.

I know BoBo's Bath was fixing.
Land him in the lake.
Be determined Mister-Billy.
What are you all looking at. (a fake).








poem 270 by Earl Dinkin

I found this love note written in the evening sky.
By the stem of a daisy on the back of my eye.
Those lonely visions and my love of you.
I keep them in a place called a minute or two.

Neighbors are the true horizons.
So I do not need a sky.
Within the unknown depths of hearts.
I see all the seasons why.

And so it was there was stipulation.
And not a train was lost.
And above each tie in an endless sky.
Blew a mist of possible frost.

The sky looked for me like telescopes today.
And somehow the evening won.
I took great pains to hide my warmth.
Yet I think it saw my shun.

Shadow not the people suffer.
Nor vow how they can joy.
Aim the sky towards forever.
Then gently find a toy.

Over-scopes as my mansion.
Buttons as a sky.
Men pretending, the uneven glen.
Could descend to such a why.

It's mostly just explanation now.
Because I forget what makes me cry.
My neighbours. Oh yea, that's one thing.
Hey isn't that my sky.

Being no match against the common good.
I heard a knot start to cry.
Upon encounters where I stood on standings.
A community truth's new sky.

A contract laborer working hard.
At painting the sky blue for Michael Jackson.
Knowing the balance and focal point.
Showing the art of inaction.

Those moments when clouds look fast to a man.
And stars compute in his head.
And the sum of a man shines each night.
And he doesn't believe what he's said.

Of ambrosia what a storm has shroud.
Lifting and lowering a thought filled cloud.
As were water made of only stories.
Would you mind if my mind flurries.

Oh the way my voice sights cloud.
The obvious is a mist of wealth.
How hidden be joy from saying out loud.
Ideas only new to myself.

Man with deformed arm.
On cloud not-reaching down for luck.
Busy-river hung sideways.
Mature-Woman not reaching up.

No point in naming clouds.
Why didn't you tell me sooner.
They pass by fast like eyes of strangers.
Named not once we fewned her.






poem 269 by Earl Dinkin

Today I won't be going to a market.
Because a vagrant, will trip on pearls.
Where no such thing as doing-nothing.
Will show me oh-how-strong-are-worlds.

I would break the strongest ropes.
That could hold where never clings.
But I have the weakest of all hopes.
And my curtains have two strings.

I would feel much safer.
If the word god was replaced by the number zero.
Then every equation would never hate.
And never love the strong odd arrow.

Do you stand alone at night.
And then see its unkind seam.
The world your strongest garment.
Its fineness sewn with mean.

When mankind broke the sound barrier (sorry).
Soon every man could talk.
So anything stronger than zero meaning.
Could ask you for a walk.

If you ever design a line of clothing.
Please name it Miranda's Song.
So if I ever wonder where Amanda went.
I can glance towards the strong.

Do it yourself. Suit yourself.
Have a nice time and fun.
Too bad for me, I'm like a person.
Stronger when I was young.

It happens in the oldest sections.
That glue might never give.
Pine being of the strongest river.
Kind of, like to live.

I suspected, he, was there.
That mastodon that kissed you.
He would have Shelves so strong.
For raging river issues.

A woman mountain-climber sleeping.
While hanging from her newest strong ropes.
Admiring magazines on display at a book store.
That's as brave as I'll hang from your hopes.

There it is. That "what you know".
Wrapped in what you guessed.
In a box of what you learned.
Taped-up with strong finesse.

That is the strongest shield.
When anger sounds like don't.
Nothing can hurt the warmth of self.
When a kitten's hidden in your coat.

Like physics at the end of day.
Rockets, they send back to nonperformance.
If race tracks have secret backwards oarsmen.
I'll only seek strength from their importance.

The secret to safe anti gravity.
Is in the strength of military thread.
When aged for twenty five years.
You can't hold down such dread.

For the folding conclusions that pro man makes.
And all the false ends he claims.
For the strength of a beautiful toe man stepped on.
There's a sheathing for all his names.








Poem 268 by Earl Dinkin

You'll want to be patient. But look to the left.
THERE is aÊquiet life.
Remember it is, just an illusion.
A loud noise, to aÊprisoners wife.

It's a box. And it's aÊcar.
But also just a Toad and more.
No-one should see, stuff-found inÊsharks.
We've heard that song before.

A behemothÊwith much excitement.
It's-breath smells-as bad as "lore".
Yes you can read it. It's coming up soon.
Eraser, pencil, floor.

Does he have something like-an apartment.
Well perhaps. A bit lazy wash no "dish".
He's gone to buy a whimsical one.
With tweed measurements and a fish.

No fins. But we've got its wings repaired.
And a cage to hold the "id".
Forty dollars-for its blanket.
And the laundry-Stonehenge did.

Is this what it's been doing all these years.
It cares for the Kayaks won.
It's half passed two. "You know dad".
It's a bowling shirt for one.

How did you get its positive back.
In the cage from which it flew.
It looks very good in the sand.
So here is what you do.

At the coughing-machine.
There's a two hundred dollar chick.
Hold the lantern, desperately-inside.
Look for the wisest quip.

See if it canÊsink orÊswim.
And feed-it little wrongs.
But do not yell "in here's a bird".
The "ember" will be gone.

Few will ever view it.
Please note the zero wingspan.
Exits are at the lumps-and-tears.
Please fasten all your plans.

Positive or negative.
Choose your cameras please.
At the truly tiniest moment.
Apply some chemistry.

Remember all your rulers.
Use your current-one real fast.
Measure wing-tips to the drool.
And prepare to hear the draft.

Yes it was impossible.
That-one got away.
It positively stayed inside.
We think it rhymed with "hey".

Here we are,Êin front of an old-truck-stop.
(Those positive, will seeÊa store).
And to our right, you see-musical notes.
In barrels of ignore.

They are used to bang numerous-things.
Mostly keyboard-keys and wings.
But how-high or low they go.
Depend on how-far the rib cage "pings".

What do the major six wear?
Upon the guardian slope.
Wow. Three thousand pounds?
That's allot of coat.

Here we'll stay off the fingers.
Leprechauns are not new.
And luck has nothing, to do with it.
All words are atoms too.

And don't hold your fingers to the air.
The impossibility is due.
Here words, are flying to their meanings.
That typewriters never knew.

His world nears all it's cusps untold.
And steers by it's rudder rot.
Rhyming nothing quite so old.
As the tiny private thought.









Poem 267 by Earl Dinkin

They told me to go to Reverent Park.
The thorns are off there. So no.
The scene is off there. No go.
Wherever I'm at. No show.

You guys? Is this how.
We're supposed to do it.
Arresting me now toe to bank.
That-whatever oh sweet shoe fit.

Anti-aging-blistery morn.
Shoes not matching norm.
England does not march on Sundays.
Rally fortune's poem.

A gentleman seeing no point to warming.
His toes in the fountain of human-taint.
Like retired ballet shoes cost-suspended.
Over a can of royal-blue paint.

Shoe the cobra. Cue the din.
That, lobsters never meet.
Bubbles like the sands of time.
Dreaming angels to a street.

I pronounce us Popeye punching bags.
While the world lets us pause and eat.
To buoyancy let's toast then touch shoes.
Because we keep our hearts in our feet.

Like the puppet slowly rolling down basement stairs.
With a smelly shoe on its face lands nice.
There's something about the bottom of cares.
Which bears thinking to oneself that's life.

Am I not going to take this anymore?
You know that shoes can do that right?
So yes I'm knocking him. Is that so wrong?
The fifth question being. Who listens to mom?

That's the thing you never do.
Become all love tying a shoe.
For how much could we win I jest.
If grown men, could pass that test.

Rapid onset! Clever "glows"!
You know that art? That artists shine.
Miss Harriet! Trust your shoe off!
And customers "drink your wine".

Sinister or happy cravings.
Why thus are shoes a team?
Over caverns like a torment.
Where witness was a stream.

And here is the seven forty five.
Right on times and true.
And men begin the castings then.
The wait at Shakespeare's shoe.

Four half walls and fog.
That's the trouble with true.
It's a two inch sticky ball of tape.
Troublesomely attached to a shoe.

And women's strong mean boyfriends.
Blowing bubble gum against your face.
"New-men" with ten foot shoes.
Pointing fingers at dawn one pace.

In my wobbly apartment building.
Where I talk as far as Emily.
I search for my lost party shoe.
On the floors braced to my family.

"Like the" shoes I wore at one.
That listed to and fro.
And in a glance to starboard once.
What I became had show.







Poem 266 by Earl Dinkin

I spend ten hours asleep every-night learning.
Another ten thousand of my suspicions are true.
Can we think any more nice of a real world so dice.
Every life that ever lived thought new.

And then within each morning as smart as free.
I have to recount, the internal tree.
For within each time I dreamed of life.
Distraction stung abstraction twice.

Then expectations steer my morning.
Alliances hear my shout.
Sitting on the front edge of bed.
Two worlds joined by doubt.

Like the seashell wears the ocean.
Beholding the sand has ears.
Knowing that fame needs no talents.
Only volunteers.

Where silent centers move so slowly.
They hardly move at all.
So bravely in a room of talkers.
I see silent centers crawl.

And a snail appears so slow.
But oh how fast it is.
To take from life at such a rate.
And just as fast it gives.

Where time un-yields its additions.
Ideas are my bars.
To speak of thus a butterfly.
I must have forgotten the stars.

Have you ever searched the Internet.
To find your other word.
And pro wrestlers holding large writing pens.
In headlocks almost heard.

It rhymes with "climbs" and dreams with "seams".
And it's safe as money and just as funny.
Have you ever longed and missed a metaphor?
With all my heart that's what my clever's for.

Then notice-how all songs are long.
And notice how friends are free.
Notice how all men are flawed.
But please don't notice me.

A man fishing with dry stale cheese.
And a strong warehouse dolly for the catch.
He thinks alone about the law of attraction.
But observers decide the attach.

A valuable antique document explaining.
How to fire someone for Hard Workings.
Window view of a cat burrowed in snow.
Beneath its own Droppings.

Be quiet when you hold a human being.
And try hard not to hurt their spin.
Of all the creatures that near the Mozart.
They'll have the thinest skin.

And a very bright flashlight with four legs.
Shining at the moon at night.
Answer is less than a midnight glimmer.
But nothing can beam that slight.

Where man looks there he goes.
Learned mosquitoes say.
And where he finds incline in dreams.
You'll find him there next day.

And whether there be reason to.
There remains the conjugal divot.
The only one sure thing in life.
Is that editors will edit.

Let no writing industries put asunder.
Two words, that want to be the same.
By the "hour" of the state invested in me.
I pronounce my love in twain.

Can a simple thing be who.
As simple as the at.
As tiny as an in-conclusion.
Yet two worlds fit through that.

Inside a driver-less van with a small tree.
Growing on its roof like an antenna.
I was wondering from behind gray walls.
If anyone can hear my heaven.







Poem 265 by Earl Dinkin

Authorized in units.
Do not laugh-again.
Towards the breaking-point.
Cars are-mowing men.

Harassment waking someone up.
Whatever storm you do.
Alive at live-work pardon.
All the ground and you.

Thirst in bed the ramp be wavering.
On the business of a post.
Surgeon-excited-will-be.
Information toast.

Inside a giant harness.
A metaphor of name.
I was thinking-ladies.
Is two dollars fame?

A sunbeam at five o'clock.
Denote the labor board.
Utterly-what-it-means.
Fine tune the dust ignored.

Thrown nicely, across an elf.
Shudder at the loss.
I-am-telling-you-strait.
Mountain mouse. I toss.

Toro Toro fashion spoon.
Clock upon the wall.
Extra smooth chewy center.
That never turns at all.

A whole box of lonely nights.
We paid for this adverse.
A stomach wavering chain reaction.
I have people. Tell a nurse.

Miter-box. Ruptured hose.
Prepare the "scent" of rose.
And add some detour-Myosin.
For what the hell who knows.

So softly.
A masterpiece of rain.
I've forgotten in-out or-so.
I will wish again.

You can't make this chin-up.
For what's a sad to do.
Open a book to any page.
Where I "hid" the friend was you.

Kindly able the winter mock.
Isn't that where good pins aim.
A little less snowfall frock.
One summer must not wane.

I-have-only-one.
Ha! It's freaky lame.
I heard the-duck wore trousers.
Imagine the percent he saves.

Austin report. Climb a tree.
Is there a "scone" for tea.
Can you clone her recipe.
For the rest of me.

There is no damage-as.
Far as I can see.
Perhaps you saw a morning-of.
You-here-right-Text-to-me.






poem 264 by Earl Dinkin

We live on a perfect plain.
It's one inch behind a lens.
Where no one ever needs to shout.
To hear what silence sends.

It fills like living every place you know.
That place so tall it hides.
Where chance can't move the things of mission.
Yet everything motionless tries.

Have you seen the indescribable?
I think it might be near the din's unhideable.
And maybe almost where humans find.
Their major moments of never mind.

Somewhere there beside the action.
Two leers behind the acquiesce.
Loft in the garden of main distraction.
I'm hoping they build their finesse.

Do they ever set their clocks by jeers.
When our stopwatch ears are timed by trees.
And if all our stems were found by years.
Could we ever become full grown tease.

If I look at that star with all my station.
All mistakes great-men made are "hue".
Like that way all men turned into granite.
Celebrate with no world's undo.

Neighbors are the true horizons.
So I do not need a sky.
Within the unknown depths of hearts.
I see all the seasons why.

And then lots of horses moving slowly.
Eye blinks two days long.
My thoughts of you are in perfect light.
Forty eons still no wrong.

All I want is the loneliness.
From the ideas as lips as eyes.
And conversations wearing the inspirations.
And the sweetness black coffee hides.

I love that!
The same way, velvet felt, was rhyme.
And doctors yet so numb I'm sure.
Could repair a verse of mine.

Near the subatomic scale they grow.
The who is following who.
And way above the planetary scale.
They harvest the me nearing you.

It's not by stature or envelope.
That knowledge is held by teams.
Dear song time ago and your single spark.
Can I watch you and fill my dreams.

Only a music lover will rescue you here.
Sing at your own risk of shun.
Musical instruments are mixed with rescue gear.
But sadly not all men hum.

It measures care on the nectar scale.
Where the insect is least in question.
Near where the mozart steers the fine.
The uncalm teeds the teach them a lesson.

Doctor, what WORLD did this?
I'm on the waterfront asking.
How do blankets feel from new?
Stuffed, clean blank and lasting.

In my second life I can pace for hours.
On no hillside called lichen's rift.
Where men who like her can think for powers.
And improve the song of if.








poem 263 by Earl Dinkin

When family come home for Christmas.
There's a special language of horns and signs.
They release control to the harbor master.
And release control divine.

But now? Would you take it?
Like Christmas again?
That nature of gold?
The standard, often?

Drinking tea in a cramped room.
Thinking about christmas-wreath-sights.
A man sitting up in bed looking.
At one hand decorated with tree lights.

If he measures good souls by their ounce of bad.
And bad souls by their ounce of good.
Santa Claus must sometimes be sad.
And wish he held such a gem if he could.

Make it official and so dark.
I'm set for Santa Claus please.
I'm so glad I "invited" you.
I mean "invented" coffee cream.

Two women large and small.
Watching man locked inside a santa suit.
To only want to do what's right.
Women with keys to laughter mute.




poem 262 by Earl Dinkin

Well, I'll introduce myself.
A wife would need to know.
No travel, I can give you that.
You choose a reason though.

A fine actor, harvesting no wind.
All, that, you, were, going to say.
His father mean while hosting.
Just enough sin to sway.

It's two o'clock in the morning.
I'm having, a nervous breakdown.
I think maybe, no, one, can see me.
So I can write this down.

Oh, not that again.
That's not the way it's done.
I don't know what this is.
The wish to know someone.

Your chimney, is corrupted.
I know because I stare.
If harbors have erupted.
Please forgive my shadowed air.

You're not going to open up.
Take it one step further.
We don't want you on the carpet.
The paper today, said heard her.

Because you were asleep.
Rockets, oh my god away.
An introduction without the happiness.
Place your bets and day.

How can I ever read newspapers-again.
Send "up the gas" and "stuff".
Oh I remember now.
Keep reading who made lust.

How are people eloping?
Not a chance in hell.
Listen to "Miss-Nancy".
Wear the intimate-pills.

Not much money? "Ten minutes".
However researchers beg to differ.
They may not realize how "bad" it is.
But who reads tonight's Big-Dipper.








poem 261 by Earl Dinkin

It's not even necessary.
I have a thousand-ranges for-rent.
So what do you really want.
Ignore that meaning's dent.

It kind of has a key.
Let's fix it up, and see what's there.
Seems like a fountain.
Exactly like-an engineer.

First everyone start their heroes.
That's what happens to-a broken heart.
Are you truly being serious.
That's the problem. When-one-hits the art.

Hey you. Right there at the back.
What is keeping it-all-running.
It sounded very good-until.
Let's just "say" the endless-lack.

Let's turn it on.
And see what makes it steam.
How about now "which" colour.
Smoke so humbly-green.

Hello profits, meet the Kids.
And then also meet the Roads.
Hey gorgeous, are you nervous.
Understandably so.

Stop it "was" undeserving.
It wasn't at your beckon call.
Struggling until-once it heard us.
The machine now has those balls.

Now "it's" over there.
Mommy where's my boots.
Please take-out all permissions.
And realign the scoops.

Are you coughing all alone.
The ego system's down.
Let us kick "sandals" to the statue.
There's plenty there by now.

Because it's heavy once again.
And the song was awful slow.
And salt said to the never.
Please tell us what you know.

What was "all" it wanted.
Could you please, pass the shame.
Now arriving at gate eleven.
The weakest engine that we made.

It bubbles out "undo" fractions.
It warbles more than floor.
And "when" it lifts it's hands out.
It barely knows what for.

So mighty "as" seen by laughter.
For it can concentrate.
And-although not a dancer.
A broken heart can wait.

It doesn't-know what "is" pronoun.
And can hardly hold "a door".
And was never-ever necessary.
Yet poetry grew so core.

The electronic fun transfers.
To the ePaper news at-tunes.
All the choices for naming realities.
We made on the 3d looms.






poem 260 by Earl Dinkin

And the winds of change are omnipresent.
And they always heat seek the learn.
And where ever we look too long at slightness.
The meanings of life will burn.

That's what we in the industry call.
The nun to nun ratio sums.
Where three out of every ten nuns are bad.
But only to the other nuns.

Oh let me tell you stories cold.
That no one can compare.
There is a place so lovely.
Called the tv static stare.

The weakest force is the line of aught.
If three be known two will join by thought.
So that is how I read the news.
Seeing what love a constellation glues.

I learned a new word today.
Well actually I made it up.
It's all that fuss between one and zero.
When all men know nilsenough.

Of all the wrongs a world can blame.
I hate my voice the most.
You see a man hole cover crime.
But I see a coast.

And a very bright flashlight with four legs.
Shining at the moon at night.
Answer is less than a midnight glimmer.
But nothing can beam that slight.

Like a particle, or like a wave.
In the grime, or such will amaze.
I promise I'll look. Twice for you always.
In the mind, and then in the haze.

The air conditioner, half believed in heat.
The baseboard heater, half believed in cold.
To enjoy such fun from wasted teamwork.
They secretly hid their belief in droll.

Powered by the hour of compression.
First you lush two trillion learns.
And when you stir in a timeless question.
Then you've heavened all my turns.

I shall never know such beauty.
Like a person so hard at work.
That as she oh near sips a coffee.
Which no cost can compute such worth.

And if you imagine each thought was warm.
How could such a hot be normal.
Oh sweet choosey dragon how I wish.
The average cold trip was formal.

I'm kind of saving that for less.
My oldest toast for some the fearless.
That a "slight" might slow the laughter.
Enough to learn by tearless.

Moonlight silhouette of a flea inside a parasite.
On the stomach of mankind's all.
A look to the curtains, a touch of the "havens".
And of course a wisdom's brawl.







poem 259 by Earl Dinkin

Tangles must be so confused.
Come here go away in one wish fused.
Problems like a loyal dog.
Fetching wonder when you throw god.

A pretty woman made from folded paper.
By an Origami master with too much time.
A pretty veterinarian, checking a man's blood pressure.
Healthy dog between them,,, and grand design.

A male picking up dog droppings.
Before the poetry-readings ran.
Always dreaming towards beverly-hills.
Feeling it's-good to be a man.

Cocooning, never drew such rapture!
Like the bumblebee might sing.
Dog! Oh how, needs a pasture.
How gold should be that ring.

A frozen foot is like a dog.
You have to live with it for life.
But I guess that's when the beauty.
To learn more then than strife.

There's a way of looking I kite the most.
With soft hues of inner blands and blends.
With a tilt to one side that sees two dogs.
And two owners that will never be friends.

How about, a frost-chilled garden.
Where massive pumpkins grew.
Sirens loud at let the dogs out.
Small bridge over maybe two.

A man on the go with dogs.
Hanging from his arms by paws.
Sore wounds on both his karate hands.
And cue the endless cause.

They can hear all dogs starting off in two directions.
From the starting lines of make toast.
A man and woman standing on opposite sides.
Of a large wooden fence post.

For Capricorn then, despise this!
With measuring eyes I think I'm going!
In languages spelled, with a marsh-bog.
Please arrest my cat for knowing!

My cat sees continents in the corners.
And constellations in the jars.
And though I never say good morning.
I see near things in the fars.

A motionless snail holding his cat as a mask.
With a computer next to its head.
Dressed in a traditional palace guard uniform.
In a world of things unsaid.

Watching cat Smell Coins.
And Swallow them without Human Interference.
A Deadpan Man Surprisingly Standing Still.
After Flipping through air's disturbance.

A Valuable Antique Document Explaining.
How to Fire someone for Hard-Workings.
A cat Looking into House from Burrow in Snow.
Beneath its own Droppings.

A gentleman cat doubled resting sideways.
Watching white bunnies flying undisturbed.
If you don't mind I'll stay home alone.
And paint gently if that's a word.

We sing on cats and stranger toes.
A little to the right.
With all organic means to do so.
Toe's-friend is sand at-night.

The true teacher just passes the butter.
And all the learns of earned finesse.
Like a cat and an dog in beanbag chairs.
Need I mention permanence.










poem 258 by Earl Dinkin

This with bravery and secrecy wrote.
And delivered in urgent times.
Dear friend please read then burn this note.
My memory has outlawed rhymes.

They like the thought of you so much.
All my brain cells took a vote.
They want to think of you everyday.
So here's a poem they wrote.

When men on the moon first saw the earth.
Well the first time I saw you was like that.
Oh surely I was in such awe of your beauty.
But then I remembered where I was at.

Are there any good books that love me?
Like how the Dewey Decimal system cries.
Like that way I wrote ten thousand quatrains.
And stored them in your eyes?

Have you seen where I've been looking?
I can't find it anywhere.
I thought I left it inside my freedom.
So it could be any care.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.

If you hear me speaking just ten words.
It's because I'm thinking of ten thousand heards.
Like for instance, because they love your eyes.
Wherever you blink them, a river "dries".

You know how lasting silence is.
When a finish line remembers a race.
When you catch me glancing.
I try to make that face.

Here with the irony of giving you flowers.
Like the knowing that activists sleep.
Are the results of all the known April showers.
And the please laugh I'm trying to be deep.

Could you please tell me your coordinates.
Are you currently fast or slow?
Meek or angry, thoughtful or active.
Let's kiss and I will know.

Did you know hubcaps are just as round as wheels.
It's a mystery that eludes my eye.
Oh and would you please be my girlfriend.
There's a reason but I don't know why.

I would be your gentle lover.
You would hardly know I'm there.
Just like your home drip coffee maker.
When you make one cup and stare.

Would you like a cup of coffee.
I know this place that's on no maps.
Where the rivers are so lonely.
They hide in the water taps.

The things we do in time's climb.
They are the crystals we form.
So yes I'll have a coffee please.
With just enough heaven's warm.

And all the clocks that time forgot.
And the hourglasses too.
And start them all at once.
To time my love for you.

A bus, a townhouse and a ground level apartment.
Unfolding more beautifully than a quest.
And the storms within were the storms without.
Who could have ever guessed.

A valentine I give to thine.
And pretend we were divided and then.
Like Plasticine in a child's dreams.
We forever recombine again.

And you then stirred to morning.
And in your eyes I shone.
"Hello sleepy head", I'd say.
"Guess what the coffee's on".

Join me for coffee in the best frontier.
Where no place has greater depths.
Testing our souls to points of "tear".
Siting on our front steps.







poem 257 by Earl Dinkin

Turn the lights off when you leave.
The night time makes me sure.
Fearing all atoms are solar systems.
And electricity was war.

And lo however, I ride the bus.
A chapel, as quaint as far.
With war, as ample, as sitting brings.
The knowing what moves a car.

Fire makes fire and cold makes cold.
Who avoids that war filled dance.
Warm makes warm but lasts a moment.
Yes heavens are found by glance.

Now I'm stuffed with cranberries.
Perhaps from washed ashore.
With extra heavy dialog.
Parents, please stop war.

I'm at war with nature's hour.
Perfecting my one two punch.
Explaining to rhyme but never touching.
Then winning by right hand lunch.

With adequately as my favorite word.
I try to shave each war.
Blightless like my Apple Macintosh.
Perfection is just being sure.

Peace shall cause war.
And war shall cause peace.
Dare but to choose friend.
Or both when's shall cease.

Dream evil caused by temperature.
And niceness caused by cool.
And all night long dream thermostats.
Were endless wars of rule.

An overhead projector hiding a teacher's face.
Second teacher at the back of the class.
All the characters from star wars in a life boat.
And a billion thoughts one ask.

No doctor said here's the problem.
There's too much attention in your wrist.
That stuff grows like tension mention.
Or wars like mouse hand dissed.

All the characters from star wars in a lifeboat.
On dry land in their second life.
The dollar has force.
And the friends have nice.

My soldier and my warrior.
Are friends in their old age.
Though oddly, cafe table choosing.
Remains the warrior's forte.

This chair is here, to help you.
I repeat, do-not go down there.
Old dry rum, and cologne for one.
Soldier! Igloo-your-sound-gear!

How do you speak in numbers.
And are words such awful names.
Notes dropped to soldier five floors down.
Intercepted by woman down one stare gains.

A soldier rests a moment, to write a letter.
Then notices he has some very bad wounds.
My, but you sure have a lot of nice china.
Would you mind very much if I choosed?

Put your palms together.
Then push down quick with force.
Then put your ear to the Morse code key.
And listen for a pulse.









poem 256 by Earl Dinkin

Today in school we learned about lift.
So first we learned about lifting by pulley.
Did you know when balanced broomsticks drift.
One man's majority becomes another man's bully.

A contract laborer working hard.
At painting the sky blue for Michael Jackson.
Knowing the balance and focal point.
Showing the art of inaction.

How like a race track are the walls of hate.
Drive wrong and you feel their cue.
Show them your choices to demonstrate.
They'll know balance even though they're crude.

The back of a city bus may be owned by the devil.
But the bus couldn't move without it.
A balance that keeps a world so level.
Never changing and never shouted.

As never as level as even.
Word balance scales weigh mights.
So heavy each morning to evening.
My mind carries another two slights.

Time oh what a wondrous vessel.
To journey through the number pi.
How elusive is the positive thought.
Like a broomstick I balance thy.

So what is new? A few next year?
Pink sparks, I'll watch till still.
That linger on a better balance.
"within" no reach of skill.

Close to home I stayed and cleaned.
By balanced or dangled broom sticks.
A personality I kept so teamed.
My buoyancy solemnness mix.

Where the difference pays a man.
His balance scale of goal.
A cruel trick that newest price.
Each piece is worth the whole.

Looking at life through a gyroscope.
Balanced on your finger.
Divinity in a pause for hope.
The same way glances linger.

As restless as the thermostat.
That learns to fear the glance.
My soul forever chasing balance.
Keep pride or someday dance.








poem 255 by Earl Dinkin

Inside view of bagel-sandwich show.
Fifteen to ends.
Rottings to friends.
Things my psychiatrist should know.

You should know I fear fast words like static.
So we should probably speak like storms.
The same way mammals discussing their feeling.
Honk-their moan two horns.

Eerie! The white horn!!
As chosen as the fun.
Almost like a lithograph.
No pilots steer by sun.

The explanation that dies by words.
Like the shimmer that dies by sun.
As gentle as the river tells you.
Please forgive my words of none.

Past right here.
Nine times out of none.
One day per year.
Forgetting-equi-librium.

Forgetting photography's focal point.
My wisdoms belong to kin.
Brothers and sisters!
For-the, pin-hole fight that wins.

Losing being that finest right.
A gracefulness only wisdoms toe.
Where problemless kites light up thin nights.
I fear blight men might know.

And only just for rooftop nails.
That living henchmen might have "seen.
Learn to embrace them "just for hoops".
(god forbid such team)

Noise where vegetables knock for game.
Hunger team ease your train.
Drop not, stock of thought.
Rewind be kind oh rain.

So softly.
A masterpiece of rain.
I've forgotten in-out or-so.
I will wish again.

Until the announcements, are completely different.
I will hear these yesterdays at nine.
I'm alone, and where's the party.
Say it say it. Say these words like crime.

Man against his pen.
Locked in combat till the end.
If you ever read these words.
Know I won by sunrise birds.

I have a perfect bird feeder in the rain.
No birds have ever found.
And a pleasure of everything nicely right.
Would you like a cup of sound.

That is the strongest shield.
When anger sounds like don't.
Nothing can hurt the warmth of self.
When a kitten's hidden in your coat.

Today I won't be going to a market.
Because a vagrant, will trip on pearls.
Where no such thing as doing-nothing.
Will show me oh-how-strong-are-worlds.










poem 254 by Earl Dinkin

It was unbelievable. Did you to see it?
Avalanches were just as-slow.
Ah! Taking the endÊslice of breads.
Only gentle enough wakings-snow.

Okay first we have to take it apart, (and change).
Never would I "live" in-a house with one.
The horizon is-not too far for Me.
I can do-it if I run.

Hey! Did you last night, mumble that...
For instance... "I think I have mother's coat".
And then... "Everybody I've come home".
And 25 others... like "Sorry Johns don't vote".

For some reason I couldn't see you.
I guess those buttons fell off third.
It did seem-like, allot of people to me.
Satin sheets, fine finish, and happy orders sir.

If I wore shinning armor.
And the shadows could be seen.
I would fight your bad guys.
By going into your dreams.

And there inside your alley.
I'd find a crying fawn.
And I would cure its bite marks.
And arm it with a song.

And the sunlight would then travel
At impossible to measure speeds.
And wash away the shadows.
And fill your dream with trees.

And all those little fires.
Before you let them grow.
I would say a magic word
And rain on all your foes.

And I would hold you dearly.
Even though I'd have no arms.
And I would tell you passions.
Till all the words were gone.

And you then stirred to morning.
And in your eyes I shone.
"Hello sleepy head", I'd say.
"Guess what the coffee's on".

I let you dream for forty seconds.
In that nightmare you have each week.
Then I woke you with a quiet touch.
And wished all rescues could be that meek.














Poem 253 by Earl Dinkin

And photography shall be a great equalizer.
Where, heavens and blames shall bore.
Enchanting instead the worst horoscopes.
To come-live in a world so lore.

It's like two totem poles leaning into.
The entrance of a television studio door.
Somehow the raven lets us lore.
Hinting somehow the slant knows more.

When we're awake we think at our tips.
Where our lightning bolt chooses explore.
But when we're asleep we think at our root.
To direction our lightning bolt's core.

I know this is a personal question.
But how do you connect the dots?
In the mist of thinking screaming equals.
Should beauty join the dewdrop thoughts?

Losing being that finest right.
A gracefulness only wisdoms toe.
Where problemless kites light up thin nights.
I fear "blight men" might know.

Though big pictures fight alone like wind chimes.
Storm never has seen one lose.
Their strife so simple like boarding inclines.
Warm tethers but it must choose.

To choose is this a heaven.
To lose is this a hate.
Wish like grow is everywhere.
Pressure finds escape.

The way motorcycles have maximum slant.
And kites and Earths must perfect fly.
I humbly hope aspect ratios can't.
Ever find the slant of pi.

And personality makes it's own slopes.
The angles it fights then slides.
But the lone key reaches gentle grades.
Then only one lock it tries.

The greatest things there are to see.
Are made visible by observations.
The way the-heavens own no light.
Or return key constellations.

Heart with proper direction finder.
To find a way up every minute.
Finding that positive so small.
To steer by such goodness in it.

Where does mind hide high fidelities.
And level thoughts of my favourite melodies.
Songs so "stung" by such tall keepers.
And played so wrong, on each life's small speakers.

That sweetest harp of easy sleep.
That harbours no-hate, nor of others' levels.
Steering the din and finding brave new peaks.
The think well of mankind's "trebles".

Being no match against the common good.
I heard a knot start to cry.
Upon encounters where I stood on standings.
And a community's truth-new-sky.

Hates are priced nothing per-announce.
Just bushel them by weighing worlds.
But loves, are priced everything per-pronounce.
Because no scale can weigh unfurls.

Let's raise a toast to the power of leapfrog.
While each winner needs one rest each two!
Let's remember fondly, when there were famous people.
Now let's show them, what humans can do!

Quick now you have zero time.
To invent psychic power and predict.
Too late, your mind's made up.
And lightning grew a world at tip.

Within each morning as smart as free.
I have to re-count, the internal tree.
For within each time I dreamed of life.
Distraction stung abstraction twice.









Poem 252 by Earl Dinkin

A newspaper to me always solemnly feeds.
Deep corrections that each field beds.
That I turn for harvest of flaw's sweetest seeds.
And know things not needed to be said.

If I owned a famous newspaper.
I would name it, people doing what they want.
And at the bottom of every page I'd print.
A white rectangle for your tears to haunt.

Design a sink, make it gold.
Newspapers can you, flow of this.
Fill with wealth, and had behold.
And in a diner, make her wish.

Because it inspires ways of solving problems.
I read the newspaper everyday.
Where I'll trust behaviours someone knows does work.
Then I stand out of their way.

Around the face of the undisturbed.
A mouth had news for its ear.
And what was only known in dreams.
All worlds knew not to cheer.

Symbols are my favourite ease.
The newspaper is filled with them.
Read the news instant free.
And you don't cause the world to end.

Two newspaper stories side by side.
The combination makes them three.
The way a personality comes from.
The bumps that make a key.

The weakest force is the line of aught.
If three be known two will join by thought.
So that is how I read the news.
Seeing what love a constellation glues.

The out there looks very out there today.
Two galleries collided without a single collision.
And in other news I saw their rights to spring.
Sung by the kite's beautician.

Where the alphabet can leave like wind.
And even the adjectives may think of spin.
Where the uncaged focus may roam or be.
And even the news hounds sleep touching free.

When playing poker against a display rack.
Of information pamphlets lose.
Five pixels beats a thousand tacks.
And appropriate response beats news.

To push or to shove.
And then, news one way to watch.
And then forgive my atomic number.
That bullied up one notch.

It's been two thousand years, since the end of news.
And people are becoming outraged.
Today I think I may, have even seen.
A keyboard reaching help-age.

Because I want to stay informed.
I read newspapers of our world at play.
But in my mind I see their real mastheads.
The Plague of Thin Skins Today.






Poem 251 by Earl Dinkin

The Internet is a very long snake.
Inside I lie down and dance.
When the mind dips down one notch.
I move one inch then chance.

Have you ever searched the Internet.
To find your other word.
And pro wrestlers holding large writing pens.
In headlocks almost heard.

There are non-words we know aren't true.
Olfactory-hallucinations have never "spelled".
Oh brave new Internet that has such Tip-Quips.
And forest Fast-Trucks-Tractoring her compels.

But a pirate disc can't do that.
Not even, with just the right spit.
Yes they wanted me just, to see you.
But it wasn't me! It was just a bit.

My favorite moments of my success.
The only times I really know.
When I clean my computer screens.
That's when I'm a pro.

There is no chance of men "unteething".
But the wind stops still to pro.
There among the endless teasing.
Is there someone reading slow?






Poem 250 by Earl Dinkin

To speak I need to mold a vision.
Let us raise a toast and laugh.
But know a thought divides a wisdom.
Let us mourn its other half.

To be most proud of an empty quiver.
And not wield a frozen whip.
To stand in the way of an endless shiver.
And not need a spoken quip.

No harm is a stone made of tongue grown stale.
If said though the stone will fail.
And tea has an enemy with watchful sores.
In so much pain from the stones it hoards.

When of courses become just smart enough.
To make hourfull gongs and drums.
And the dawns become just smart enough.
To use showerful longs and strums.

If the correct were corrected without transgressions.
As far as why farms could knew.
And felled sideways each demand's two lessons.
Would that be dancing for true.

I'll try not to speak among unchoices.
In the grave yard of the jeers.
Where I'll stand, and fill with spokens.
Flowers no one wants to hear.

To be so still we never get that illness.
Will a core shaped wrong un-please.
There is no pill to cure the thrill-less.
Of the teach someone a lesson disease.

A university of higher learning.
Showing you a slice of pizza.
And then without a worried word.
You understand the teacher.

Where man looks there he goes.
Learned mosquitoes say.
And where he finds incline in dreams.
You'll find him there next day.

For the folding conclusions that pro man makes.
And all the false ends he claims.
For the strength of a beautiful toe man stepped on.
There's a sheathing for all his names.

No hand held out sideways over a brook testing air.
To feel what trees fall upon reason's softer.
Uncared within one never been there.
Is all a universe has to offer.

When you look at the knight of a shining star.
How does your love begin.
Does it song on a planet years away.
Or does it slow within.

With ties of untold believe strings.
There's knowing there's a single strand.
Excuse me miss have you seen things.
I hear there's a distant hand.

I can only give you all humanity's behavior.
Molded by the dins of past.
So here is everything for the complete space traveler.
As you turn each page please vast.






Poem 249 by Earl Dinkin

There are ten people in a darkroom.
If they can prove that they exist.
With an arsenal of only odd behaviours.
Divide pi in-two plus this.

Man with deformed arm.
On cloud not-reaching down for luck.
Busy-river hung sideways.
Mature-Woman not reaching up.

House guest with hands in pockets.
Stepping forward too shy-to-say.
Roses are the same you know.
Adding stealth that way.

A Bird supplying saliva.
An elephant being-shocked.
By electricity from a theatre.
Turning away unwatched.

Man in dark in his apartment.
Pretending that he's a lamp.
Woman inspecting ashtrays.
To see if he is a champ.

The hands of man and woman.
Exchanging fishbone keys.
Front of house lasting only.
Both sides with mailbox-bees.

A man and woman, with zero expressions.
And-no place to go.
A lightbulb hiding a man's lips.
And wires on shoulders glow.

A doctor wearing a-tuxedo.
At bus station disproving claims.
Measuring the distance, of a patient.
From the walls and stains.

A d-list hollywood actor, retrieving pizza.
With a plastic hat; coat and spine.
Under bleachers, during filming-breaks.
And plastic badge that reads "offline".

Mean lips saying, (super-closeup).
Your passport is no use to me.
Lawn chair on the head of bed.
Many-ships on-wavy-sea.

And abandoned derelict boats.
Such a certified goodbye.
As she walks she-walks.
All yes-alone's we buy.






Poem 248 by Earl Dinkin

Ideas are like coke cans.
They're everywhere for those who look.
And turn their collections in for rewards.
Each poem worth a cent.

Of all the sciences to study things.
Poetry works the hardest.
To look through mirrors and microscopes.
The moist eye sees the farthest.

Poetry loves what it means.
And what it means' loves keys instead.
Have you ever turned a viewpoint sideways.
And knew it pulled all said.

In the language, of digital cameras.
A pixel is a metaphor.
Which means within, poetic brains.
We wash our screens with never more.

Poems are just coordinates.
Locations on a map.
Revel not in the words themselves.
But where the mind is at.

Then when no one sees you.
Shine night through seven days.
Where there's pensive trace a lark.
And you've made poetrays.

I fear them like the stings of heaven.
Voices are thoughts' syringe.
What is unsaid provides the power.
So read my poems and cringe.

The psychics and the poets in the forest.
Have similar mating calls from mind.
But the complex will only explain to psychics.
What the poets will only explain to rhyme.

Water in a faucet.
Like poetry on the mind.
Hope is there when you turn a tap.
But the source has been refined.

Bricks and mortar like all that's said.
Build art and poetry for the worlds ahead.
And when the sticks and fears are dry.
No home is warmer than the eye.

Poems and paintings guns and saintings.
Life invents so many ways.
To move the thinking to other thinkers.
We all must fight that haze.

In between chimes heard forever.
The smallest known place is the care.
Show your poetry to family never.
And problems to strangers not share.

Poetry as the frog that cannot jump.
Art as the frog that tried.
There is a distance no words can trump.
That anchor of the heard inside.

The non-cynical pinnacle.
Is the hilltop I hope to found.
Where they forgive a poem for pausing.
And poets choose higher ground.

Of all the styles among inactions.
I sadly-choose quatrains so wilfully.
Because our world does not need poetry.
Only quotability.

People who don't paint scare me.
Non-poets scare me too.
Seven billion performance artists.
Are arguably more than I can cue.

When I'm old, I'll see you with one pixel.
And I'll know you by your, one pixel Fame.
Right about now, I think I have five-pixels.
And way before that, I think no quatrains.

Inspiration is the loneliest torment.
But oh what a place to be.
No one can join such a tiniest moment.
But lo may I hold hands with thee.






Poem 247 by Earl Dinkin

We live on a perfect plain.
It's one inch behind a lens.
Where no one ever needs to shout.
To hear what silence sends.

It fills like living every place you know.
That place so tall it hides.
Where chance can't move the things of mission.
Yet everything motionless tries.

Have you seen the indescribable?
I think it might be near the din's unhideable.
And maybe almost where humans find.
Their major moments of never mind.

Near the subatomic scale they grow.
The who is following who.
And way above the planetary scale.
They harvest the me nearing you.

Only a music lover will rescue you here.
Sing at your own risk of shun.
Musical instruments are mixed with rescue gear.
But saddly not all men hum.

Somewhere there beside the action.
Two leers behind the acquiesce.
Loft in the garden of main distraction.
I'm hoping they build their finesse.

If I look at that star with all my station.
All mistakes great-men made are "hue".
Like that way all men turned into granite.
Celebrate with no world's undo.

Do they ever set their clocks by jeers.
When our stopwatch ears are timed by trees.
And if all our stems were found by years.
Could we ever become full grown tease.

Neighbors are the true horizons.
So I do not need a sky.
Within the unknown depths of hearts.
I see all the seasons why.

It measures care on the nectar scale.
Where the insect is least in question.
Near where the mozart steers the fine.
The uncalm teeds the teach them a lesson.

And then lots of horses moving slowly.
Eye blinks two days long.
My thoughts of you are in perfect light.
Forty eons still no wrong.

All I want is the loneliness.
From the ideas as lips as eyes.
And conversations wearing the inspirations.
And the sweetness black coffee hides.

The things we do in time's climb.
They are the crystals we form.
So yes I'll have a coffee please.
With just enough heaven's warm.

It's not by stature or envelope.
That knowledge is held by teams.
Dear song time ago and your single spark.
Can I watch you and fill my dreams.






Poem 246 by Earl Dinkin

A male picking up dog droppings.
Before the poetry-readings ran.
Always dreaming towards beverly-hills.
Feeling it's-good to be a man.

Woman-opening woman's bedroom door.
So her friend can evaluate the nervous.
Prospects of a lonely man.
Ascending the attic-stairs so-cursive.

New-secretary with-many tooth-picks.
In her hair by the end of day.
From other secretaries, blowing them at her.
Through straws to make her stay.

Large breasted woman joking about her size.
Lifting and dropping them like in Movies.
Towards her professional-duties.
She walks-onward in secret-disguise.

Watching a motorcycle speed away.
From this view, its-finest minutes.
On a kind-of-highway it will barely know.
Because it sadly has no limits.

Post-apocalyptic food-delivery response.
Requesting your order be re-sent.
With more adherence to perfect protocol.
Please always name your vent.

Point of view only, racing in circles.
Inside large-vacant shopping-mall.
Making plans to enjoy refreshments.
Horse designing it's own fast stall.

Teenage psychic.
Looking at teacher's sea.
To teasers behind him.
Softly answering "three".

Spock cutting an apple computer logo.
Onto-the back of a jungle villain.
With the tip of his favorite writing spear.
Zombies have trouble chill'n.

Futuristic person's head.
DNA modified into being a goat.
The same way people once-tattooed.
How many houses are on the back of their-boat.

Breakfast hash-brown stuck to shoulder.
Kitchen-timer stuck to nose.
Dropped from a bridge into a river.
A genie lamp and-one red rose.

A gentleman seeing no point to warming.
His toes in the fountain of human-taint.
Like retired ballet shoes cost-suspended.
Over a can of royal-blue paint.






Poem 245 by Earl Dinkin

Have you ever cleaned a keyboard.
And accidentally wrote a letter of love?
Or ever cleaned your mind so well.
You only spoke in of?

There is "an-un" disrespected string.
Because the Kite knows Fame.
But within the weather's Deal or no Deal.
Inner height Types just the same.

Flowers and landscapes are the letters.
Surrealism banged are the keys.
Now let's type a real message.
Art from lucid dreams.

A man driving a car.
By looking down at his knees.
Steering the way a mountain does.
No fun no games no keys.

Know how just like piano keys.
I love to hear your news.
So saddest part of your worthy notes.
One time and just one choose.

It's been two thousand years, since the end of news.
And people are becoming outraged.
Today I think "I-may", have even seen.
A keyboard reaching help-age.

I'm a man, and I have jell-o fingers.
But the whole world needs to know.
If only I could type this out there.
That traffic is made of people's prose.

Poetry loves what it means.
And what it means' loves keys instead.
Have you ever turned a viewpoint sideways.
And knew it pulled all said.

Put your palms together.
Then push down quick with force.
Then put your ear to the Morse code key.
And listen for a pulse.

We live on a perfect plain.
It's one inch behind a lens.
Where no one ever needs to shout.
To hear what silence sends.

The atom which mattered said to the atom unsung.
I love you but please don't watch the fun.
Have you ever been lonely within a breather.
That's kind-less, where pearls send all levers.






Poem 242 by Earl Dinkin

And the winds of change are omnipresent.
And they always heat seek the learn.
And where ever we look too long at slightness.
The meanings of life will burn.

There the wind has never seasons.
And the sun is gold from proud.
Tears grow from guarded reasons.
Where feel torns are allowed.

With a wind that howls ever slowly.
And could take a man away.
That leaves the apples ever lowly.
I'll measure them-wrong and stay.

I set my sails of diversity.
And for a lifetime watched for wind.
Never realizing controversy.
Must firstly move within.

The world is exactly as exciting.
As stimulation-levels too low recede.
Like a poet saying you have a symbolism.
As normal as wind blown deeds.

Rest oh wind that carries sin.
And fear what the heart calls merrier.
The 4 am pen must have no friend.
Or the treason of a window's barrier.

One hundred steps? Karen where are you?
If you do the math I'm nine.
The strongest wind blowing out of those candles.
The accidental rose for your sublime.

Raging, river, raging so.
I don't know-where to begin.
Commentary or campaign!
Your white dress in the wind.

Winds dangerously forecast as high.
Cold makes true-night-schools end.
Here I would trade my coffee for.
A map to here home-stems.

Like wind chimes under a dining room table.
Sung by situations instead of breeze.
For kinships we could never hear from granite.
Could you task the flimsy please.

Give it up all those stars again.
My motion will "now begin".
Ludicrist are all my charms.
Only Sony makes all wind.

There where the trend calls no friend.
Like the winds with inherited duties.
Be cautious then when names offend.
And be careful of their poisoned movies.

There is no chance of men unteething.
But the wind stops still to pro.
There among the endless teasing.
Is there someone reading slow?

Where the alphabet can leave like wind.
And even the adjectives may think of spin.
Where the uncaged focus may roam or be.
And even the news hounds sleep touching free.

As equal storms are men and weather.
I shall never hate the see.
Like on an oar, like sinned are sure.
All wind and men shall be.

I know of dust that loves good people.
And settles where it can.
Ten trillion thoughts are sharp as equals.
On wind that forgives plan.






Poem 241 by Earl Dinkin

Anxiety, you were my favorite love to wish.
Because you looked "less" than evening-desks.
I would never ask you out for soup so plain.
For "god" knows cholesterol's insane.

Whew that was a close one.
Man did you see that guy.
He almost asked a woman out.
Thank "god" a breeze went by.

Tangles must be so confused.
Come here go away in one wish fused.
Problems like a loyal dog.
Fetching wonder when you throw "god".

Because you were asleep.
Rockets, oh my "god" away.
An introduction without the happiness.
Place your bets and day.

And only just for rooftop nails.
That living henchmen might have "seen".
Learn to embrace them "just for hoops".
"God" forbid such team.

Life is like a pair of socks.
You can hold it in your hands for years.
But no sooner than you forget to think.
Oh "god" it disappears.

Thank "god" mountains all have peaks.
So climbers can end their dangers.
I fear the climb that never meeks.
So thanks for the end of angers.

A person ponders well that's "odd".
And sets the dials to zeros.
A person yells that's the level.
And sets the dials to heros.

I would feel much safer.
If the word "god" was replaced by the number zero.
Then every equation would never hate.
And never love the strong "odd" arrow.

Have you seen where I left my other love.
I've looked for it in the opposite of everywhere.
I've counted to you but then I'm-unlost.
Maybe "odd" is just zero insert any word here.

Everything with zero emotion.
That is "odd" to me.
When I say to zero motion.
Noone answers glee.

Moonlight silhouette of a flea inside a parasite.
On the stomach of mankind's all.
A look to the curtains. A touch of the "havens".
And of course a wisdom's brawl.

For I am one, and little grown.
As statue as my preening.
At lest, great "heavens", having "havens".
Can magic inbetweening.

So it's a date then.
We'll meet for tea that noon.
When science has blocked all consequences.
And I can leave my room.







Poem 240 by Earl Dinkin

Bolts of lightning are like careers.
They take the easiest paths.
And retirement is like the thunder.
Which echoes of the past.

I love you like Canada.
With a weathered resolve.
And apologize for lightning.
But not its main halls.

I wonder why we dream.
They must mean something.
The lightning bolt asked.
When it's core bent hunting.

A bull in water between Archie comics.
And a seriousness between the ears.
Laughs for two on a balcony grew.
When lightning disturbed the years.

No two lightning bolts share same notion.
No two snowflakes play that game.
So the only quest that I can hope for.
Double quotes might leer through same.

Like the lightning bolt the river bends.
Were we cursed the turn arrives.
A million mistakes a million corrections.
The no sugar mistake disguise.

It's a complicated world.
And the brain is a fish that leaped.
Look ma no blands.
To still steer that lightning clique.

Torment bay, my little friend.
So small as look outside.
Where lightning on one finger tip.
Has more within than shy.

Quick now you have zero time.
To invent psychic power and predict.
Too late, your mind's made up.
And lightning grew a world at tip.

When we're awake we think at our tips.
Where our lightning bolt chooses explore.
But when we're asleep we think at our root.
To "direction" our lightning bolt's core.

Humanity's unrest is such slow lightning.
And powers the shyest "turducken".
It makes people do such-strange things.
That urge to not-do nothing.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.






Poem 239 by Earl Dinkin

Excuse me are there more stars or atoms.
Which way should one pay one's toll?
Should we sit quietly until all are bored.
And is this training going to Be One's Role?

Like a man with ten thousand homes.
Within my mind I'm homeless.
Excuse me is this seat broken.
And are the windows timeless?

Started to lock in!
Well excuse me! Well he can!
New relation-ship huh?
Are you buying, a towel plan?

Oh come on, you're not going to offend.
The excuse is in being challenged to heal terribly.
Hmm. I think I look like that.
Are they going to pick me up and bury me.

A reed releases its seed to the wind.
As the best effort it can possibly do.
To ensure that the water level does not recede.
Excuse me may I shy to you.

The spiders dance in Neptune's honor.
Where passwords forget their pain.
Excuse me do you accept Visa here?
Earth is-my home again.

With ties of untold believe strings.
There's knowing there's a single strand.
Excuse me miss have you seen things.
I hear there's a distant hand.

Would you like to maybe wrestle.
I kept those evening clothes.
Amen to storm she's got a whistle!
Excuse my windowed-toes.

I'm going, to shadows now.
Excuse me, I have to write.
Being second, has a very clear voice.
Gotta go. I'm late for nice.

Excuse me where does the eleven go.
Is it the same place I forget like time.
Towards unleaning or towards unmeaning.
Or towards an indifferent mind.

Excuse me miss have you seen them.
I fear I've lost all pets.
Those situations that trick a man.
To act out played regrets.

I was going to ask, does he paint houses?
And are these "doughnuts" nearly-day-old?
The Tardis alone might fetch some-goods.
But that's no excuse, for manners.

Gray silhouettes of man and woman free falling.
In fetal positions seven feet apart.
Excuse me miss are you falling alone.
May I please share this art.

Among the avenues of the inner slopes.
There lies a dangerous curve.
Power point a to power point b.
Near excuse me I've lost my nerve.

Please excuse my thoughts and words.
For although I feel they're new.
They're all but oh so obvious.
Most worlds already knew.






Poem 238 by Earl Dinkin

Wanda by thirty.
Thirty, thirty, thirty, thirty.
Whoever you are. You are on a secret mission.
Somewhere other than fission.

Seeing-as-the closet really loves me.
Just try one-tea inside this mile.
How does this-count look on me?
"It smells pretty" she said. "All that while!"

Sorry. It's beautiful now.
Behind your stove is wow.
There's a field of mice detailed.
Wherever the everything is mailed.

And we're here!
It's designated ghost town.
Where the concept was hate the traffic.
We kind of have that down.

Suddenly you are five-hundred-old what if.
And I were there under that father tree.
With two extra.
I don't think they were expecting it.

Movies maintain derision.
Soft as songs record.
Do you hear the winter's wisdom.
Sir defend your warm.

Anything for a lady.
An avalanche for mushroom souped.
At one point, I had fifty.
Accept the bargain. That's my friend the duped.

How bad is it.
They stopped making those this month.
Mother soup. I wanted that.
It's probably over now. Does every-man debunk.

Antique?
They had only one.
The teacher. I had my back to you.
Drop and disorient! And the spigot spun.

What do you name your friends?
Athabaskan vessels.
Fifth and fifty. Every-time.
Ginger, Jewel, and Hassles.

Hang on. Hold the door.
I positively need some help.
Keys are stupid.
Whatever he does, I doubt.

To the door.
I was "down-looking" at factories.
Philosophically-MORE.
Yes-yes what does that mean "Score".






poem 237 by Earl Dinkin
Dad would you show me please

That of shall be the hardest might. To lift
the burden of hate. A rock so hard to heave
it so. To find it oh so light. Heave it with
a feathers touch. Thine bolder ten times your
weight. If the surprise does not but thrill
you. The miles it went just might. For not is
such a mystery. To hold a scorn in tone. To
throw it or to keep it. The choice be it your
stone. To change your mind must seem so hard.
To keep it safe from breeze. And throw a hate
away were thus, the chain that needs no key.
How do you skip a rock on water? Dad would
you show me please.






Poem 236 by Earl Dinkin

When two bodies meet in space.
They pass or they collide.
But I suspect the darkness smiles.
When "say" reveal where an orbit hides.

Of all the things they curse by trial.
We will never fully understand the smile.
Like the bubbles in our champagne.
Let us raise our heads again.

He wrote it to make us smile laughed humor.
Cried drama said no I'm why.
Then reason that is the depth of man.
Finished reading and squatted a fly.

Where would I hide all darkness.
If it was all you feared.
I would hide it in the larkness.
And smile if it teared.

I'll answer your questions.
Like the edges of clouds.
Smile when I'm maybe.
And paint how autumn bows.

Believe it or not, I like to read them.
Men's puppet and women's gun.
And smiles, I have seen them.
Holding up the Tun.

Everyone crowd around some more.
Listen for-the-smile from pensions.
Yes my mother talks to me.
So I-have-really-good attention.

Over sanctions, over smiles.
Famous raisins for two hundred please.
Goodbye paper, goodbye overture.
What parchment ever remembers trees.

With its light blue shade of habit
And sun spun like a plastic fan.
With invisible true smiles of women
I'm spinning all I am.

Awesome! The nerve.
That makes one smile.
And takes the rain.
To Blossom Style.

When I close my eyes I can see anything
My soul starves not during that while.
But I opened my mind to travel like flowers
And I stopped here to drink from your smile.

Riding two exercise bicycles.
On a king size bed.
A man, a woman, no destinations.
No smiles to count or dread.

When I do not smile.
Where is my favorite dice.
Locked in dreams.
Or locked in ice.

Over there by that rain runoff.
I live about a hindrance mile.
Sun rays warming the last known frost.
Make me wonder by smile.






To Drowning Men Send Glee
poem 235 by Earl Dinkin

Of all great ships upon the sea. The best of
which will ever be. The ship of lost
identity. Where even on the nicest day. A
voice will shout all hands at bay. Man over
board the voice will say. And to the railing
all will come. To see who possibly could have
no fun. And someone shouts to the man at sea,
"Tell us sir what do you need"? "What pray
tell could your problem be"? But the man not
answers any cries. As panic now keeps him
alive. And everyone now steps aside. In great
relief as captain arrives. And with great
authority he does yell. For he throws words
to save as well. "Whats the matter son"? says
he. "Are you bored to death"? He shouts times
three. And they wonder all in thoughtful pun.
How will they send this man some fun. But the
man knows not what all they throw. As
fighting for his life he goes. And this is
life each day at sea. On board the ship of
lost identity. And sometimes if you listen
well. Towards the ocean from your cell. You
can sometimes hear the mighty cry. "Man over
board!", then wistful sighs. And if by chance
you ask of he. What could you do to send him
glee. Don't send him words or thoughts do
tell. A life preserver works pretty well.






Poem 234 by Earl Dinkin

On the finest paper like can see.
Can I send a letter to a tree.
My life defined on just one card.
To you I send the whiteness marred.

If I started jogging and then maybe swimming.
And perhaps maybe bicycling too.
And then stepped over the international date line.
Could I have a date with you?

Frequencies, please let dates decide.
And give them all of mankind's flirts.
Oh and since all spiders, only have one pride.
Please don't take away, their megahertz.

Have you ever listened, to your time.
And raised one hand like steam.
Depending on which plane you're on.
Horizontal is crowded or team.

I have forgetful paranoia.
Which means, to wish for two.
To rise above then not detect.
The worlds beneath love few.

Misunderstood, means the cause of all things.
And misunderstandings become crystal hearings.
Mistakes I've heard, make the best inspirations.
So let's hope, that our order sparks dearings.

From the photocopy of an important manual.
Foot hard, to the imaginary rake's deep thought.
Parliament protester, who dances like Michael Jackson.
Even though no one ever gathers to watch.

Opportunity rains all night.
But there-is nowhere to go.
Gone is sold on the bus.
But song removed the road.

That's, what I'm worried, most about.
That waters, are not sure things.
Holding a match up to the problem.
Beholds our rights to wings.

Diamond is not a pretty thought.
That shelter of the saddest king.
Each minute, of an average moment.
Disturbing his inner swing.

And lo however, I ride the bus.
A chapel, as quaint as far.
With war, as ample, as sitting brings.
The knowing what moves a car.

Insane beleaguered people scream.
The fanciness we fall.
On running transportation.
Where waterbeds know all.

It's, better that way you know!
To get free rights! And a tangled nose.
But wherever exactly roaming went.
I have no ideas, like pros.

But now? Would you take it?
Like Christmas again?
That nature of gold?
The standard, often?

Here's hoping our eyes, receive tainted feedback.
And what we believe, always slightly wrong.
So each and every, thing we touch.
Becomes slightly more like song.






Poem 233 by Earl Dinkin

To not dream but see still visions.
Which are as scope as shy.
Not near five points any world can offer.
Paint a sixth point called hidden why.

People who don't paint scare me.
Non-poets scare me too.
Seven billion performance artists.
Are arguably more than I can cue.

Would you like to see my art.
I own a five pixel camera.
Five symbols is all it takes.
And lonely folds the drama.

My art needs no actual space.
As if hearts need no December.
That day I learned how cold is haste.
The true gallery is called remember.

Like breaking a twig in four places.
Long art titles are no crime.
Thinking alone are the five spaces.
Joined by art broken fine.

Near the edges pierced unnamed.
With the strangest tacks of meeks.
Favorite art we hang unframed.
On a plane that does not preach.

Bricks and mortar like all that's said.
Build art and poetry for the worlds ahead.
And when the sticks and fears are dry.
No home is warmer than the eye.

People holding paintings stolen from people beside them.
Showing what they would like to be.
On that grid where all good art lives.
You can phone the less of me.

Like an irresistible supermodel.
Showing the newest unapproachable fashions.
Like a woman setting up her first art show.
Of artificial fruit in a restaurant, passions.

Am I allowed to call you the speckler?
Because fragile loves the simple song.
Where at the center of every heckler.
Somehow the art world grows our wrong.

The finest reward of art and poetry.
Is not a prize of tilt.
Be rare in a whirl of rigid leaners.
Become the easy to live with stilt.

Gray silhouettes of man and woman free falling.
In fetal positions seven feet apart.
Excuse me miss are you falling alone.
May I please share this art.

The art of an artist is their real bio.
If it's simple then so was their strife.
They would pick discovers sure as pick their colors.
And mix choices sure as they would mix life.

Please do entertain that world.
Oh little unknown heart.
Feed the tyrant stimulation.
And then fear not its art.

Like a man living inside a small cabin.
Built inside an art gallery stopping to think.
Might there be a surreal woman nearby.
Sleeping on a bathroom sink.

The most beautiful colors of a painting.
A universe or pun.
Where sometimes we find are two.
There was only room for one.

A contest winning drawing by a child.
Titled hallway to a nightclub for the bored.
I look for you there in the lonely hours.
Until drawn where the reason is stored.






Poem 232 by Earl Dinkin

Like "15" nuns riding a single motorcycle.
On a road trip to find the best printing shop.
I hear physical world maintainers find the go.
And spiritual world maintainers find the stop.

Like "14" seamstresses.
Making a perfect girlfriend's dress.
And not knowing which to love.
Her world or emptiness.

With "13" insects swarming around her.
Cup of fresh coffee being enjoyed at a mall.
She should hold our ashtrays, up to the light.
And examine our rights to call.

A plate of leftovers in a refrigerator.
Very strangely not getting warmer.
Table "12" just asked for fame.
Very strangely from in that corner.

Excuse me where does the "11" go.
Is it the same place I forget like time.
Towards un-leaning or towards unmeaning.
Or towards an indifferent mind.

Head only of man in a computer chair.
With "10" foot high backing oath.
There where a man can never steer.
I'm expecting substantial growth.

Until the announcements, are completely different.
I will hear these yesterdays at "9".
I'm alone, and where's the party.
Say it say it. Say these words like crime.

I've been gone from this terrible octet.
With "8" sides, and it's very own hearse.
It smells like fries and sells like fries.
And to purchase, costs one first.

You never-taught me anything.
Wagging his thumb so wise.
Administer gum on rivet "7".
I hear the sky's outside.

I put "6" fresh keys in the battery compartment.
But there still seems to be no light.
And they just rehired more flower waterers.
Could you re-explain true right.

I almost thought about you last night.
Could you tell me more about you please?
The subconscious sees life with just "5" pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

And a very bright flashlight with "4" legs.
Shining at the moon at night.
Answer is less than a midnight glimmer.
But nothing can beam that slight.

I learned along time ago.
The physical world is not for me.
So I do not operate heavy machinery.
Wherever "3" equals "3".

And then lots of horses moving slowly.
Eye blinks "2" days long.
My thoughts of you are in perfect light.
Forty eons still no wrong.

What was heaven or what was hell.
That can use such whips from "1" brain cell.
From what begins like a typist's eyes.
No man can count all his auto-wise.

For the women asleep on small platforms.
Halfway up walls, and dreaming heroes.
As we fade to black, let the credits rain.
So many names for "zeros".







Poem 231 by Earl Dinkin

Looking out a window.
And seeing a communications-tower.
Now fifty percent closer.
Than it-has-been for hours.

You want to hear a story don't you.
Well I'll tell you one for tea.
Just what is a land for?
And has no liberty?

Changes & pages!
Where priests are on the run.
Scary, with overcoats.
And does not drink the rum.

Eerie! The white horn!!
As chosen as the fun.
Almost like a lithograph.
No pilots steer by sun.

The gift of mirror!!
Roscoe anyone!!
That is the day that Neptune plays.
As binding as the scum.

Barney is the hero!
I'll tell you what he won.
Standing near the Euro.
With coconuts and thumbs.

Believe it or not, I like to read them.
Men's puppet and women's gun.
And smiles, I have seen them.
Holding up the Tun.

Past right here.
Nine times out of none.
One day per year.
Forgetting-equi-librium.

Homeowners are the heroes!!
Witches signalling then-
That arrivals are-equations.
That skies can never pen.

I respect the costume though.
Atoms allowing bend.
Holding that bay of teardrops.
That halloween defends.

But October leaves, at midnight!!
Hold-the ocean-boats to wind!
It will pry the-riddle once-again.
From the hands of men.

Wave, at the goodbye chair.
Election night's tonight.
Sound-down like a clown.
Mini boats are glancing right.

Arresting a government, man's-binary.
On or Off like hoovering blend.
As ghastly, as, interstellar space.
Vacuuming my place again.

I don't care what drugs they're on.
They all-need hungry soup.
Some people say nothing sad.
Mad, mad, mad.

The fire logs, now are-plenty.
No tip-toes over clothes.
Burning alot, but never hearing.
Five pennies in the loads.

I am interested, by myself.
In the Fran on channel wait.
But the electric-eye is so sweet.
I hold you so, too late.

And now the rainbow listens.
Migration being born-or-pride.
Leaving behind an arching mission.
Along, somewhere there, I tried.

A hand with adhesive colored buttons.
Falling off when it thinks delusion.
A celebrity hosting his own birthday bash.
Sitting-alone avoiding-confusion.






Poem 230 by Earl Dinkin

Sorry, I didn't notice!
Do rocks really fly that high?
To the banks of Anger-River.
You're best shorthand, Miss Number Pi.

To see the apple fall for thee.
By your will or was it breeze.
I saw you here and sorrow fell.
Like the rarest seed succeeds.

Only tiniest joys and tiniest sorrows.
Can fit unto the warm of hearth.
And wandering-neither far nor wrong.
Finds fuel if the mind is warmth.

Do not fear the futures lend.
I'm sorry that's a lie.
Moments divide cares promise.
And the unknown fear-decides.

Sorrow weighs too much for some.
Years being dragged behind.
Yet they only weigh as much to sprung.
And raise a window blind.

Ready ready, hurry hurry!
Snap the sorry cast on.
Not for me. Not for tea.
He's not even sure of Captain.

Where slow-alarm clocks never planed.
And deserving showers must rust "unmanned".
Waiting for gold's asbestos-sorrow.
Ingesting instead a fused-tomorrow.

And families yes of course are "George".
And social gatherings are sung tomorrow.
I know how powder-kegs are friends.
So "my toast" pops up for sorrow.

So let us look upon tomorrow.
And create a wish within.
The true diamond, is no-sorrow.
Nothing-else-rhymes with "win".

Sleepwalking woman in white tee-shirt.
Rushing to unlock her "car adorer".
Seven friends suddenly.
Sorry out of order.

Aw, I'm sorry.
Well actually, I think I'm love.
Don't you remember that turkey?
Na! I don't hate the mud.

Could you please tell me what is a vote.
Is it cold by nails or warm by coat.
Where exactly can one go try.
The loneliest digit at the end of pi.

I'm sorry I don't have a battery.
But would no stillness do?
Let me wet a finger of universes.
And determine which way's new.

With the unteachable self we know is there.
That earliest man soon found today.
As slowly as deadpan rhymes might hour.
I'll don't know what to say.






Poem 229 by Earl Dinkin

Of all the sciences to study things.
Poetry works the hardest.
To look through mirrors and microscopes.
The moist eye sees the farthest.

Poetry loves what it means.
And what it means' loves keys instead.
Have you ever turned a viewpoint sideways.
And knew it pulled all said.

In the language, of digital cameras.
A pixel is a metaphor.
Which means within, poetic brains.
We wash our screens with never more.

Ideas are like coke cans.
They're everywhere for those who look.
And turn their collections in for rewards.
Each poem worth a cent.

Poems are just coordinates.
Locations on a map.
Revel not in the words themselves.
But where the mind is at.

Then when no one sees you.
Shine night through seven days.
Where there's pensive trace a lark.
And you've made poetrays.

I fear them like the stings of heaven.
Voices are thoughts' syringe.
What is unsaid provides the power.
So read my poems and cringe.

The psychics and the poets in the forest.
Have similar mating calls from mind.
But the complex will only explain to psychics.
What the poets will only explain to rhyme.

Water in a faucet.
Like poetry on the mind.
Hope is there when you turn a tap.
But the source has been refined.

Bricks and mortar like all that's said.
Build art and poetry for the worlds ahead.
And when the sticks and fears are dry.
No home is warmer than the eye.

Poems and paintings guns and saintings.
Life invents so many ways.
To move the thinking to other thinkers.
We all must fight that haze.

In between chimes heard forever.
The smallest known place is the care.
Show your poetry to family never.
And problems to strangers not share.

Poetry as the frog that cannot jump.
Art as the frog that tried.
There is a distance no words can trump.
That anchor of the heard inside.

The world is exactly as exciting.
As stimulation-levels too low recede.
Like a poet saying you have a symbolism.
As normal as wind blown deeds.

I know a poem that has just one universe.
It's called eventually you'll stand and go.
When table flowers wilt just as gently.
That's what it is to know.

Odd today I liked all music.
But I will never like all poems.
But being the world's most hurtful word.
I place my compass home.

Since they put me in charge of the not moving stillness.
With no poet's care I'll jest.
I was wondering since we are both free falling.
Can I hope your breeze might west.

When I'm old, I'll see you with one pixel.
And I'll know you by your, one pixel Fame.
Right about now, I think I have five-pixels.
And way before that, I think no quatrains.






Poem 228 by Earl Dinkin

One votes no and four vote yes.
And so a story begins.
And always when they wish they didn't.
Wisdom is their friend.

Never ask a time traveler what time zone is this.
He'll become scared that you've found him out.
And equally important when a journey begins.
Never leave, or believe a river of trout.

Fine arts I sell you truly.
Where no one has been.
If pun moves so carefully.
Yell that's where worlds begin.

To blame no animals and no human sins.
To look upon the gone and cry.
To hold your world as bland begins.
To accept it's words and try.

Try to begin, so I know it's new.
And try to leap deep, into authorize.
What is a people, in hero words or less.
And try to leap keep, into scrutinize.

When you look at the night of a shining star.
How does your love begin?
Does it song on a planet years away.
Or does it slow within?

Give it up all those stars again.
My motion will "now begin".
Ludicrist are all my charms.
Only Sony makes all wind.

Raging, river, raging so.
I don't know-where to begin.
Commentary or campaign!
Your white dress in the wind.

Bob Dylan and the entrance.
Let's begin the true exam.
Is that all, "the next line is"?
Let's begin the test of sand.

And so begins such a story.
Because kinships contain no spare.
I heard that rockets run on money.
That lift your beverage there.

And how-has your music deserved such wine.
The big guy at your work defines.
Occasionally de-boarding, without stopping.
To begin the slips on time.

And including all our muscles.
Please visitor do come in.
Wild-blueberries and the hush inside.
Onward let the trusts begin.

And here is the seven forty five.
Right on times and true.
And men begin the castings then.
The wait at Shakespeare's shoe.

What was heaven or what was hell.
That can use such whips from one brain cell.
From what begins like a typist's eyes.
No man can count all his autowise.

You know those riddles of worlds.
That only pillows have heard.
I chime like the wind where important begins.
And hide where unspokens converge.






Poem 227 by Earl Dinkin

Let's move this down soon as possible.
There's some gum, now pick it up.
An Orangutan could do it.
No, I mean the mop.

But not from my advice.
Each must love or screw it.
I'm trying to do some work here.
Out with it! She's really-mad. I knew it!

Planes affect arrivals, so metal chairs.
And the clock is wrong encumbered.
Are you actually, a somebody?
Her two week pay, may well-be slumbered.

She's worth billions.
But lies upon the dock.
A rush he felt was so much more.
But it's time for towel stock.

We're going to have to live longer.
Because life is worth point-two.
Cope but don't sit back.
There's still the laundry-clue.

And a metaphor is not worth time.
I told him stop. And they were right.
Two glasses in oscillation.
Can pound a beer nut's fright.

With extra Tuck him in.
Him, we'll throw out first.
But not until 2:00 pm.
When heat-lamps-make the thirst.

I agree, I am! stymied.
But not for-tea for two.
"Summers" are too short.
So orange-plates will do.

A farce for mixed up people.
Na, I wasn't really there.
Wild "beers" and calm events.
That's one-produce I fear.

So that what's down there.
I guess five million socks.
Not-to-be the first-to know.
Commas have no blocks.

If we move this down there.
Near pier "ten" four-two.
It's not the same as igloo hair.
Where they store the food.

Let's pour a drink tonight.
The devil is the perfect bonnet.
And hesitates that one-strain.
To-levitate the sonnet.

Where-unheard orders are forgiven.
By the key that locks the tome.
Pass it around, to the living.
Miss Newlit, may I walk you home.






Poem 226 by Earl Dinkin

Man with 3 shirts on backwards.
Peaking out door before leaving coded.
Voltage transformer labeled fearful inside.
Electronic devices ok duly noted.

Dear mankind holding a water fountain jug.
Near the woman standing in the bath house pool.
If you tear any electric guitar in half.
The camera inside will school.

Turn the lights off when you leave.
The night time makes me sure.
Fearing all atoms are solar systems.
And electricity was war.

Like batting practice watching lovers leave.
It's truly close. Just like flee.
The electric razor with electric jolt.
So frighteningly close to me.

Go dielectric! Or go to a show.
But push away the drab.
Sundance bears a special meaning.
At nodancing science lab.

I am interested, by myself.
In the Fran on channel wait.
But the electric-eye is so sweet.
I hold you so, too late.

Office desk with a small model.
Of an elevated lounge chair, facing sky.
And a hydro electric dam for water.
With visitors on it's lower deck why?

Then "Adirondact" the morning.
Crack open five thousand-miles.
Soul "being only" electricity.
Who's toast pops up for styles.

The elephant being shocked.
By electricity from a theater.
Needs a bird supplying saliva.
To wet the years solved later.

Remember you woke-up, in the dark.
And felt the tent-floor bare.
I guess you really wanted nothing.
And found, no-electronics there.

Thanks to electronic "names".
I'm seeing it's label face.
The worst "art" of unfiltered-news.
The dark shadows that we taste.

How do you know where the rivers go.
In the conscience of a dancer.
How do you know where the electrons go.
In the search for the never answer.






Poem 225 by Earl Dinkin

Would you like to see my art.
I own a five pixel camera.
Five symbols is all it takes.
And lonely folds the drama.

My art needs no actual space.
As if hearts need no December.
That day I learned how cold is haste.
The true gallery is called remember.

Like breaking a twig in four places.
Long art titles are no crime.
Thinking alone are the five spaces.
Joined by art broken fine.

Near the edges pierced unnamed.
With the strangest tacks of meeks.
Favorite art we hang unframed.
On a plane that does not preach.

Bricks and mortar like all that's said.
Build art and poetry for the worlds ahead.
And when the sticks and fears are dry.
No home is warmer than the eye.

People holding paintings stolen from people beside them.
Showing what they would like to be.
On that grid where all good art lives.
You can phone the less of me.

Like an irresistible supermodel.
Showing the newest unapproachable fashions.
Like a woman setting up her first art show.
Of artificial fruit in a restaurant, passions.

Am I allowed to call you the speckler?
Because fragile loves the simple song.
Where at the center of every heckler.
Somehow the art world grows our wrong.

The finest reward of art and poetry.
Is not a prize of tilt.
Be rare in a whirl of rigid leaners.
Become the easy to live with stilt.

Gray silhouettes of man and woman free falling.
In fetal positions seven feet apart.
Excuse me miss are you falling alone.
May I please share this art.

The art of an artist is their real bio.
If it's simple then so was their strife.
They would pick discovers sure as pick their colors.
And mix choices sure as they would mix life.

Please do entertain that world.
Oh little unknown heart.
Feed the tyrant stimulation.
And then fear not its art.

Like a man living inside a small cabin.
Built inside an art gallery stopping to think.
Might there be a surreal woman nearby.
Sleeping on a bathroom sink.

A contract laborer working hard.
At painting the sky blue for Michael Jackson.
Knowing the balance and focal point.
Showing the art of inaction.

I know what mistakes are for now.
They help art distort the lines.
I dreamt I tripped and kissed her.
I tripped a thousand times.

I'll make true art when it says nothing.
And nothing has not spoken clear.
The heart is a mighty master.
But so is what we can't hear.






Poem 244 by Earl Dinkin

Yes! it's a very big city!
And also just a big amour.
So it's called the stereo section at Sears.
And mostly for purchasing cars I fear.

Yes! they wanted me just, to see you.
But it wasn't me! It was just a bit.
But a pirate disc can't do that.
Not even, with just the right spit.

Yes! they do it odd for you.
On my train at the very next trust.
Yes the roses were brought, from me.
He works for me conducting hush.

Yes! that's right. If you buy now, it's third.
But not one of them are here.
She's gone with it!
Or as her copy mate, I've heard.

Yes! I think we have that book.
Of someone else's pain.
Question question question three.
I'll gently stop to name.

So yes! I'll have a cup of coffee.
And keep you in my sight.
If we-all think about it hard enough.
We could change the speed of light.

So yes! I'll have a coffee please.
With just enough heaven's warm.
The things we do in time's climb.
They are the crystals we form.

Oh Yes! Oh Yes! I've heard You!
And the take tonight was Wow!
I'm indebted to you dearly.
She going to say "No!" right-now.

And you were but a lovely ship.
Oh yes! do sit here please.
Were that I an iceberg.
With no hope of knowing thee.

Listen. You are going to need another one.
And yes! I know we're pigs.
But that's just the way it feels.
To map a device, and get pulled in.

Warm makes warm. But lasts a moment.
Yes! Heavens are found by glance.
Fire makes fire and cold makes cold.
Who avoids that war filled dance.

Oh I'm sorry!
I gave you a mustache didn't I?
Mere witches, we've called tragic.
And yes! I listen, for their magic.

As secretly as ground is cold.
Glee carries a secret best.
Wearied by a weight so old.
That oh we might say yes!






Poem 243 by Earl Dinkin

Crop Circles talk in circles.
The same as everything we know.
Please clockwork universe speak to us.
We pushed far the-not new snow.

Small "woman" watching large dinner plate?
At center of "exponential" spread of dark dots.
Man background, woman foreground, holding viewer's shoulder.
Asking "do you know"? "It's all just circular thoughts".

Well let's see if you count the sun.
Then divide by a mist of stars.
And put all atoms in a clockwise circle.
I'm forty three cookie jars.

They are, two anguishes of angel hair close now.
To solving a question once and for all.
If they could just stop the train of circumference.
Turning phantom as its track becomes small.

As stomach is, so unheard of.
Where salt-mixes with the rain.
And magic by all circumferences.
Is still insinuating, name.

Every hassle has a moat.
No pristine mind would cross.
Circumference sized to fit the keynote.
And keep the thoughts in sauce.

Like a circle of hooded monks and my brother.
Releasing steam from my apartment ceilings at dusk.
Like a circle of hooded monks on board a boat saving seas.
I thank sofas are my bravest cusp.

What a world of circumstances.
Could sparklize our fate.
Here's a pi for our desert.
I hope I'm not too late.

You know that shape of humans.
Well humans are nothing like that.
But kept secret hidden inside somewhere.
Is where their circle is at.






Poem 242 by Earl Dinkin

It takes any-kind of steps.
Accounting-his "kind" of ring.
Deformed, you're not-to struggle.
All sad-days concern the Spring.

Because-I'm a baby.
Because I write on-and-on.
Because I taste for mountain soup.
The urge to copy-far is gone.

Richard Simmons so much more.
Weird-boots theÊCraven man.
Or smell or something I don't know.
When July-docks I'll understand.

We sing on cats andÊstranger toes.
A little to the right.
With all organic means to do so.
Toe's-friend is sand at-night.

You're too silly on a dock.
Tip-generously tippy-toe.
Anger-nests near being-sure.
There are Women. Report their glow.

Anyone can copy.
A daughter and a show.
High uplifting Samsonite.
Please visit away the "stow".

At the coordinates of true fine arts.
On the island of never preach.
The drop of water, that is true man.
Finds crevices not fit for speak.

Started to lock in!
Well excuse me! Well he can!
New relation-ship huh?
Are you buying, a towel plan?

There it goes, pure guidance!
Avalanche talking snow.
Heavenly made, pure science.
Rocketing all we know.

Hold on! There's Justin Timberlake.
As actual as a nose.
He writes bread! And I'm dead!
Oh god let's pray for toes.

Then it starts, and the room starts changing.
Heaven in repose.
Forget what dust has told you.
Talking fuels prose.

Forget the lust. The river chose.
Daddies are made by vroom!
And sparkles! are showing on the counter!
Neptune is my moon.

Have you ever seen a dark as fumes?
I believe that might be home.
That silver lining must be loons.
Guidance take me known.






Poem 241 by Earl Dinkin

Authorized in units.
Do not laugh-again.
Towards the breaking-point.
Cars are-mowing men.

Harassment waking someone up.
Whatever storm you do.
Alive at live-work pardon.
All the ground and you.

Thirst in bed the ramp be wavering.
On the business of a post.
Surgeon-excited-will-be.
Information toast.

Inside a giant harness.
A metaphor of name.
I was thinking-ladies.
Is two dollars fame?

A sunbeam at five o'clock.
Denote the labor board.
Utterly-what-it-means.
Fine tune the dust ignored.

Thrown nicely, across an elf.
Shudder at the loss.
I-am-telling-you-strait.
Mountain mouse. I toss.

Toro Toro fashion spoon.
Clock upon the wall.
Extra smooth chewy center.
That never turns at all.

A whole box of lonely nights.
We paid for this adverse.
A stomach wavering chain reaction.
I have people. Tell a nurse.

Miter-box. Ruptured hose.
Prepare the "scent" of rose.
And add some detour-Myosin.
For what the hell who knows.

So softly.
A masterpiece of rain.
I've forgotten in-out or-so.
I will wish again.

You can't make this chin-up.
For what's a sad to do.
Open a book to any page.
Where I "hid" the friend was you.

Kindly able the winter mock.
Isn't that where good pins aim.
A little less snowfall frock.
One summer must not wane.

I-have-only-one.
Ha! It's freaky lame.
I heard the-duck wore trousers.
Imagine the percent he saves.

Austin report. Climb a tree.
Is there a "scone" for tea.
Can you clone her recipe.
For the rest of me.

There is no damage-as.
Far as I can see.
Perhaps you saw a morning-of.
You-here-right-Text-to-me.






Poem 240 by Earl Dinkin

I think I became small today.
So it's traditional to wear my uniform.
Sun dust sparkles, within a darkness.
Are "saluting" to my lesser, hello-storm.

To always love simplicity.
And believe it must exist.
To finally make a painting thus.
And arm its small with bliss.

Every ten days a starving mind.
Finds one with mourned relief.
In a portion smaller than kind.
How rare is the sworn belief.

In between chimes heard forever.
The smallest known place is the care.
Show your poetry to family never.
And problems to strangers not share.

There's a result smaller than clout.
As small as even just one word.
Why doesn't doubt give it a shout.
Finesse is the reason I've heard.

Heart with proper direction finder.
To find a way up every minute.
Finding that positive so small.
To steer by such goodness in it.

To live eight decades with no fun.
And not rebound the leerable option.
Like a weird judge behind a small room divider.
I unfold love across my bench too often.

No deal nor should has yet impede.
What is swirled by the power of wants.
As rhymely small as the heard indeed.
Is the unstoppable returned response.

They are, two anguishes of angel hair close now.
To solving a question once and for all.
If they could just stop the train of circumference.
Turning phantom as its track becomes small.

If you see my eyes looking out at you.
From the mask shaped hubcap of a car.
Give them a small amount of attention.
But not enough to scar.

Where does mind hide high fidelities.
And level thoughts of my favorite melodies.
Songs so stung by such tall keepers.
And played so wrong, on each life's small speakers.

How about, a frost-chilled garden.
Where massive pumpkins grew.
Sirens loud at let the dogs out.
Small bridge over maybe two.

From in my heartbeat I can hear of man.
His must the smallest code.
So each day I find an unloved pebble.
And add it to his road.

I shield my wise from the smallest skies.
That shadow of the magic don't.
Where those that would.
Meet those that won't.

Inside a driverless van with a small tree.
Growing on its roof like an antenna.
I was wondering from behind gray walls.
If anyone can hear my heaven.

How far do vibrations go.
From wrongs so non or tall.
To stand beside a nebula.
Or was the mood that small.






Poem 239 by Earl Dinkin

On the night I saw a faint Morse code.
From far beyond a spider's thread.
I discerned that signals carry power.
Because power only carries dread.

Oh what irony an eye becomes.
When a tear can hold despise or love.
And the hardest heart with hate filled stare.
Will have mementos too somewheres.

When hate tries to climb a ladder.
Please try not to stare.
Its plight is a private matter.
Remember you were once there.

To dislike all animation.
To stare at a logic prize.
To wonder with eyes so stationed.
What makes a vase advise.

Tangles be my corner shop.
Her hair, the yellow rose.
To stare forever into the mop.
And never banter prose.

Because the music, stares at tambourine.
Then dips-in the banjo mixer.
The flow goes through, the inner lean.
Towards the extra-note, for thickener.

Man watching small mechanical hockey game.
With one tall player standing inactive.
You can find me there if you learn how to stare.
Hidden among the reactive.

I stared at the phone for fifteen hours.
It's been, fifteen years since that day.
Now I know the tearful truth.
You can't dial a phone that way.

Two women large and small.
Staring at a man's new scanner.
If only eyes could see through walls.
And woman could see through manners.

To know by ink and pixels.
To stare at only paint.
Two types of stimulation.
And doors not for the faint.

I stare at five 21-inch displays.
And bravely steer the nil.
At an empty desk for thinking only.
Near some hours on a window thrill.

Oh let me tell you stories cold.
That no one can compare.
There is a place so lovely.
Called the tv static stare.

To steer a hurricane aim your thoughts.
Then aim your eyes right there.
Change direction of your slowest knots.
Then bravely resume floor stare.

I would be your gentle lover.
You would hardly know I'm there.
Just like your home drip coffee maker.
When you make one cup and stare.

The meadow dreams of shadows.
And a young bird dreams of air.
Where I am warmed by dreams of you.
Spring snow holds my stare.

If we all think about it hard enough.
We could change the speed of light.
So yes I'll have a cup of coffee.
And keep you in my sight.






Poem 238 by Earl Dinkin

I know this is a personal question.
But how do you connect the dots?
In the mist of thinking screaming equals.
Should beauty join the dewdrop thoughts?

I saw enough beauty.
Today to choke a horse.
It was a tuft of carpet.
That looked like you of course.

When men on the moon first saw the earth.
Well the first time I saw you was like that.
Oh surely I was in such awe of your beauty.
But then I remembered where I was at.

To know friends by their predicaments.
All choices are beauty when froze.
Standing farther than lonely beside them.
As silence unblissed earning chose.

I think of you when shadows slant.
Because that's where beauty cries.
Difference wanting to touch but can't.
But at least the angle tries.

But stars have beauty over there.
Sun, you have no passion.
The rise in meadows have one bloom.
The blue, of plastic masks on.

The most evil I have ever seen.
Does not need my tongue.
And the most beauty I have ever seen.
Does not need my lung.

A woman's beauty is timeless.
It's all about what she wears.
My favorite sight when I see her arriving.
Is the accomplishments behind her ears.

68.2 soldiers good.
31.8 soldiers bad.
Beauty is but 1 soldier.
Such divisions make her sad.

To see a strife from orbit.
That's what dreams are for.
Let no moment hide it's beauty.
So minds shall always soar.

A frozen foot is like a dog.
You have to live with it for life.
But I guess that's when the beauty.
To learn more then than strife.

I shall never know such beauty.
Like a person so hard at work.
That as she oh near sips a coffee.
Which no cost can compute such worth.

Oceans of oceans and dusts of dusts.
Or between the wills of men who must.
A shore line renders but beauty best.
I'll make my whom on the thought of this.

Lumber Jacks and tire swings.
What could fill such needs.
Can an artist, love such beauty.
If woman is a tree.






Poem 237 by Earl Dinkin

Of raven and of albatross.
Height becomes a man of soup.
Beleaguered to ingest the prose.
Of a library's truth.

Potatoes on that arm.
Riddled with puppet.
And "fashioned" to the linen-door.
Oh please oh thorn not yet.

As I can be an actor.
And a stage can be my wet.
As normalized as distant cloves.
Oh-how-thus gleams this set.

Act one, has arisen.
Where "three" will not suit plain.
To the tune of Captain's Clover.
Or was that my written aim.

Because the random does not skate.
I'll never speak to tree.
And because the shadow does not leap.
My lust shall never ski.

The walls make up a rabid room.
Nothing to offer twice.
Solemn being the distant howl.
No negatives ever-nice.

Impressively learned upon a hassle.
That was the thirty shame.
The row-across the dirty moat.
No trust must ever wane.

Kindly sir return the duck.
Let go the course of stone.
Algebra is the only heaven.
That forgot my use of throne.

My bills are skinny. My pills are few.
Would that be just enough?
To warble in the reeds of giving.
No, that's not near pre-nup.

Learn to the highest stacks and bow.
A ladder was my curse.
To the end of section Be.
My fingers almost thirst.

Time the mission by the cue.
An albatross in sight.
And turn the pages-Beverly.
Ahoy that dearest light.

Like the shoes I wore at one.
That listed to and fro.
And in a glance to starboard-once.
What I became has-show.

Question, question, question, three.
I'll gently stop to name.
Yes I think we have that book.
Of someone else's pain.






Poem 236 by Earl Dinkin

Very-very slow now.
Take it from the "mop".
Hideous? We-will-ask your navel.
Hey! Who billed for "one deep thought"?

The stings that make a world keep working.
I suspect are the things half overheard.
For oh how boring would be perfect tuning.
If communications had harmless spurs.

Imagine each gear so incredibly small.
Time to look at your clockwork-universe.
Now imagine each "thorn" moving immeasurable ratio.
Time to turn on your cement-truck "turn a verse".

It will seep into cracks so darkly furious.
And reveries no calendars knew.
Please love that rule to be continuous.
In the majestics we choose to do.

People who don't paint scare me.
Non-poets scare me too.
Seven billion performance artists.
Are arguably more than I can cue.

Negativity requires a different age.
And a "host" of implant burgers.
Raglan-One. Admit no sun.
I hear that herders-murder.

Around one o'clock now. Feeling stable.
Like surface tensions around the dock.
Four months now. So-unable.
Almost near the speed of-mock.

Look at that.ÊThere are monkeys here.
They "work" from nine to fabled!
Anything's better-than almost supper!
Onions are so un-labeled.

There's a hole in this city!
We were-so traumatized by-it".
Almost five "fire-truck-sponges".
Sponges were ordered, because sponges fit.

Because all of us are "woven".
Because the "crisp is air".
Because of "absent-mindedness".
I don't have a joint-account to wear.

All this darkness "must-implode".
Get out, "get out of here".
Do we need-this-orange?
Hello? We're loft impaired!

One "giant-yellow".
To shock the "shiny shoe".
Slow down, slow down, slow down!
The major-piss is due.

Wow! All that coffee talked allot!
Who knew that's-what-years could-do.
Polynesian-Sunrise eh!
Yea we have those-too.

Aside from all the plates-Nadine.
What's the best disguise?
For 51 dollars and 20 cents.
The soft quatrains have eyes.

Lecture nuts and Pumpkin why.
Elephant trunks entwine.
Beneath above between aware.
I was thinking about that Lime.






Poem 235 by Earl Dinkin

Of all the styles among inactions.
I sadly-choose quatrains so wilfully.
Because our world does not need poetry.
Only quotability.

Ask a world by endless chose.
What it arts and what it throws.
And on its hunch it carries those.
Secret votes the ladder knows.

A painting shall always have magic wings.
But will fly forever between two things.
It will rest upon the rocks it knows.
But will oft as thought fly far as chose.

It will seep into cracks so darkly furious.
And reveries no calendars knew.
Please love that rule to be continuous.
In the majestics we choose to do.

Count them, six more givings!
The songs that living chose.
No one ever, invents a light bulb.
That doesn't know what shows.

When we're awake we think at our tips.
Where our lightning bolt chooses explore.
But when we're asleep we think at our root.
To direction our lightning bolt's core.

And, as I rotten, through my book.
The pinstripe, is my stove.
And bathing answers every nook.
That Neptune far out chose.

To learn new things for my own use.
And not learning for use by others.
With the straw of knowledge I choose to drink.
Because the straw to breath just smothers.

Eerie! The white horn!!
As chosen as the fun.
Almost like a lithograph.
No pilots steer by sun.

Above or below the trepidation.
From where should we look at man.
To choose above for innocence.
That's results I understand.

Correct time is handed down by favor.
And I must choose a source by flavor.
My mind is only good as ask why.
And who I choose to set my laughs by.

As the master chose a brush.
And the paint did chose a time.
Can we choose a person anywhere.
Who did not help choose one line.

I'll never wear legs and arms together.
When I wake I choose my missions.
If I wear my arms I'll stay home and love.
Or wear legs outside conditioned.

Mouse eye view of a long stretch of highway.
Seen from below a passenger car door.
Stimulation by zero or stimulation by the infinite.
To chose the one with more.

To know friends by their predicaments.
All choices are beauty when froze.
Standing farther than lonely beside them.
As silence unblissed earning chose.

Know how just like piano keys.
I love to hear your news.
So saddest part of your worthy notes.
One time and just one choose.

Forget the lust. The river chose.
Daddies are made by vroom!
And sparkles! are showing on the counter!
Neptune is my moon.

If all atoms were just solar systems.
Where would I choose to live.
I would travel farther than clever knows.
To be in her tear of give.

Any world that can cast slow shadows.
Upon my flesh feels wise.
And all I need to do to choose one.
Is reveal my morning eyes.






Poem 234 by Earl Dinkin

After grabbing the nearest vest or cloak.
On the way to the test of steam.
On behalf of all the best use for hopes.
Can you tell me what each career cleans.

I know a poem that has just one universe.
It's called eventually you'll stand and go.
When table flowers wilt just as gently.
That's what it is to know.

A flower to lift your spirits up.
As bliss orbits the woes.
And in a universe all that stops.
Pushes all that knows.

Imagine each gear so incredibly small.
Time to look at your clockwork-universe.
Now imagine each "thorn" moving immeasurable ratio.
Time to turn on your cement-truck "turn a verse".

No hand held out sideways over a brook testing air.
To feel what trees fall upon reason's softer.
Uncared within one never been there.
Is all a universe has to offer.

Living like the bird unfound.
How un-sword is the small profound.
Forgive a universe that meanly hides.
All the needs of a world in prides.

The most beautiful colors of a painting.
A universe or pun.
Where sometimes we find are two.
There was only room for one.

A universe with so much to learn.
But oh I'm crushed by gloom.
For all I know are simple things.
And you just left the room.

To kiss you I wanted more than life.
I'm sorry I don't know why.
I could have told you how the universe worked.
But this moment not why I cry.

It arrives disfigured as a situation.
The unthinkable ugly hunch.
And somehow someway a choice is made.
And the universe bungie jumps.

Sleeping homeless on abandoned bus and hearing.
Homeless woman sing about seeing you today.
Stowaway male kissing stowaway female.
And a universe pushing dust away.

By tangles and knots.
How my universe strings.
Could your universe love me.
Oh know, knot again.

The nature of earth and a universe.
Always knows why men react.
It continually unsharpens their metaphors.
But I have no allergy to that.

You too can be a heaven.
And know what a universe said.
Behold your transistor radio.
Until its battery is dead.

I'm sorry I don't have a battery.
But would no stillness do?
Let me wet a finger of universes.
And determine which way is new.

Succumb to all such rhythm.
Thus the universe has ran.
The simple act decision fights.
Each person codes each sham.

If there is only just things.
What happens with importance.
Would you like a cup of coffee.
A universe loves orbits.






Poem 233 by Earl Dinkin

If I believed in you hard enough.
I was sure that you'd appear.
Just like, how a snow flake.
Can wish to join a tear.

There it goes, pure guidance!
Avalanche talking snow.
Heavenly made, pure science.
Rocketing all we know.

No two lightning bolts share same notion.
No two snowflakes play that game.
So the only quest that I can hope for.
Double quotes might leer through same.

Starvation as a "sinister's" dream.
Ideas won't like sand.
Give them snow and ice for heaven.
And listen, hard as grand.

Councillors for all the winners!
Professionals through the snow!
Nice degrees at eleven.
That is news, advantage knows.

Eight more quatrains then?
And before it snows today.
And walls I've measured, living-once.
I'm tempted to say they sway.

We cross harsh and barren lands.
And fight such snow and rain.
But no one who even sits at home.
Can avoid emotional terrain.

People should only wear white in winter.
That would be a sight to see.
A union a devil could only hate.
And only my melt could ease.

Like telling time by a clock hand's shadow.
I need just one source of right.
So as near as I can tell it's hello.
When winter strikes the night.

Soak in oil for the winter.
The, like not having some.
Cross your legs and tea some bitter.
And confirm the winnings won.

And even if a statue warms.
No sooner than we grave.
It is the wait through smitten winters.
That windows and nights have saved.

A window is the prettiest picture.
Of winter that I know.
There I'll hear the inner lecture.
Where all good snowflakes go.

It's mostly just looking into my eyes.
Hiding lots of summer in winter disguise.
Lost-socks are there! And so is Dos.
Advising "only whenever she-is-still-soft".

The opinion crossed the line of care.
While the ear drum was undefended.
But the chill of winter chilled the where.
So the tongue was unoffended.






Poem 232 by Earl Dinkin

A mattress, better off than it's family;
Looking for who else has a ticket-dream.
If there's any-viewing all those monitors.
That's the last of it; (too much yarn to scream).

Word trappings.
"Anaconda" is in the clear.
If she gets too tired; "Boundaries".
Then go around her Fear.

Paris on a cozy.
Point to the nearest far.
Lantern mine for prosy.
Rhymes "steeping" how deep that jar.

Lecture nuts and Pumpkin why.
Elephant trunks entwine.
Beneath above between aware.
I was thinking about that Lime.

One hundred steps? Karen where are you?
If you do the math I'm nine.
The strongest wind blowing out of those candles.
The accidental rose for your sublime.






Poem 231 by Earl Dinkin

I was standing where men must stand.
Among sunsets for those who stood.
While there I held one grain of sand.
And heard that you've done good.

A million decisions all day from.
Each between come nor gone.
But as a person better becomes.
The difference hums not that long.

As the master chose a brush.
And the paint did chose a time.
Can we choose a person anywhere.
Who did not help choose one line.

I do not like to see men gamble.
They play by an unspoken rule.
Until the most dangerous person wins.
Always beats a fool.

Don't you think it would be a comical trend.
If all Internet submit-buttons said flush.
And everyday people cleared their minds.
Smiled at their neighbors and threw hush.

For people who love this country.
I'm going to start, with new copy now.
From the point where she, gets kicked out.
Apparently there was, an issue, wow.

I understand what a man listens for.
In this costume there is no, wait I'm nor.
It's the number of people bacon juiced.
Wa-wa what is insurance. Don't look obtuse.

You know how some people respond to rain.
Wanting to control it's sum.
By tearing their fingers off in complaint.
If two does not equal one.

People how like planets.
A vast many voices "strew".
And planets how like people.
Correct number of friends be few.

Vibrations are the seasons.
Vibrations are the tides.
Vibrations are a world at work.
And that's why people cry.

And the leaders became public dreamers.
Their dream diaries on public view.
And the people read the thoughts they loaned.
And steered their ship by true.

People are the boldest landscapes.
And where I fear to run.
If I wake from ocean sand shapes.
I must have met someone.

Shadow not the people suffer.
Nor vow how they can joy.
Aim the sky towards forever.
Then gently find a toy.

People who don't paint scare me.
Non-poets scare me too.
Seven billion performance artists.
Are-arguably more than I can cue.






Poem 230 by Earl Dinkin

Negativity requires a different age.
And a "host" of implant burgers.
Raglan-One. Admit no sun.
I hear that herders-murder.

Wallop a noun into the eye.
Actually there's "just four sizes".
I'm finished my homework mum.
Then-the-billy-goat canceled prizes.

Everyone crowd around some more.
Listen for-the-smile from pensions.
Yes my mother talks to me.
So I-have-really-good attention.

It's actually a very big event.
People who use "discoveries".
Mighty cold or mighty hot.
I assume you'll have-warm-butteries.

I was going to ask, does he paint houses?
And are these "doughnuts" nearly-day-old?
The Tardis alone might fetch some-goods.
But that's no excuse, for manners.

Around one o'clock now. Feeling stable.
Like surface tensions around the dock.
Four months now. So-unable.
Almost near the speed of-mock.

Look at that.ÊThere are monkeys here.
They "work" from nine to fabled!
Anything's better-than almost supper!
Onions are so un-labeled.

There's a hole in this city!
We were-so traumatized by-it".
Almost five "fire-truck-sponges".
Sponges were ordered, because sponges fit.

That's a tube of vacant spine.
Vector nine, vector niner!
A mouse did that to you?
Which-word hit your shiner?

Very-very slow now.
Take it from the "mop".
Hideous? We-will-ask your navel.
Hey! Who billed for "one deep thought"?

Because all of us are "woven".
Because the "crisp is air".
Because of "absent-mindedness".
I don't have a joint-account to wear.

All this darkness "must-implode".
Get out, "get out of here".
Do we need-this-orange?
Hello? We're loft impaired!

One "giant-yellow".
To shock the "shiny shoe".
Slow down, slow down, slow down!
The major-piss is due.

Wow! All that coffee talked allot!
Who knew that's-what-years could-do.
Polynesian-Sunrise eh!
Yea we have those-too.

Aside from all the plates-Nadine.
What's the best disguise?
For 51 dollars and 20 cents.
The soft quatrains have eyes.






Poem 229 by Earl Dinkin

Close to home I stayed and cleaned.
By balanced or dangled broom sticks.
A personality I kept so teamed.
My buoyancy solemnness mix.

To rescue morning like a day.
Measure the attitudes of the sun.
With buoyancy and solemnness.
Behold an evening done.

Because every heavy is like two sump pumps.
With no two cut-in levels the same.
In a solemn room I'll introduce myself.
No introduction as my frozen name.

Buoyancy and solemnness.
Hold them as two weary funs.
One thing can only fold them though.
Raindrops and solariums.

A newspaper to me always solemnly feeds.
Deep corrections that each field beds.
That I turn for harvest of "flaw's" sweetest seeds.
And know things not needed to be said.

With nothing as solemn as window grime.
I'll ask as if wind were mine.
Within the harbor between two endless scopes.
I'll ask the din to dine.

It measures care on the nectar scale.
Where the insect is least in question.
Near where the mozart steers the fine.
The uncalm teeds the teach them a lesson.

In the fog over dimlyness.
The tennis ball of calm seems near.
But hark oh if to volley it.
Which racket love or fear.

What on earth is this word calm.
A tornado would have to ask.
It is a mystery I can't explain.
Would say the window glass.

When silence comment's on a situation.
It provokes no reaction.
The hardest heart in the deepest despair.
Surely needs that traction.

Man watching small mechanical hockey game.
With one tall player standing inactive.
You can find me there if you learn how to stare.
Hidden among the reactive.

Of all the ways to cause no reactions.
Deadpan is my favorite stance.
It lets you read what people say.
And never hurt their dance.

Within a chain reaction.
Clouds and smoke "despair".
Like corridors need funny.
Karma and finances where.

It's all about the word impedance.
Do you dream of that.
Like a dance on figure skates.
To stop you they react.

The nature of earth and a universe.
Always knows why men react.
It continually unsharpens their metaphors.
But I have no allergy to that.

If only I could be a quitter.
And reactions were that slow.
Then all the world could be a "sliver".
In reaction to that toe.

Contact the supervisor.
Look-at-her like-fishing changed-her.
I've been "renamed", but something's missing.
Dock my pay for one reactor.






Poem 228 by Earl Dinkin

When searching for new artists and poets.
Unfortunately, it only takes one moment to name.
The sea if they are on the same budding branch.
Of the tree, you are working so hard to change.

Dreams are only thinking.
Like sand dunes are just sand.
Walk among them changing.
Alone so the search is grand.

I am searching for myself.
Turning left or right each day.
Choosing never straight ahead.
Which would only lead away.

Have you ever searched the Internet.
To find your other word.
And pro wrestlers holding large writing pens.
In headlocks almost heard.

To spies then, with pocket dna analyzers.
Secretly searching the world for shyness.
And all their telescopes facing northward.
Let's toast to that best besideness.

You know that industry that sells tobacco?
I guess man is in search of such luck.
Like a giant cigarette butt at high velocity.
Leaving a factory and entering a "truck".

With neutral under dig-it in!
And rise against the clock.
Hampton road must now-await.
The slowest search for sock.

That most silent target.
In the noise with no end.
Oh curse the search.
For the quiet friend.

Then to find a wishful world.
And the heavens make you seek.
Turning the channel fifty times.
Whenever you search for meek.

Artists and poets are found by witch hunt.
And humanity is searching it's true.
Just keep pointing an admiring finger at others.
And hope they don't point one at you.

A research grant for curly phone cords.
That's what this world needs.
Find out where "oh" tangles come from.
To go where art that leads.

To behold we look for kinship.
No distance can stop our stare.
As we would search our lifetime cursed.
Why did we not see the air.






Poem 227 by Earl Dinkin

Of ambrosia what a storm has shroud.
Lifting and lowering a thought filled cloud.
As were water made of only stories.
Would you mind if my mind flurries.

I think I became small today.
So it's traditional to wear my uniform.
Sun dust sparkles, within a darkness.
Are "saluting" to my lesser, hello-storm.

Though big pictures fight alone like wind chimes.
Storm never has seen one lose.
Their strife so simple like boarding inclines.
Warm tethers but it must choose.

At the center of everyone's hurricane.
Is a story so slow we would weep.
But no one has ever been there.
For fear of the storms we greet.

You should know I fear fast words like static.
So we should probably speak like storms.
The same way mammals discussing their feeling.
Honk their moan two horns.

But-just how do-we get there?
I mean that storm when we were all surprised?
Where the "Hello I like your Bow-Tie"!
Becomes the only thing that almost dies.

Would you like to maybe wrestle.
I kept those evening clothes.
Amen to storm she's got a whistle!
Excuse my windowed-toes.

With fine dragons for dragon storms.
I can't journey enough words to slew.
I think I can sell you the final moments.
Each quatrain lands home safe on dew.

Let me ask you around a storm.
While everyone is wide awake.
Who is writing, down near the ask.
If pimples make the same mistake.

Her eyes would hold no believe things.
And nothings would storm her hands.
And the sun would join our sleepings.
Among the unrests of man.

Storm at eleven! My assistant!
Cute as much as you can rope.
Teardrop two into the bucket.
You're right. My left is moat.

And that now ends "dictation".
Storm rages, but still on-time.
Roll over. Oh such people.
My turkey wants to climb.

There's no ocean creepier than a theory.
Or no lake as unnamed as whine.
So wherever you hear a better eery.
Please forgive the storming mind.

My heros dream of helping.
In the constant rain of scorn.
My heros hold public offices.
In the hurtful words of storm.

A bus, a townhouse and a ground level apartment.
Unfolding more beautifully than a quest.
And the storms within were the storms without.
Who could have ever guessed.

As equal storms are men and weather.
I shall never hate the see.
Like on an oar, like sinned are sure.
All wind and men shall be.






Poem 226 by Earl Dinkin

It's a starting point, that is exactly half.
Whatever her lover doesn't whisper. Plus one thing.
People should be fully attractive.
Do you know how to measure one? Times wing.

I saw a shadow try to hide you today.
But you moved so the shadow retracted.
Every force of life in its own weird way.
Has tried to be that much attractive.

Attractiveness like the wry-less kiss.
Steers the heart as a full deck of cards.
How I would miss your tenderness.
If the jokers were shore'n in shards.

In that ear they passed two mighty laws.
Worlds should tilt just enough to please.
And twenty percent rebellion.
Became officially the most attractive tease.

A man fishing with dry stale cheese.
And a strong warehouse dolly for the catch.
He thinks alone about the law of attraction.
But observers decide the attach.

Twenty attractive young people dancing.
Their party inside a cellophane bubble.
Empty cellophane street cube at night.
My in-box of zero trouble.

Attractiveness is a fickle lean.
Reading all the directions it fonts.
Which explains how every had him seems.
To be as distant as the distance wants.

You-know how lasting silence is.
When a finish line remembers a race.
When you catch me glancing.
I try to make that face.






Poem 225 by Earl Dinkin

Stimulation is sold in what's.
Some want none and some want lots.
The world is where that price is fair.
And what's between us finds a level there.

There will always be two paths in woods.
With Kingdom and Boredom signs.
Boredom being that meanest enemy.
That path that causes rhymes.

I know of dust that loves good people.
And settles where it can.
Ten trillion thoughts are sharp as equals.
On wind that forgives plan.

There's a way of looking I kite the most.
With soft hues of inner "blands" and blends.
With a tilt to one side that sees two dogs.
And two owners that will never be friends.

I look to the poets at the helms.
Finesse is a gentle stern.
Never pointless they only speak.
When culture needs to turn.

Would you like a cup of coffee.
I know this place that's on no maps.
Where the rivers are so lonely.
They hide in the water taps.

If you don't mind I'll have it black.
Since coffee comes from "havin".
Lifting a sugar cube takes a trillion years.
If you count the seasons of atoms.

People are best described by the invisible alphabet.
And complete thoughts are a nuance shamed.
You see that distance over there for instance.
That's the prettiest glance you've named.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.

Know how just like piano keys.
I love to hear your news.
So saddest part of your worthy notes.
One time and just one choose.

Am I allowed to call you the "speckler"?
Because fragile loves the simple song.
Where at the center of every heckler.
Somehow the art world grows our wrong.

In between chimes heard forever.
The smallest known place is the care.
Show your poetry to family never.
And problems to strangers not share.

If I owned a famous newspaper.
I would name it, "people doing what they want".
And at the bottom of every page I'd print.
A white rectangle for your tears to haunt.

Like the quiet mind reaching out a hand.
To catch a friend's falling book.
We look upon the all of man.
Glancing long at brief chance or soot.

Imagine each gear so incredibly small.
Time to look at your clockwork-universe.
Now imagine each "thorn" moving immeasurable ratio.
Time to turn on your cement-truck "turn a verse".






Poem 224 by Earl Dinkin

Come sit with me by the fire.
And I'll tell you how two whales met.
Of an ocean visitor counter with six decimal places.
Showing no whole numbers yet.

Hand star, check your beetle.
Know the lisp is true.
News at seven. Was something said?
Which reminds me of the glue.

Storm at eleven! My assistant!
Cute as much as you can rope.
Teardrop two into the bucket.
You're right. My left is moat.

Carry these books to another grave.
"Mountain" our course on Like-us.
I don't know what to do about it.
Keep vibrating the drumstick-dust.

A hospital room is like zero traffic.
I'll drop by so often, because I love to shine.
Are you having triplets?
Enlarge the cylinder-wine.

We must pretend, planed-outback.
A height that we were stewing.
Photograph it! Oh so much dust.
I can't see what we were doing.

And that now ends "dictation".
Storm rages, but still on-time.
Roll over. Oh such people.
My turkey wants to climb.

But dancing is Way off!
Watch it mister! What do you think that means.
Tractor? You're the tractor?
Nothing. That's what he's done for me.

Contact the supervisor.
Look-at-her like-fishing changed-her.
I've been "renamed", but something's missing.
Dock my pay for one reactor.

Sorry I didn't notice!
Do rocks really fly that high?
To the banks of Anger-River.
You're best shorthand, Miss Number Pi.

And, that is life.
Let it aim right-here at shy.
I'm not the type to sew a pocket.
Perhaps "eager" is the best "word" why.

Do you know how-they handle that?
Sometimes a hundred days go by.
"Mama's don't let your babies be cowboys".
Major! I wonder why spiders cry.






I'll Wear Mask of Flowers
by Earl Dinkin

I'll wear mask of flowers, and you'll wear
mask mache. When we attend the party. I'll
know what headlines in its paper, told you on
that day. My mask of solemn flowers, shall
wilt dewdrops glass you shade. Five hundred
paintings shall adorn the walls, that no one
knows I made. And gentle music in the air,
all hear but only I know that you played.
Dance here man and woman. The children we
became. As nine hundred storms around us,
would walk our calms afraid. We would not
touch those puddles. So clean the light they
trade. If I could design this planet, one
hundred years away. I would make a place of
moments, where two billion voices say. A man
can say I love you and a woman can choose to
stay. Now as just I need you. Your cheek to
light our maze. Here I wish to cause your
dance, at this our first masquerade. Where
all a billion thoughts. Thier masks but only
haze. I hold your hand for softness. So you
know your skin is praised. Dancing to your
music, my paintings light your way. We never
stop the dreaming. Our space where they not
gaze. "Oh excuse me, do you have the time on
you miss"? "I forgot my watch today".






poem 222 by Earl Dinkin

Shore lines talk in whispers. And leaves
speak soft as breeze. I will shout as loud as
grasshoppers. To communicate less with thee.
Quiet with the days oh friends. Let us count
the deeds. A dandelion to roar for you. A
buttercup to pour for me. Horizons where we
look. A chin bowed down to knee. The shadows
on a gentle brook. To be mistook for trees.
No no let them sway, shadows as they may. Oft
as tho I might think, a heart must always
say. How can even whispers, not ear lobes
find their day? Winds so strong they tear
down trees. Or trees so wrong they play. Dove
to dove in fields, fly which oh they may. "I
have to pee my darling". "Please promise
you'll look away".






Poem 221 by Earl Dinkin

Go sadly.
So-that the "forth-night" might hear.
I created the table for you.
Little plastic mines, suspect clear.

Toss a boat.
Any one can here.
Scribble is a function.
Capsize the pen cap beer.

And bubbles make no potion.
I ran the light! Fire steer!
Have you ever heard of Mange.
I row to eradicate, only a guy out there.

Watching the progress bar.
Why are you so nice to me.
Tummy erased erasion!
Of me they cannot see.

Contemplating the impossible question.
By sitting center of the frozen pond.
When wanting to feel closer, to the truth.
That's the only "guest" of gone.

Entertainment having no other "gear".
Paintings were my only way.
With no engine in between.
I get infinity (per) "no-morality-play".

True inspiration is like bottled ice.
The Klondike will, forever grow.
Arrange a team and throw some dice.
And be prepared to know.

Starvation as a "sinister's" dream.
Ideas won't like sand.
Give them snow and ice for heaven.
And listen hard as grand.

As faintly as all shadows tilt.
And "only" horizons "steam".
So turning into consumes "still".
Only a tundra keens.

Then Adirondact the morning.
Crack open five thousand-miles.
Soul "being only" electricity.
Who's toast pops up for styles.

Prepare to go to work as thus.
Keep hidden from the wind.
Knowing the Klondike "of the mind".
So Barely moves the brush within.

Remember you woke-up, in the dark.
And felt the tent-floor bare.
I guess you really wanted nothing.
And found, no-electronics there.

But there is a "staple" on the horizon.
Far behind our eyes so rare.
Who knew you had-to be so lonely.
To short the currents there.

Gray silhouettes of man and woman free falling.
In fetal positions seven feet apart.
Excuse me miss are you falling alone.
May I please share this art.






Poem 220 by Earl Dinkin

To me painting and drawing skills look like humanity's.
Shiny new impressive 5 pixel camera invention.
Which is pretty boring if you don't point it at the 5 metaphors.
That are in front of us, but eyes don't mention.

One step towards an irresistible woman.
Pause long enough to meet.
Five steps away from her down an embankment.
Until there's an elbow repeat.

Neighbors are the true horizons.
So I do not need a sky.
Within the unknown depths of hearts.
I see all the seasons why.

When I get to know the "nighbors".
Neighbors they will be.
In this new era of "nighbors".
Neighbors must like tea.

Please don't speak to me in words.
Please point at the average with wrong.
And there among so many rights.
Only the reason might song.

Words that build are told for height.
Rare among none we say.
As easy as living a few stacked right.
To measure a man's decay.

Snails "clung" to amusement park rides.
Drinking morning dew.
Move as carefully in new directions.
As breakfast washers do.

A snail appears so slow.
But oh how fast it is.
To take from life at such a rate.
And just as fast it gives.

But then as if they could not tea.
I see them trying tangently.
And as they walk down thumbtack road.
I see the day they never hold.

A long unmovable domestic animal.
That's never been seen before like fashions.
A collage of pretty women photos on a wall.
And they all have bland compassions.

With its light blue shade of habit.
And sun spun like a plastic fan.
With invisible true smiles of women.
I'm spinning all I am.

Everything with zero emotion.
That is odd to me.
When I say to zero motion.
Noone answers glee.

A person ponders well that's odd.
And sets the dials to zeros.
A person yells that's the level.
And sets the dials to heros.

Of all my highly scary things.
Culture scares the most to me.
Never been known to heed red lights.
Is the subtlety that stampeeds.

Because I want to stay informed.
I read newspapers of our world at play.
But in my mind I see their real mastheads.
The Plague of Thin Skins Today.

A newspaper to me always solemnly feeds.
Deep corrections that each field beds.
That I turn for harvest of flaw's sweetest seeds.
And know things not needed to be said.

When of courses become just smart enough.
To make hourfull gongs and drums.
And the dawns become just smart enough.
To use showerful longs and strums.

Now I understand painting.
It works fluidly like self finds self.
Like dreams "form" up against other dreams.
Adding details, "moist" eyes will help.





workingpoem
Poem 219 by Earl Dinkin

Where is-it sandy in the ocean.
In right hand to behold.
Hey Guy's! Don't be so tough.
Stay inside get's inside I'm told.

Who knows where the good ones are.
With accolades dressed in thorns.
Explain the re-use of boxing.
No passion when someone's born.

That's just my way Howard.
I can finish the toys from here.
It's really something big I can't let you study.
Two honest mints might near.

Here is a spinoff.
Here's what I said this morning.
Curse the nerve of sunspots!
And pillow talk all warnings.

Don't put too many men out there.
Along the edge of harbour.
I know that trains are boiling.
And sitting in the parlour.

Your "hobby" is so defensive!
But I chew it up inside.
Let me pale the monkey.
What a mission I'll have to try.

Take soup, from his rough-age.
Learn to see the scene.
And also learn to live-allot.
No mater what that means.

Go on. Sit down all around here.
The lady has the hose.
Where it's written, "Tie no knots".
That is my "indispose".

Lastly, they don't have any children.
And granny has no "heir".
That's the privilege of "I need you back".
You're taller with "team" white hair.

Would you like to maybe wrestle.
I kept those evening clothes.
Amen to storm she's got a whistle!
Excuse my windowed-toes.

You never-taught me anything.
(wagging his thumb so wise).
Administer gum on rivet-seven.
I hear the sky's outside.

But I've been handed number eight.
I always knew it came from bees.
From the land of milk and honey.
Where several Archie's lead.

Now try to look at your best.
He's been sitting there for days.
I mean there near all clear water.
Where the ring-song stays.

But that's as loud as it gets in here.
Her honey suckle vine.
He did that? The way you wanted?
Surely that was mine.

Oh I began on nonsense.
On double overtime.
I stick to fleas but not to laughter.
Nor harbour actual climb.

Left "mnemonics" being leopard stairs.
I can't because of clock-less rhyme.
I run a perfect engine here.
And brake alone with double wine.

Who is the "boot" burner?
Is she really hunting claim?
I've had-not a single drop.
The kind that bastion saved.

Interesting but I'm not going there!
Salmonella! I think I'm late.
Antenna-rehabilitate the air.
Please make the hello-wait.

To the run-yard and over stamp that card.
It's quite amazing how life is fair.
Just a little off the top.
And down below the chair.

Two milks in "it" at once?
I'm here! I'm over here!
Please put down your phaser.
Diamonds are the pair.







Poem 218 by Earl Dinkin

This with bravery and secrecy wrote.
And delivered in urgent times.
Dear friend please read then burn this note.
My memory has outlawed rhymes.

Today I mourned, that conversation.
True friends keep deep inside.
Because they know, our hibernation.
Would never match their stride.

Silent centers move so slowly.
They hardly move at all.
So bravely in a room of talkers.
I see silent centers crawl.

There's a way of looking I kite the most.
With soft hues of inner blands and blends.
With a tilt to one side that sees two dogs.
And two owners that will never be friends.

They're insatiable actually. Is that how they're able.
To consolidate alot of their clearings?
No, because I just found.
A whole box of informal earrings.

And should the music be fast or slow.
We'll know by the face of gain.
Year of the two eye blinks given.
I'll be arriving on that train.

And so it was there was stipulation.
And not a train was lost.
And above each tie in an endless sky.
Blew a mist of possible frost.

Know-how just like piano keys.
I love to hear your news.
So saddest part of your worthy notes.
One time and just one choose.

Thus is not what one is.
It's the changing in between.
Though I give you an ample gift.
It's the rearranging that I dream.

Here is a token of that greatest gift.
It's worth a million homes.
Familiarity the most precious sift.
And where we keep our knowns.

Here is my gift of misdirection.
First I wrongly go down from care.
Then I surprise you with elevation.
Chin up from the prides we share.

Like batting practice watching lovers leave.
It's truly close. Just like flee.
The electric razor with electric jolt.
So frighteningly close to me.

The correct way to use correctional lurid.
Is to apply some "galaxay".
And upon man's history of improvement.
You must dare not stop his way.

And I also wish for growth of man.
Or less semblance of unique.
And a blanket warm as a failed strand.
Storing the technique.






Poem 217 by Earl Dinkin

As the teeth of an angry person.
Goes together and then moves apart.
Three eye blinks owned by oceans.
Also knew light and dark.

Man Diligently trying to Help a Jug of Fresh Milk.
Learn to Fly using lifting wires and running Starts...
Negotiation Man with Stage Fright before Sofa.
Of Siblings Act one Super Spider Act two Super Muscle "Hearts".

Retrieving a First Girlfriend from Throat of Dangerous Snake.
Using two Fingers so Slowly to avoid Fangs...
Man nearing plastic Barbie Doll.
Named "Qwekey" at Picnic Table where Acid Reflux pains.

Mid career Actress at Night to Prove Point rushes out.
To Sidewalk whispers "Fifty" stops City Bus by Whistling...
A Wimpy Actor hiding behind Toilet kicking away Scary Prop.
Saying "I'm sorry that's not what I signed up For historian".

An upright Cat chained to an upright Vacuum Cleaner.
Asking no one again if he can go Outside...
Holding a Cat who has Bizarrely Contorted himself.
Into a Ball as a Protest to extra long Hugs and pride.

Man quickly tidying Table of Maps saying "No You can't help Me".
To arriving Man, who Heard he was Needed...
Discovering that Headache Pills are-Magnetic.
And Stick together and to Coins untreated.

Man in Garage Waking up Next to Rags with harsh Fumes.
A Teenager showing an-Invention...
Filling up a Car Floor Mat with water.
From a Kitchen Tap before filling out a Census Form without intention.

Man in Reclining Leather Chair in Farmer's Field.
Watching Golf Games happening around Him Cavern...
Old Man amongst Christmas Tree Gifts hovering.
In Box called Angela Five Dickinson Wait as stand-in.

Man Background Woman Foreground Holding Viewer's Shoulder.
Asking You Know it's all Circular Right...
Deadpan Woman opening Refrigerator Door.
Pointing at Hamburger Meat saying "that-there" at that height.

Zippered Roads of a City being a Man's Eye Shield.
And an Elephant's Hole Trap oh so horrible...
Call girl in training after her first lesson.
Telling teaching call Girl "That was so adorable!".

Man's Hands Presenting three joined Partial Egg Cartons.
With a Drinking Straw at the End unfindable...
An Aunt rushing into her Parlor passing you a Puppy.
Saying your Uncle's Last Will said you would take care of Dynamo.

Puppet playing Flute for watching Woman.
Tapping side of Flute twice Implying-Innuendo...
A Cat that Grew up in a Litter of Dogs.
So it Barks and Wags its tail Fast but undependable.

Man in Hospital reaching to Scratch.
His Charred and disfigured Feet Remains...
Squid atop flashing VCR and Men entering Room.
Saying You see it's still Wrong and also shames.

Small Woman watching Large Dinner Plate.
At Center of Exponential Spread of Dark Dots peaking...
Meekly showing someone a Painting of their Hug brand.
Cigarette rolling papers on a table without Speaking.

A Man Rinsing his Arm Daily.
In a "Tube" of Water of Urgent Studies...
Man Suspended by Engine Hoist above Front Lawn Tree.
Put up there by his Buddies.

There it goes, pure guidance!
Avalanche talking snow.
Heavenly made, pure science.
Rocketing all we know.






Poem 216 by Earl Dinkin

Indiscernible fluctuations or massive fluctuations.
Just how should I adjust world scope.
If I aim my dreams towards wind devils.
Should I report that I preferred to cope.

So that's what we're going to do.
The agreed upon price, is on its way.
After, "straight" inventory.
Ok-pyjamas-away.

Make it official and so dark.
I'm set for Santa Claus please.
I'm so glad I "invented" you.
I mean "invited". (coffee cream)

But I don't want to do this.
Such discouragement, and-handle-packed.
Your blinkers are so distracting.
One "Saab" and I'm in-fact.

Why don't, we stop here then.
And kiss me on the nose.
Eight-percent is plenty.
How much "does" my "placard" show.

I was the hottest one.
My name was your Darlene.
Right above my "turpentine".
Gold watch to my obscene.

Blow her some tobacco.
Delight in all her fame.
Round numbers like two Cadillacs.
Odd numbers like her drain.

"Hey! You have ghosts."
"Father Frances" and "Liechtenstein".
I checked them for discretion.
They're speechless, half the time.

And all these little rants.
"Indicative" I think's the word.
They're verbose and everywhere!
Nine tells your window heard.

Please be sheets or diamonds.
A chance to flip or flop.
Morose or just good-morning.
I have to set two clocks.

"Plain" for over there.
Lift her head up "sane".
Hey is that your mother.
That's "why" I'm tired "again".

There's some "engine" over left?
Enough to bill for flop.
Does-time see so indifferently.
Depending putting on which sock.

Happy Avenue-"versity" dear.
I believe this is your tie.
Once-supported, always Naples.
For melting down goodbye.

Bicycles have no dangers.
That never go outside.
Door handles are for "drawer thieves".
I'm "sadly" not that guy.

It was just a test. But was never removed.
I'm glad it was just the two of us.
Let's stay away from that stuff called guess what.
As you can see it burns by wind gust.




Poem 215 by Earl Dinkin

The world is exactly as exciting.
As stimulation-levels too low recede.
Like a poet saying you have a symbolism.
As normal as wind blown deeds.

A reed releases its seed to the wind.
As the best effort it can possibly do.
To ensure that the water level does not recede.
Excuse me may I shy to you.

To send them adrift upon oceans of time.
Kept but afloat in the vessels of minds.
Hallways may never love metaphors.
But rhymes to hum shall swim corridors.

Inside a driverless van with a small tree.
Growing on its roof like an antenna.
I was wondering from behind gray walls.
If anyone can hear my heaven.

To worry is the warmest weapon.
If only all men had fear.
In corners they could lay and reckon.
And at worst defend by leer.

With nothing as solemn as window grime.
I'll ask as if wind were mine.
Within the harbor between two scopes.
I'll ask the din to dine.

Behind every star of living.
I hide in the don't call us milieu.
Knowing bright stars are only bright by giving.
And because they're close to You.

If you see my eyes looking out at you.
From the mask shaped hubcap of a car.
Give them a small amount of attention.
But not enough to scar.

Did you know hubcaps are just as round as wheels.
It's a mystery that eludes my eye.
Oh and would you please be my girlfriend.
There's a reason but I don't know why.

She lived behind an engine grill.
And I lived behind a hubcap.
I asked her out for coffee once.
But the world was just too "un-mapped".

Woman you are hard to find.
Hidden like the mace.
The meek and gentle of your kind.
Like breeze amongst the blaze.

And then I forget to add one letter.
That only way, to Can food Cozy.
I CLEAN the stitches around the elastic.
Then spring back home, and feel prosey.

A row of country cottages.
But with front walls only.
I stand at the window.
And try to look homely.

Somewhere else other than mission.
Where reproducers bright the scariest grin.
Soft and quiet men near soft and quiet women.
Fearing oh how I wish the slight could win.

A flat faced man in a bed.
His features like a rubber mask.
Thinking about two women on a tundra.
Is "worth" so much to ask.

The battle fields behold.
And kingdoms tear their reigns.
While all the while the pebble streams.
Hold the fiercest fights for names.

There is a distance few have known.
Rivers and streams don't find.
Have you ever kept your eyes unshown.
That thirty degrees of pine.

Steering a life must be done so slow.
But brains are fast not doll.
So with eyes low and to the left.
May I watch a beetle crawl.






poem 214 by Earl Dinkin (written in 1994)

The bus pulls up from where it's bin.
The door opens and I step in. No sooner
than it starts to fly. I place my fare
before his eye.

The driver turns and looks in shock. "My
good-man you don't understand. This bus
needs fare not in your hand. The price
to ride is hidden deep. To ride this bus
show the poem you keep."

"What poem have I. I have none to show.
I write no poems. No poem I keep."

"In your pocket look my man. I'm sure it
is. Where they're always hid."

In my pocket I reach for now, I show my
hand, no poem I found.

"Look again oh tired soul. The poem is
there. You hid it well. The poem you hid
when you were twelve."

And look again now as I do, the driver
waits for fare long due. At bottom of my
pocket went, my hand in search, my hand
I sent. But touches only dirt and lint.
No poem hid well when I was twelve.

"Look once more but this time cry. And
search so hard, and close your eyes.
Squeeze your heart and mind and soul.
And find the poem, so worn and old."

I reach down deep and begin to seek. The
poem lost long, Now I meet! I unfold the
poem I hid so well. Its paper torn, the
edges freled. And stains of blackness
hung, where once fell tears and the ink
did run. And my soul now crushes in my
heart. And tears begin as I read again.

And the driver says, "There my friend
that was not hard. Take your seat. Relax
and sleep. And dream of old forgotten
friends. And enjoy the ride, for it never
ends."






Poem 213 by Earl Dinkin

Let me ask you around a storm.
While everyone is wide awake.
Who is writing, down near the ask.
If pimples make the same mistake.

It wasn't could, giving it away.
That makes the getting up in morning.
You understand who seldom care.
If sirens hear a coffee scoring.

Want no trouble, plastic bubble.
Is that to like as fist as see.
What a great man, stands I am.
That revolts the quest of me.

And know each day in a never way.
What groceries take away.
To awake and store, a lust so sure.
That makes it to a corner core.

To the tune of stars vast as captains clover.
And rise at the end of day.
Mute the bus and call friendships over.
I have no words to say.

Aw, I'm sorry.
Well actually, I think I'm love.
Don't you remember that turkey?
Na! I don't hate the mud.

Know what at unheaven savors.
And hums the slightest air.
Just once upon a clock of haven.
And the thirst becomes so there.

On the night I saw a faint Morse code.
From far beyond a spider's thread.
I discerned that signals carry power.
Because power only carries dread.

Sleepwalking woman in white tee-shirt.
Rushing to unlock her "car adorer".
Seven friends suddenly.
Sorry out of order.






Poem 212 by Earl Dinkin

Where does mind hide high fidelities.
And level thoughts of my favourite melodies.
Songs so "stung" by such tall keepers.
And played so wrong, on each life's small speakers.

When silence comment's on a situation.
It provokes no reaction.
The hardest heart in the deepest despair.
Surely needs that traction.

We have a massive destination.
But how could we ever go?
Cooking inside like a poker.
Which is up to us to throw.

Heart with proper direction finder.
To find a way up every minute.
Finding that positive so small.
To steer by such goodness in it.

Now I understand "poker".
To aim one must not stray.
To make the sound of thunder.
Some dreams must be thrown away.

From where I aim my efforts, with so much care.
I boldly be sure only my "blights" are there.
Knowing "uneven" blossoms having faster moistness.
Might claim the light I dear.

To make a decision without the twist.
When innocence gets that notion.
To walk unwrung where writhe persists.
That nice directionless motion.

A typical y shaped decision.
Has a magnifying glass side that sees.
And an atrophied skill long since unneeded.
On the side where the past grew please.

I can only give you all humanity's behavior.
Molded by the dins of past.
So here is everything for the complete space traveler.
As you turn each page please vast.

There are monsters oh so fierce.
So horrible no strong can cage.
Oh what creatures are so cold.
They'll brush off your home page.

Above or below the trepidation.
From where should we look at man.
To choose above for innocence.
That's results I understand.

As equal storms are men and weather.
I shall never hate the see.
Like on an oar, like sinned are sure.
All wind and men shall be.

The man who drew squares, met the man who drew curves.
Colliding by accident, and falling down quite perturbed.
After getting up from the sidewalk, and dusting themselves clean.
Can you guess who went home, and which one thought of dreams.

Small "woman" watching large dinner plate?
At centre of "exponential" spread of dark dots.
Man background, woman foreground, holding viewer's shoulder.
Asking "do you know"? "It's all just circular thoughts".

And a very bright flashlight with four legs.
Shining at the moon at night.
Answer is less than a midnight glimmer.
But nothing can beam that slight.






Poem 211 by Earl Dinkin

Have you ever cleaned a keyboard.
And accidentally wrote a letter of love?
Or ever cleaned your mind so well.
You only spoke in of?

There is "an-un" disrespected string.
Because the Kite knows Fame.
But within the weather's Deal or no Deal.
Inner height Types just the same.

Flowers and landscapes are the letters.
Surrealism banged are the keys.
Now let's type a real message.
Art from lucid dreams.

A man driving a car.
By looking down at his knees.
Steering the way a mountain does.
No fun no games no keys.

Know how just like piano keys.
I love to hear your news.
So saddest part of your worthy notes.
One time and just one choose.

It's been two thousand years, since the end of news.
And people are becoming outraged.
Today I think "I-may", have even seen.
A keyboard reaching help-age.

I'm a man, and I have jell-o fingers.
But the whole world needs to know.
If only I could type this out there.
That traffic is made of people's prose.

Poetry loves what it means.
And what it means' loves keys instead.
Have you ever turned a viewpoint sideways.
And knew it pulled all said.

Put your palms together.
Then push down quick with force.
Then put your ear to the Morse code key.
And listen for a pulse.

We live on a perfect plain.
It's one inch behind a lens.
Where no one ever needs to shout.
To hear what silence sends.

The atom which mattered said to the atom unsung.
I love you but please don't watch the fun.
Have you ever been lonely within a breather.
That's kind-less, where pearls send all levers.






Poem 210 by Earl Dinkin

My name is desperation.
Come and visit us if you fall.
Where you can visit Doctor Tea.
Pure Coventry on his wall.

My business card logo, has of two letter L's.
With something between them forgotten.
For only a woman who sits down with her breakfast.
And states she'll be drinking half my caution.

My art needs no actual space.
As if hearts need no December.
That day I learned how cold is haste.
The true gallery is called remember.

My favorite moments of my success.
The only times I really know.
When I clean my computer screens.
That's when I'm a pro.

My heros dream of helping.
In the constant rain and "scorn".
My heros hold public offices.
In the hurtful words of storm.

My soldier and my warrior.
Are friends in their old age.
Though oddly, cafŽ-table-choosing.
Remains the warrior's fortŽ.

My cat sees continents in the corners.
And constellations in the jars.
And though I never say good morning.
I see near things in the fars.

My soul forever chasing balance.
Keep pride or someday dance.
As restless as the thermostat.
That learns to fear the glance.

My favorite "armament" has no "who".
They can't argue with what you dream.
Argue with someone for what they do.
Or direction their words might lean.

My mind is only good as ask why.
And who I choose to set my laughs by.
Correct time is handed down by favor.
And I must choose a source by flavor.

My neighbours. Oh yea, that's one thing.
Hey isn't that my sky.
It's mostly just explanation now.
Because I forget what makes me cry.

My-hat falls off me, too at times.
Should I sit? And move no lint?
Does all that dust move with me?
Or am I "here" just to rent?

My mind holds, your only rafter.
Somewhere high, as kind.
Like dust before, and dust after.
The dustpan shows no find.

My love of you is a painful truth.
And these are it's worst occasions.
For I could only give you everything.
But I can never give you persuasions.

But all I know are simple things.
And you just left the room.
A universe with so much to learn.
And I am crushed by gloom.






Poem 209 by Earl Dinkin

I shield my "wise" from the smallest skies.
That shadow of the magic don't.
Where those that would.
Meet those that won't.

Odd today I liked all music.
But I will never like all poems.
So being the world's most hurtful word.
I place my compass home.

Where opening your "matter to energy" "conversion storage closet".
And seeing nothing, is eerie every time.
So wear thick clothing during those moments.
So people "stings", can be a tolerable sign.

Ok, let's do, entertaining.
London get the cheese.
Sad part get the usual experiences.
And someone get the tease.

Alright boys, I have a solution for you.
Wait now, she's coming out from that club.
Woman leaving bar noticing gold plated door step.
I put there while she was in love.

Everybody "know" where they think on the dart board.
And lovers love like rain.
Soft in a corner, away from excitement.
I'll be trembling fearful of her name.

A year after the cool thing stayed.
No paint, no polish, no mixer.
This is the best stuff I've made.
Full body armour fixer.

And families yes of course are "George".
And social gatherings are sung tomorrow.
I know how powder-kegs are friends.
So "our toast" pops up for sorrow.

Thank you, thank you, very much.
Let me start by asking you!
That's a mistake from what day?
And was climbing part of it too?

I heard about that man!
I heard you knew him too.
His favorite ships were lost at sea.
Because he did-not chew.

But now I know you're not telling the truth!
So that's "his ankle" in water, right?
Raise your arms but don't get up.
Now sleep on it tonight.

He had truth, right in his arms?
At least I'm hoping it was fair.
And that is his hollow suit with charms.
Like any man with London hair.

And on that beach. A crazy rider.
Mix-some-brown in there.
Money men finding it, most disturbing.
That we fly so fast up here.

But now I know you're just being funny.
You truly en-snared those noises?
On Thursday's, or so you say?
That demon runs are choices.

Let me line it up for you.
The same way we sit right here.
To "devastate" the church again.
Men are whispered air.

Give it up, all those stars again.
Our motions will "now begin".
Ludicrist are all our charms.
Only Sony makes all wind.

So let us look upon tomorrow.
And create a wish within.
The true diamond is "no sorrow".
Nothing-else-rhymes with "win".

Just slow man leaving building through revolving door.
Before fast man asking "would you like me to carry you".
No, that was just art, stealing the sink.
Let's only respond to what we have to.






Poem 208 by Earl Dinkin

What is a career?
Is it physical therapy?
Should I use it on myself?
Like thanks allot "John Wealth".

I bet it's this one! "Betty".
Before we go to bed "let's health".
Cucumbers big as raisins.
Kill that "giant mouse"!

But I had-to fight with John.
You come down here, this instant!
Blink! And steer the handle.
Find the klondike "Princeton"!

I just heard two horses right?
Sophie dancing "slight"?
Try and wet the bed tonight!
Then stand right there and spike.

But bathe in blue?
That's dangerous like a river.
Keep the extra, for yourself.
But be the best "meine-bueno".

Now "that" man is killer.
So use-different fly again!
Just like healing a human being.
A heart attack that sat within.

Yes. I'm writing stories to "myself".
Dawson maybe sees a "widow".
Eleventh rule: "mystify"?
Kind of like a dangerous pillow.

Let's make it into a game for us!
Hmmm? Dog smelling its "poo"?
She'll survive the "queen" that way!
Does Billy really shave like new?

And only just for rooftop nails?
That living henchmen might have "seen".
Learn to embrace them "just for hoops".
God forbid such team!

Rapid onset! Clever "glows"!
You know that art. That artists shine.
Miss Harriet! Trust your shoe off!
And customers "drink your wine".

Hey who missed the fox? Was that you?
I had a bad grape too.
An Ontario wind that struck my vine.
My galleries await your climb.

Let's do this next year.
And get a small bed.
Good luck to all of us.
This is going to cost said.

I would scatter the whole house for you.
"Scampering and shuffling" about.
And the rosy bit the next day.
Becomes the ticket out.

Yes they do it odd for you.
On my train at the very next trust.
Yes the roses were brought from me.
He works for me conducting hush.

But a pirate disc can't do that.
Not even, with just the right spit.
Yes they wanted me just, to see you.
But it wasn't me! It was just a bit.

And as a college-woman.
What happens, to, your, next, salad?
Ah, it gets stabbed.
And doesn't work, nor ballad.

Is this really supposed to work?
The time clock of mankind's sparrow?
I find that very interesting.
The cage that protects the vowels.

Where are you going?
I'm going to buy a coffee mug.
People only care, about being vicious.
Ooga. Ooga. This one's dishes.






Poem 207 by Earl Dinkin

A window is the prettiest picture.
Of winter that I know.
There I'll hear the inner lecture.
Where all good snowflakes go.

It's mostly just looking into my eyes.
Hiding lots of summer in "winter disguise".
Lost-socks are there! And so is Dos.
Advising "only whenever" she-is-still-soft.

Soak in oil for the winter.
The "like not having some".
Cross your legs and tea some bitter.
And confirm the winnings won.

And even if a statue warms.
No sooner than we grave.
It is the wait through smitten winters.
That "windows and nights" have saved.

Like telling time by a clock hand's shadow.
I need just one source of right.
So as near as I can tell it's hello.
When winter strikes the night.

That's the lost in cost oscillations.
When a mood can swing light years or shawls.
Lightness when it wants more springs.
Heaviness when it wants more falls.

The opinion crossed the line of care.
While the ear drum was undefended.
But the chill of winter chilled the where.
So the tongue was unoffended.

Down on his shin, pour leg, pour leg.
Recall, recall, amnesia.
Avoid the spring, endless traveler.
And we're off. Well did that please ya?

Over there by that rain runoff.
I live about a hindrance mile.
Sun rays warming the last known frost.
Make me wonder by smile.

And if you imagine each thought was warm.
How could such a hot be normal.
Oh sweet choosey dragon how I wish.
The average cold trip was formal.

The out there looks very out there today.
Two galleries collided without a single collision.
And in other news I saw their rights to spring.
Sung by the kite's beautician.

Kindly able the winter mock.
Isn't that where good pins aim.
A little less snowfall frock.
One summer must not wane.

Even animals can play that game.
It only takes a team.
Did you ever wear a summer night.
And call a friend by dream.

The meadow dreams of shadows.
And a young bird dreams of air.
Where I am warmed by dreams of you.
Spring snow holds my stare.

Here with the irony of giving you flowers.
Like the knowing that activists sleep.
Are the results of all the known April showers.
And the please laugh I'm trying to be deep.






Poem 206 by Earl Dinkin

A darkness we won't test by leaving.
A "tome" where no distance is breached.
We live in a thing called a brain cell.
Knowing there are things to be teached.

The larger the lesson the less fine the teacher.
The Force can crush submarines or wine.
With hope abandoned I ping my trust.
You get one chance every dine.

All knowing brains cannot unexist.
They just want to teach someone a lesson.
Every blame helps hoard no zeros.
And wisdom is a lean in session.

The true teacher just passes the butter.
And all the learns of earned finesse.
Like a cat and an owl, on beanbag chairs.
Need I mention permanence.

A university of higher learning.
Showing you a slice of pizza.
And then without a worried word.
You understand the teacher.

An overhead projector hiding a teacher's face.
Second teacher at the back of the class.
All the characters from star wars in a life boat.
And a billion thoughts one ask.

Dare to teach the sun a lesson, and hide
in the freezing cold. Let the be world
teach you gently, or by its sting be told.
To whet oh pliable soul.

I want to grow up and be unimportant.
Unimportant like the sea.
And lift no danger higher than quotient.
Divide by lift my tea.

To be so still we never get that illness.
Will a core shaped wrong un-please.
There is no pill to cure the thrill-less.
Of the teach someone a lesson disease.

Have you ever searched the Internet.
To find your other word.
And pro wrestlers holding large writing pens.
In headlocks almost heard.

To aim not hurtful words at thee.
As archers' trounce go wry.
If I could be the air they move.
When angry arrows fly.

If I stand on earth and move less gritty.
I can almost fear no angers.
But I don't believe that, please ignore it.
I was just admiring sanders.

Sturdy "strands" the monument.
Within trust like abandoned glee.
Forged by anger while their irony's "not".
Damming how they all should be.

Thank god mountains all have peaks.
So climbers can end their dangers.
I fear the climb that never meeks.
So thanks for the end of angers.

Rest oh wind that carries sin.
And fear what the heart calls merrier.
The 4 am pen must have no friend.
Or the treason of a window's barrier.

That is the strongest shield.
When anger sounds like don't.
Nothing can hurt the warmth of self.
When a kitten is hidden in your coat.

Sinister or happy cravings.
Why thus are shoes your team.
Over caverns like a torment.
Where witness was a stream.

There's a fuse in life every ten feet.
They are sown for a harvest of dreams.
And oh how easy these lessons light.
By that candle of thought "made of means".






Poem 205 by Earl Dinkin

Deep in the recesses of time's eyes.
A curve curves or a line lines.
Maybe it changes, each asked for rhyme.
And mere darkness darks, or mere shine shines.

Should I love you with lines or curves.
My paintbrush needs to know.
Wherever decide becomes decision.
That's where "eye" will go.

Creativity and mental illness.
The magnifying glass to the ants.
Let's raise a toast as wide as wellness.
To the elbows then let's chance.

Roll the eyes, back into the head.
Slack the jaw, and stand unbalanced dead.
Chance the lottery, of the dancing lobotomy.
And lean towards a partner to-wed.

A woman who focuses inward.
And hears not how babies cry.
And shields herself from the hungry quoting.
Near the wishing they could say that's why.

I see women on step ladders cooking in kitchens.
At their ten foot high countertops.
And embedded into their ambitious soccer fields.
I see their giant shopping carts.

Where elephant stacking reaches the usual limit.
The good of any copy looms.
Near the fear of what it might be like.
If man understood cartoons.

But I put my faith in Corporations.
Individuals I fear.
That's the opposite of misguided rust.
Yet the sleep well of unsteer.

How far do vibrations go.
From wrongs so non or tall.
To stand beside a nebula.
Or was the mood that small.

First stop on our tour, I forget his name.
What I do know is the guy just sat there.
As we went passed our poor, and their histories-cornered.
Something about pretty women normaled.

A person ponders well that's odd.
And sets the dials to zeros.
A person yells that's the level.
And sets the dials to heros.

Sarcasm died today.
And reporters knew it most.
Don't worry said one boy.
You'll get your ghost.

I am not impressed by talking.
That worst abuse of words.
If you don't mind I'll stand nearby gawking.
To understand by thirds.

Least I not hate nor love too much.
If their meanings find me lost.
When as an evening showed me how.
A sunset told me soft.

Here's a good river, for your "put forth motions".
At great new-levels and very moist.
How much "faster" should strangers "conference"?
Before cut-in shy levels feel out-voiced.

A red rose and a genie lamp.
Dropped from a bridge into a river.
Its magic required one more love.
Than my heart could deliver.






Poem 204 by Earl Dinkin

The world nears all her cusps untold.
And steers by her rudder rot.
Rhyming nothing quite so old.
As the tiny private thought.

A Hand with Adhesive Coloured Buttons.
That fall off when its Person Thinks gently.
A very long Tent Pole to the North-Sky.
From a very-small empty.

Lawn grub coated with salt standing on snowy mountain.
Wondering what it all means.
A dreamed Webpage for something called wonder-io.
And Input output Teams.

A Valuable Antique Document Explaining.
How to Fire someone for Hard Workings.
A cat Looking into House from Burrow in Snow.
Beneath its own Droppings.

Meditating on Nearby Rock.
Nudity Tree being Picked out of a Lineup.
Rusting Bicycle in Swamp Marsh.
Watched by Owner after thirty year breakup.

Two Friends about to take Crane Lift ride.
At an under-funded countyfair.
Farm Tractor with one Wheel higher than ego.
Being driven backwards by sleepless care.

Large Purple Onion in Garden growing.
Into a Once in a Lifetime-Shape.
A Male Mosquito on a bedroom wall making plans.
To afford Columbo doctoring, waits.

Watching cat Smell Coins.
And Swallow them without Human Interference.
A Deadpan Man Surprisingly Standing Still.
After Flipping through air's disturbance.

Being given very Dusty Vintage Wool Sweater.
And Politely being Thankful.
A Bus making a Difficult Turn in Life.
Refusing the Offer of the spoiled Tranquil.

Applying some Medication below a Cat's Right Eye.
And having no Memory of its purpose or Who.
Entering an Art Gallery near Male and Female Browsing.
And Shielding Eyes and figuring out what to do.

Man on Date Confessing to Woman.
He Made his Arm Look Wounded to win her Passion.
Finding Plates of unfinished Food Under Sinks.
In Cupboards, on Shelves, and in Fashion.

An Improvised Worshipping Idol left by someone Lost.
In this Complex Transit System Like Me.
Man Standing at Workbench with Hands Embedded.
Who Can Never Work or Leave.

Sleepwalking woman in white tee-shirt.
Rushing to unlock her "car adorer".
Seven friends suddenly.
Sorry out of order.

Any world that can cast slow shadows.
Upon my flesh feels wise.
And all I need to do to choose one.
Is reveal my morning eyes.






Poem 103 by Earl Dinkin

Quick now you have zero time.
To invent psychic power and predict.
Too late, your mind's made up.
And lightning grew a world at tip.

Then when no one sees you.
Shine night through seven days.
Where there's pensive trace a lark.
And you've made poetrays.

When we're awake we think at our tips.
Where our lightning bolt chooses explore.
But when we're asleep we think at our root.
To direction our lightning bolt's core.

Like the lightning bolt the river bends.
Were we cursed the turn arrives.
A million mistakes, a million corrections.
The no sugar mistake disguise.

Weigh the heavens more than thrice.
And define your world by errors.
But bend the wisdom only twice.
Then comfort pain by layers.

No two lightning bolts share same notion.
No two snowflakes play that game.
So the only, quest that I can hope for.
Double quotes might leer through same.

I wonder why we dream.
They must mean something.
The lightning bolt asked.
When it's core bent hunting.

Then my five pixel camera.
Answered her question in kind.
Inside must be simple.
Because outside is all time.

There are five reasons near any center.
I suspect most teacups know.
Here's a toast to infinite finite.
That internal five pixels glow.

Would you like to see my art.
I own a five pixel camera.
Five symbols is all it takes.
And lonely folds the drama.

Like breaking a twig in four places.
Long art titles are no crime.
Thinking alone are the five spaces.
Joined by art broken fine.

To not dream, but see still-visions.
Which are as scope as shy.
Not near five points any world can offer.
Paint a sixth point, called hidden why.

To see who through a dimpled glass.
And know pi sums of lean.
My life fills up a painting masked.
Five symbols shy tons unseen.

When I look at constellations.
I can see what your dreams are.
You'll have one million thoughts a month.
But you only get five stars.

I almost thought about you, last night.
Could you tell me more about you please.
The subconscious sees life with only five pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

When I'm old, I'll see you with one pixel.
And I'll know you by your, one pixel Fame.
Right about now, I think I have five-pixels.
And way before that, I think no quatrains.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.






Poem 102 by Earl Dinkin

Like reaching down into a vowel.
To feel for a single we.
I can never predict, that when I miss you.
Eyes will perceive not see.

Like dust before, and dust after.
The dustpan shows no find.
My mind holds, your only rafter.
Somewhere high, as kind.

Near human perseverance.
As lovely as a tea.
I hope its mist approves you.
Your twist of lemon me.

I live within an un-opinion cabin half-embedded.
Into the upper corner of another cabin roof.
Where depending upon the current time delay.
I can fear the perfect aloof.

Today I won't be going to a market.
Because a vagrant, will trip on pearls.
Where no such thing as doing-nothing.
Will show me oh-how-strong-are-worlds.

A typical y shaped decision.
Has a magnifying-glass side that sees.
And an "atrophied-skill" long since unneeded.
On the side where the past grew please.

Everything with zero-emotion.
That is odd to me.
When I "say" to zero-motion.
No-one answers glee.

Could you please tell me what time it is?
I had the hands of my watch removed.
I wanted to live my life more "astrally".
But unfortunately my class has moved.

To spies then, with pocket dna analyzers.
Secretly searching the world for shyness.
And all their telescopes facing northward.
Let me toast to that best-be-side-ness.

To "show" gravity or centrifugal force.
Which is better the skate or scam.
To be the endless towel dispenser.
Or empty picture frame with hidden plan.

All these paintings face the walls.
May you live in happy sees.
Light is the hardest easy swing.
You flip them with believes.

Excuse me miss have you seen them.
I fear I've lost all pets.
Those situations that trick a man.
To act out played regrets.






Poem 49 by Earl Dinkin

Of all the sciences to study things.
Poetry works the hardest.
To look through mirrors and microscopes.
The moist eye sees the farthest.

Poetry loves what it means.
And what it means' loves keys instead.
Have you ever turned a viewpoint sideways.
And knew it pulled all said.

In the language, of digital cameras.
A pixel is a metaphor.
Which means within, poetic brains.
We wash our screens with never more.

Ideas are like coke cans.
They're everywhere for those who look.
And turn their collections in for rewards.
Each poem worth a cent.

Poems are just coordinates.
Locations on a map.
Revel not in the words themselves.
But where the mind is at.

Then when no one sees you.
Shine night through seven days.
Where there's pensive trace a lark.
And you've made poetrays.

I fear them like the stings of heaven.
Voices are thoughts' syringe.
What is unsaid provides the power.
So read my poems and cringe.

The psychics and the poets in the forest.
Have similar mating calls from mind.
But the complex will only explain to psychics.
What the poets will only explain to rhyme.

Water in a faucet.
Like poetry on the mind.
Hope is there when you turn a tap.
But the source has been refined.

Bricks and mortar like all that's said.
Build art and poetry for the worlds ahead.
And when the sticks and fears are dry.
No home is warmer than the eye.

In between chimes heard forever.
The smallest known place is the care.
Show your poetry to family never.
And problems to strangers not share.

They like the thought of you so much.
All my brain cells took a vote.
They want to think of you everyday.
So here's a poem they wrote.

Poetry as the frog that cannot jump.
Art as the frog that tried.
There is a distance no words can trump.
That anchor of the heard inside.

That lean you call your best coffee stance.
Your poems are a third of that romance.
Like standing near my open windows.
I don't advertise those kind of symbols.

Here is a photograph of us last year.
Well actually it's a poem.
But we're frozen just as hard I guess.
In that stuff we won't call known.

I know a poem that has just one universe.
It's called eventually you'll stand and go.
When table flowers wilt just as gently.
That's what it is to know.

Since they put me in charge of the not moving stillness.
With no poet's care I'll jest.
I was wondering since we are both free falling.
Can I hope your breeze might west.






Poem 101 by Earl Dinkin

I'm writing a song about you.
The first note should last ten years.
And then I expect in a morning rain.
Note two might sound like nears.

It's an experiment with rain and a sideways sky.
With every psychic saying they don't know why.
Please answer cloud glancer with a morning vertical nod.
I was wondering if you've also been feeling single flawed.

Were that I an iceberg.
With no hope of knowing thee.
And you were but a lovely ship.
Oh yes do sit here please.

Please tea look for me. I could become your see.
Where it takes thirty years to steer one decree.
I'm in an instant gloat, from a distant far.
Where inner heavens turn towards. Look where are.

Slow life person I've just noticed your sale.
I'm a slow life person too.
Could I please buy your one ticket for life.
To see fast people become sherry till chew.

Please forgive me when I reach for change.
I know I should move faster than stop or pause.
But the distance needs faith and the years need arrange.
When you're moving at speeds of operas.

The things we do in time's climb.
They are the crystals we form.
So yes I'll have a coffee please.
With just enough heaven's warm.

I'm only drawing colors from pictures.
Like the interesting much of yellow.
So can I please love you, like a stammer.
And live forever within more hello.

And including all our muscles.
Please visitor do come in.
Wild-blueberries and the hush inside.
Onward let the trusts begin.

Your chimney, is corrupted.
I know because I stare.
If harbors have erupted.
Please forgive my shadowed air.

Wild horses in a fast gallop.
So envied by all slow carts.
Please forgive my latest fear.
High speed remarks.

I am just a camera.
So please don't "merry" me.
Hold me very still like drama.
To see a world I see.

Like a sunset known by only camera.
Like a picture of its unknown tree.
Please imagine your favourite canyon.
And at most remote know me.

I'm a safe very-could!
Destination Hollywood.
Perceiving what it's meant to be!
Second-exception! Please November me!!

It's a different theme, at a party!
And very scary heights, oh my!
With embodiments, and a coffee stain.
Please-never tell my kitchen drain.

The explanation that dies by words.
Like the shimmer that dies by sun.
As gentle as the river tells you.
Please forgive my words of none.

Here by sentenced to just in case.
Because "maybe" needs its own deterrence.
No thank you to everything kind.
Oh and of course please stop all currents.

Dance and forget the placement of light.
Every pixel knows.
With more giving than per second can trite.
Oh please forgive my prose.

When our eyes see a rare moment and forfeit.
Just how are such windows shy.
Dear NASA please put a teddy bear in orbit.
And give it a good view of why.

Though diamond may be the hardest stone.
It's not quite the hardest thing known.
When broken heart lungs ask why.
So hardest is the breathless cry.

Famous man dropping famous woman.
On a beach by accident.
I'm sorry if I let you down.
The world is such an adamant.

I'm sorry I forgot to phone you.
I painted myself into a corner.
I call it lower half of woman crouching.
Holding photo of tiger before her.

Please break up with me on a rainy day.
And meet me under a tree.
So when it hurts and I can not breath.
You'll hear the rain not me.







Poem 100 by Earl Dinkin

Looking out a window.
And seeing a communications-tower.
Now fifty percent closer.
Than it-has-been for hours.

Wave, at the goodbye chair.
Election night's tonight.
Sound-down like a clown.
Mini boats are glancing right.

Arresting a government, man's-binary.
On or Off like hoovering blend.
As ghastly, as, interstellar space.
Vacuuming my place again.

I don't care what drugs they're on.
They all-need hungry soup.
Some people say nothing sad.
Mad, mad, mad.

The fire logs, now are-plenty.
No tip-toes over clothes.
Burning alot, but never hearing.
Five pennies in the loads.

I am interested, by myself.
In the Fran on channel wait.
But the electric-eye is so sweet.
I hold you so, too late.

And now the rainbow listens.
Migration being born-or-pride.
Leaving behind an arching mission.
Along, somewhere there, I tried.

A hand with adhesive coloured buttons.
Falling off when it thinks delusion.
A celebrity hosting his own birthday bash.
Sitting-alone avoiding-confusion.






Poem 98 by Earl Dinkin

You want to hear a story don't you.
Well I'll tell you one for tea.
Just what is a land for?
And has no liberty?

Changes & pages!
Where priests are on the run.
Scary, with overcoats.
And does not drink the rum.

Eerie! The white horn!!
As chosen as the fun.
Almost like a lithograph.
No pilots steer by sun.

The gift of mirror!!
Roscoe anyone!!
That is the day that Neptune plays.
As binding as the scum.

Barney is the hero!
I'll tell you what he won.
Standing near the Euro.
With coconuts and thumbs.

Believe it or not, I like to read them.
Men's puppet and women's gun.
And smiles, I have seen them.
Holding up the Tun.

Past right here.
Nine times out of none.
One day per year.
Forgetting-equi-librium.

Homeowners are the heroes!!
Witches signalling then-
That arrivals are-equations.
That skies can never pen.

I respect the costume though.
Atoms allowing bend.
Holding that bay of teardrops.
That halloween defends.

But October leaves, at midnight!!
Hold-the ocean-boats to wind!
It will pry the-riddle once-again.
From the hands of men.






Poem 99 by Earl Dinkin

Each death is a million roses.
Like Cucumbers, at every grave.
Lasting me, tearless until Sunday.
Where onions make me shave.

And, as I rotten, through my book.
The pinstripe, is my stove.
And bathing answers every nook.
That Neptune far out chose.

And traffic, such a tiny chore.
That Lilacs on the way.
Standing up, un-dancing more.
To lend you less a day.

Over-scopes as my mansion.
Buttons as a sky.
Men pretending, the uneven glen.
Could descend to such a why.

As stomach is, so unheard of.
Where salt-mixes with the rain.
And magic by all circumferences.
Is still insinuating, name.

The beard was only mirror.
Its hand was only play.
And disgust, was just a little shadow.
Wandering through, ok.

Gleaming teaches soak the sun.
Gliding teaches run.
Upon the hindered, shelves we delve.
Where mildew teaches none.

It's all about reversals.
And practice till the end.
The fires of life and the trapeze pebble.
And the people money spend.

Hydration being the only sinew.
That Lakes can share through roads.
And because all-charcoal filters eyes.
Count men among the toads.

Ha! It was a laugh at seven.
That meanness, mountains crane.
Constructing nodes of valuation.
That, altitudes disdain.

It happens in the oldest sections.
That glue might never give.
Pine being of the strongest river.
Kind of, like to live.






Poem 97 by Earl Dinkin

Going passed doing something before.
A tricycle, with only one back wheel.
Putting forth its weight a fraction.
Autumn, leave me alone to heal.

I saw the hammered pig set.
Cup of tea with tv moan.
We have no sugar here tonight.
Just dots that have no home.

That rust in the little clamps they claw.
They'll never wear a suit.
With chin-ups almost to the nose.
Making baskets almost cute.

Perhaps something like a doll.
Shouting, go-go, go-go, go-go!
The inner "inside" misalignment.
Shouting not for me no ho-ho.

How about, a frost-chilled garden.
Where massive pumpkins grew.
Sirens loud at let the dogs out.
Small bridge over maybe two.

You-don't have to feel sorry.
Just tell us where you stayed.
To get some education.
The room was "large" nudge-nudge that way.






Poem 96 by Earl Dinkin

Is just "one call", all your phone can handle now?
Oh, my FLOTSAM! What-was that?
Everything you would ever need.
Ocean Services, call her back!

It'll mean half your gear Mr and Ms Heyday.
Do you want to change your names right now?
There's only one way you can solve it though.
You'll have to pay for extra wow.

Miraculous County Stranger?
Things-just can't be all-that wrong?
Ace-Tissue and Re-Issue.
No answer from you this long!

I know you have responsibilities.
And lots, and lots, of boundaries.
With everything being so crazy.
And a lifetime of only flounderings.

Save-me to-say with sufficient tonnage.
"I've got your Nickel right here someplace".
Don't worry. I didn't care.
Oh no! What's wrong? Thankyou open-space.

Nah! nah! Any ashes would just fly by us now!
By "March Madness", or maybe dawn.
Everything is dry under a web.
So safely we'll move on.

But oh, I wanted to show you, while we're here.
"That it is all" just sand again!
Come on! Show and tell, this "Table".
To Hooters and Winners now. Atom number ten.

All-right. Ok. "Don't forget your name".
Beer spots? Ok, don't forget-those.
They're filling and taste good.
And like wine becomes the nose.

I really wonder how Jennifer is doing?
Or going-to be while-we are gone.
She'll be guarding her lisp with pigeons.
At least I'm hoping so with such song.

But-just how do-we get there?
I mean that storm when we were all surprised?
Where the "Hello I like your Bow-Tie"!
Becomes the only thing that almost dies.






Poem 95 by Earl Dinkin

And families yes of course are "George".
And social gatherings are sung tomorrow.
I know how powder-kegs are friends.
So "my toast" pops up for sorrow.

Thank you, thank you, very much.
Let me start by asking you!
That's a mistake from what day?
And was climbing part of it too?

I heard about that man!
I heard you knew him too.
His favorite ships were lost at sea.
Because he did-not chew.

But now I know you're not telling the truth!
So that's "his ankle" in water, right?
Raise your arms but don't get up.
Now I'll sleep on it tonight.

He had truth, right in his arms?
At least I'm hoping it was fair.
And that is his hollow suit with charms.
Like any man with London hair.

And on that beach. A crazy rider.
Now mix-some-brown in there.
Money men finding it most disturbing.
That we fly so fast up here.

But now I know you're just being funny.
You truly en-snared those noises?
On Thursday's, or so you say?
That demon runs are choices.

Let me line it up for you.
The same way we sit right here.
To devastate the church again.
Men are whispered air.

Give it up all those stars again.
My motion will "now begin".
Ludicrist are all my charms.
Only Sony makes all wind.

So let us look upon tomorrow.
And create a wish within.
The true diamond, is no-sorrow.
Nothing-else-rhymes with "win".






Poem 94 by Earl Dinkin

What is a career?
Is it physical therapy?
Should I use it on myself?
Like thanks allot "John Wealth".

I bet it's this one! "Betty".
Before we go to bed "let's health".
Cucumbers big as raisins.
Kill that "giant mouse"!

But I had to fight with John.
You come down here, this instant!
Blink! And steer the handle.
Find the klondike "Princeton"!

I just heard two horses right?
Sophie dancing "slight"?
Try and wet the bed tonight!
Then stand right there and spike.

But bathe in blue?
That's dangerous like a river.
Keep the extra, for yourself.
But be the best meine bueno.

Now "that" man is killer.
So use-different fly again!
Just like healing a human being.
A heart attack that sat within.

Yes. I'm writing stories to "myself".
Dawson maybe sees a "widow".
Eleventh rule: "mystify"?
Kind of like a dangerous pillow.

Let's make it into a game for us!
Hmmm? Dog smelling its "poo"?
She'll survive the "queen" that way!
Does Billy really shave like new?

And only just for rooftop nails.
That living henchmen might have "seen".
Learn to embrace them "just for hoops".
(god forbid such team)

Rapid onset! Clever "glows"!
You know that art. That artists shine.
Miss Harriet! Trust your shoe off!
And customers "drink your wine".

Hey who missed the fox? Was that you?
I had a bad grape too.
An Ontario wind that struck my vine.
My galleries await your climb.






poem 93
Tall Grass of the Noon Day Sun
by Earl Dinkin

A wift of rain, in the spring on noon. And
the air of the sheen comes soon. And the wind
and the sand, and the dust of the land. Of
our names are the chosen few. Here we arrive,
and the time is alive. And the warmth of the
sunlight new. Where came have we come, by all
love for all one. That the games have all
turned us into. That to now once again, that
the sky is our friend. And the land not a
blame, but a boon. I now finally decide, from
the warmth of my pride. That my love I now
trust onto you. And the spring of the air,
lite by warmth of warm air. So our hearts are
finally in tune. To now do we learn, of youth
and youth learned. Of storms that the calms
turned into. And for wain of a room, we now
love at by noon. And the leaves and the grass
to be swooned. Have now but to gleam, in the
shadows sun seen. By your whisper I turned
into love. Said softly, "Do you have a glove"?






Poem 92 by Earl Dinkin

The signal to toys ratio.
Is a measure of a website's aim.
A sand where design clients, never.
Suspect that a Tile made fame.

That's what poets call.
The fear of pressing the button.
Who'll grow up today.
And publish the rights to nothin?

Whether there be reason to.
There remains the conjugal divit.
The only one sure thing in life.
Is that editors will edit.

Where elephant stacking reaches the usual limit.
The good of any copy looms.
Near the fear of what it might be like.
If man understood cartoons.

You have to pay to open it.
It's called the My Arms Snooker You.
But the real problem you see is this.
They cost one arm, for two.

Where the lilies turn to morrows.
There the week fields lay.
And elevens only stand in morals.
Where the meek deals day.

Like dripping cola into a pile of ashtrays.
It's called the oldest complexities effect.
Just mix in tall trees from zeroed suns.
And more what does the young gain from that.

I have a favorite color.
It's called let the women decide.
It looks very good in any light.
And if done wrong uncrys.

This is my favorite night club.
It's called The Waste of Space.
It's built on top of stilts you know.
Do you think it has too much grace.

Do you know about those handcuffs.
Called misinterpretation binds.
They are this year's invisible fashion.
Are you misunderstanding mine.

Yes it's a very big city!
And also just a big amour.
So it's called the stereo section at Sears.
And mostly for purchasing cars I fear.






poem 91
Asleep Asleep Upon My Bed
by Earl Dinkin

Asleep asleep upon my bed, I was really not
aware. As I did rest my weary head, my hands
and feet compared. My hands said to my icy
feet, "Your cold, oh sure but where"? "There
under a blanket". "At least you have warm
air". My feet were pretty icy, and the two of
them were bare. But cold hands couldn't be as
cold, the icy feet declared. And the hands
just laughed for they were too, just never
thought feet cared. For hands are so darn
icy, they sometimes need to share. And the
hands were pretty icy, and the feet were cold
as air. But the feet were sure they were the
coldest, and the hands just laughed and
stared. The feet were pretty grumpy, and were
sure the claim was theirs. So I awoke, and
rubbed my eyes, and descended the creaky
stairs. And I turned up the thermostat, and
made them all fight fair.






Poem 90
13 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Divorce is a quiet moment.
As immeasurable as half a love.
That I always water with half a tear.
At first shut-up, with needs more was.

Female students at an all girls school.
Stepping over unconscious boys in the hallways.
I'll speak for all unwanted men and say.
We shall love you always.

Over there next to the reasons.
Are only you and I.
The way the vine loves seasons.
Improvements are my why.

Do you suppose there's any truth to the rumor.
There's an endless long table between minds.
Or that words of a quatrain can be in love forever.
Or we could know each other like rhymes.

I'll never wear legs and arms together.
When I wake I choose my missions.
If I wear my arms I'll stay home and love.
Or wear legs outside conditioned.

And all the clocks that time forgot.
And the hourglasses too.
And start them all at once.
To time my love for you.

To live eight decades with no fun.
And not rebound the leerable option.
Like a weird judge behind a small room divider.
I unfold love across my bench too often.

If you hear me speaking just ten words.
It's because I'm thinking of ten thousand heards.
Like for instance because they love your eyes.
Wherever you blink them, a river dries.

An illusion that I would love for.
Of a song I would never sing.
Needs a vacancy for my fracture.
Do you have such a nothing thing?

Were that I an iceberg.
With no hope of knowing thee.
And you were but a lovely ship.
Oh yes do sit here please.

The greatest gift to give yourself.
Is nondysfunctionality.
What you say is your finest wealth.
I'm in love with your polarity.

That's the thing you never do.
Become all love tying a shoe.
For how much could we win I jest.
If grown men, could pass that test.

Said the fiddle to the violin.
I love it when they break my strings.
Said the violin to the fiddle.
I cry when their silence sings.

I love you like Canada.
With a weathered resolve.
And apologize for lightning.
But not its main halls.

Have you ever cleaned a keyboard.
And accidentally wrote a letter of love?
Or ever cleaned your mind so well.
You only spoke in of?

Are there any good books that love me?
Like how the Dewey Decimal system cries.
Like that way I wrote ten thousand quatrains.
And stored them in your eyes?






Poem 89
The Dewdrop by Earl Dinkin

Of early so the morning, the sparrow's song
and all. The grass unfolded sweetly, thier
dreams lost gone for all. And I did kneel
meekly, to watch a dewdrop fall. Though
glimmer vast with numbers shone, Mine eyes
sees not them all. I could but cast a vision
one, and watch it till it falls. What coxes
its existence? Does the bird songs not
betray? Do echoes of the moonlight cast, the
dewdrop's solemn ways. The time it shows no
pillows. For the dewdrops fear each breeze.
As fragile as its shimmer learns, each minute
each it needs. And were not dewdrops lingered
long, have I but yet not seen. The wish of
life it trembles, holds, so tight a kingdom's
trees. And if the minutes, turn to hours. And
the sunlight too is pleased. The dewdrop may
just find a fashion shown. So humble
friendship heeds. And though it took no hour.
An epic show of deeds. The dewdrop loaned a
shower formed. And clouds mourned oh its
seed. Not oh, but one each morning. All
dewdrops are so teased. Could I behold such
tragic triumph. All dewdrops fill such seas.
And I went home and honored thus. The wisdom
of all fees.






I'll Wear Mask of Flowers
by Earl Dinkin

I'll wear mask of flowers, and you'll wear
mask mache. When we attend the party. I'll
know what headlines in its paper, told you on
that day. My mask of solemn flowers, shall
wilt dewdrops glass you shade. Five hundred
paintings shall adorn the walls, that no one
knows I made. And gentle music in the air,
all hear but only I know that you played.
Dance here man and woman. The children we
became. As nine hundred storms around us,
would walk our calms afraid. We would not
touch those puddles. So clean the light they
trade. If I could design this planet, one
hundred years away. I would make a place of
moments, where two billion voices say. A man
can say I love you and a woman can choose to
stay. Now as just I need you. Your cheek to
light our maze. Here I wish to cause your
dance, at this our first masquerade. Where
all a billion thoughts. Thier masks but only
haze. I hold your hand for softness. So you
know your skin is praised. Dancing to your
music, my paintings light your way. We never
stop the dreaming. Our space where they not
gaze. "Oh excuse me, do you have the time on
you miss"? "I forgot my watch today".






Poem 87 by Earl Dinkin

It wasn't quite so hard as shut-up.
But the grass was ridden-hay.
Today I got a sweet proposal:
Sternum buried man's expressions yay!

My name is desperation.
Come and visit us if you fall.
Where you can visit Doctor Tea.
Pure Coventry on his wall.

They had a real chance of sitting here.
Who had no stupid brains.
I certainly, wouldn't want one.
They immediately number rains.

I'll sit right here and watch!
Prim and, proper as cloned feet can be.
Selling them as mere-action.
Fifty words as were-from me.

Yay! It's a poem!
It just had-to feel like napping.
It knocked down all the music clefs.
So this floor might need some waxing.

That little structure, (my ordered mind).
That way to heaven's gold.
Where lady Chance! Mops Allot.
And her river looks so hold.

Winds dangerously forecast as high.
Cold makes true-night-schools end.
Here I would trade my coffee for.
A map to here home-stems.






Poem 86
Spot of Ink Do Thrust to Me
by Earl Dinkin

Spot of ink do thrust to me. A knowledge but
not of your size. Did the person who designed
the letter H, love humanity as much as thine?
Did they see this glow from every place, when
shaping it as gift to time? A pain of beauty
all would touch, a silence could only hide.
To make a letter H so quiet, so all could
know that shine. I too was born of this
solemn fate, to glisten in youthful eyes.
Behold what equals tenderness, to learn from
wish filled lines. I'll take thee not for
granted, ways man helps man by thee. This
fight was only dented, man against eternity.
Learn of nights from piers long dead. The
root that finds directions. That youth the
tips have said. As fleeting as a first
bicycle. The root forever bends. Oh spot of
ink I give you witness, if I can call you
friend. But now I must forget you or this
book will never end.





Poem 85 by Earl Dinkin

I'm only drawing colors from pictures.
Like the interesting much of yellow.
So can I please love you, like a stammer.
And live forever within more hello.

I'll believe in unfurling nonsense.
If uncocooning can save a world.
Or if the theory of hellotivity.
Can incline a woman curled.

I don't know if I can do this.
I don't know if this can be.
How can I hold you with a wish.
And wish that you be free.

Can I call you yard to yet.
And believe you too can fly.
The sadness of a humming bird's bet.
Is that you both know why.

If I buy a gift worth sixteen heavens.
What fifteen facts are you?
And if dreams take away the almost moveable acts.
Can I give you the almost movable few?

Free of lime and free of rust.
Free of alkaline and no steer uncrushed.
May I please "well" man's filtered sounds.
And may I please speak clear water nouns.

May I please get to know you.
The same way a curse is long.
The same way a man sings no lifetime.
For a second of song.

Inspiration is the loneliest torment.
But oh, what a place to be.
No one can join such a tiniest moment.
But lo may I hold hands with thee.

Since they put me in charge of the not moving stillness.
With no poet's care I'll jest.
I was wondering since we are both free falling.
Can I hope your breeze might west.

Can I sit in your chair?
So tart this Jane of sanity.
Does that make sense to you?
To be as soft as Emily.

It's not by stature or envelope.
That knowledge is held by teams.
Dear song time ago and your single spark.
Can I watch you, and fill my dreams.






Poem 84 by Earl Dinkin

Nine were Wednesday.
And leaped like gold to sand.
Antique-ing into secrecy.
Like barking is to band.

Breathe again and live again.
The shortcut to the fin.
Dark-towards hunter-nights.
The Savannah pushed within.

Shoe the cobra. Cue the din.
That, lobsters never meet.
Bubbles like the sands of time.
Dreaming angels to a street.

Torment bay, my little friend.
So small as look outside.
Where, lightning on one finger tip.
Has more within than shy.

Framework, looks good on you.
Though, do-not forget the rains.
For deserts only never knock.
Until a light switch gains.

Crumple up, all years be friends.
Across one-page of climb.
FedEx in-betweens the mountains.
And mere decimals are only fine.






Poem 83
15 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

New quatrain first lines show.
There are many ways to go.
While second, third line and last.
Remind us there is a glorious path.

There's not one place to go.
Where there's not a corner brook.
For how could time litmus hardship.
If not by the rhyme mistook.

The cars go by from left to right.
But on our retina the other way.
And in our eyes are days untold.
Where we both undrink cafe.

A world that moves so fast outside.
Tires a seek inside so slow.
The anyway my idea escapes.
My inner eye must go.

A window is the prettiest picture.
Of winter that I know.
There I'll hear the inner lecture.
Where all good snowflakes go.

We could go to the museum.
And see fine arts today!
I went alone to endless roam.
But found no preach to say.

Like fifteen nuns riding a single motorcycle.
On a road trip to find the best printing-shop.
I hear physical world maintainers find the go.
And spiritual world maintainers find the stop.

A hillbilly holding his false two front teeth.
Getting ready to go to the mall.
If only roses turn his head.
Then why would he need them all.

Could you please tell me what is a vote.
Is it cold by nails or warm by coat.
Where exactly can one go try.
The loneliest digit at the end of pi.

A sheep straddling fence.
Running along near wall.
I'm sorry city I cannot dance.
I only go far as mall.

A man on the go with dogs.
Hanging from his arms by paws.
Sore wounds on both his karate hands.
And cue the endless cause.

Now he sits home and clings to wrong gravity things.
And occasionally out he will go.
To see right gravity people in right gravity places.
And to touch right gravity things.

A research grant for curly phone cords.
That's what this world needs.
Find out where oh tangles come from.
To go where art that leads.

Only jog in new shopping mall parking-lots.
And only behind cars that have good brakes.
Only look behind you wherever you go.
And avoid the magic being talked to makes.

Appreciation oh what are you.
If only one can care.
Go boldly oh the heart that plunders.
What others have held dear.






Poem 82 15 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Like scams are schemed by scum.
Like plans are dreamed by sum.
Like hands are mean by one.
My love is seen by none.

No one can design an ugly boat.
For what men want is what men need.
But today we're trying to think with fear!
So students hold, your pencils dear.

Watching removal of a mask from a puppet.
Biting erasers from the pencils of nations.
Mosquito on the side of a nose bridge at night.
Eye to eye with the course of impatience.

If you see my eyes looking out at you.
From the mask shaped hubcap of a car.
Give them a small amount of attention.
But not enough to scar.

Of all my highly scary things.
Culture scares the most to me.
Never been known to heed red lights.
Is the subtlety that stampeeds.

Here's to the mountains who subtlety grow.
From all stimulations craved and known.
A toast to just need a painting.
And a toast to just need a poem.

The ones who want less stimulation.
They are so hard to find.
They stow our years with no elation.
Then carry it with time.

Within the work load of a crazy man.
I'll soon have half a levy.
Where in a port I'll leer for sand.
And carry what lust calls heavy.

How can a fan carry such rope.
The sight of it even tons fear.
Extremity and judicial.
Two ends that meet in tear.

Wearing my happy visor reveals.
Every tinniest good I meet.
That wisdom of when you're alone.
Would blind me when we greet.

The heldest tight of perfect vision.
Is the sight of people shy.
So many words to describe unwisdom.
The often hurt will buy.

Could I behold such tragic triumph.
All dewdrops fill such seas.
And I went home and honored thus.
The wisdom of all fees.

I know about swamp law.
But I'd rather live without it.
And be, a speck of dust so innocent.
Then dishonestly claim to doubt it.

There's a result smaller than clout.
As small as even just one word.
Why doesn't doubt give it a shout.
Finesse is the reason I've heard.

Above or below the trepidation.
From where should we look at man.
To choose above for innocence.
That's results I understand.






Poem 81
15 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

A university of higher learning.
Showing you a slice of pizza.
And then without a worried word.
You understand the teacher.

If a teacher is mad at a student.
And a large red bird flies in through totality.
If it lands on that student's finger.
Is that the nature of reality?

The larger the lesson the less fine the teacher.
The Force can crush submarines or wine.
With hope abandon I ping my trust.
You get one chance every dine.

The true teacher just passes the butter.
And all the learns of earned finesse.
Like a cat and an owl in beanbag chairs.
Need I mention permanence.

An overhead projector hiding a teacher's face.
Second teacher at the back of the class.
All the characters from star wars in a life boat.
And a billion thoughts one ask.

A Teacher of Meek Ego, fighting to keep Hold of his Teaching Aid Bucket.
That his Principle always has Fun with in Jest.
A Virtual Village in a Virtual Valley.
Irresistible to Exploring Avatars who Fly over it's Crest.

Art and poetry teach like mountains.
What the hiking boot needs to know.
Nothing to shoelaces could be more louder.
Than the silence of something so old.

A toast then to the history of mystery.
Where to listen instead would be prudent.
When toasting champagnes or campaigns.
A joust is always won by the student.

How about we just trust what the experts learn.
And look deep into the unknown frost.
Like complex and simple in the explainable pimple.
Undivided till the truth had cost.

Since we have reviews and points of view.
And focal points of no return.
I wonder how five leaf clovers grow.
Wherever lies the learn.

To learn new things for my own use.
And not learning for use by others.
With the straw of knowledge I choose to drink.
Because the straw to breath just smothers.

I'm kind of saving that for less.
My oldest toast for some the fearless.
That a slight might slow the laughter.
Enough to learn by tearless.

Where man looks there he goes.
Learned mosquitoes say.
And where he finds incline in dreams.
You'll find him there next day.

I wish there was a place where all creatures.
Get together and learn from one another free.
Especially all the vultures there.
That place must be in me.

Today in school we learned about lift.
So first we learned about lifting by pulley.
Did you know when balanced broomsticks drift.
One man's majority becomes another man's bully.






Poem 80
14 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

How about a solemn toast for what we've said.
The last thing people believe we hope.
I saw it once on the tip of the young.
A forgiven so bold in scope.

Every person getting one quatrain.
A one two punch that lies.
Correcting itself, when it knows them.
With an almost reach that shies.

To not dream, but see still visions.
Which are as scope as shy.
Not near, five points any world can offer.
Paint a sixth point called hidden why.

Stack toilet-paper rolls according to hidden messages.
And they'll become an elaborate mess.
That's cool knowing too much. about a world.
But each stung becomes the dawns of chess.

I fear the transition from night to dawn.
Because that's how quickly my voice is wrong.
And late at night when I only own a door.
I wish I knew what a manor is for.

If only eyes could see through walls.
And woman could see through manners.
Two women large and small.
Staring at a man's new scanner.

Two women large and small.
Watching man locked inside a santa suit.
To only want to do what's right.
Women with keys to laughter mute.

I put six fresh keys in the battery compartment.
But there still seems to be no light.
And they just rehired more flower waterers.
Could you re-explain true right.

No light, no sound, no merits.
Destination between the words.
Where you'll find our spirit.
That place that's made of thirds.

In my favorite dream of endless rooms.
No thirds are heard for miles.
Where the subconscious is in control.
We use no words or styles.

Style-goes where newness leaks.
The same for cost was we.
Where to shine the stance next week.
Do not look or see.

Where the lilies turn to morrows.
There the week fields lay.
And elevens only stand in morals.
Where the meek deals day.

My aunt introducing me to a friend of her daughter's.
Who strives to act and dress like me.
Nothing on a train track, built for delivering future flowers.
Shaped how a rose could be.

Near the edges pierced unnamed.
With the strangest tacks of meeks.
Favorite art we hang unframed.
On a plane that does not preach.






Poem 79
14 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

A Teacher of Meek Ego, fighting to keep Hold of his Teaching Aid Bucket.
That his Principle always has Fun with in Jest.
A Virtual Village in a Virtual Valley.
Irresistible to Exploring Avatars who Fly over it's Crest.

A Female Fifty Foot Tall, Swim Sport Instructor Training New Students.
By Holding their Heads Upside Down in Water.
Mother Sitting Talking Cheerfully, to Someone Lying Face Down in Garden.
Her Head under Bench Park Daughter.

A Large Turtle on a Bus Stop covering a Diamond Encrusted Man Hole Cover.
That No One but the Turtle, knows is There.
A Bus Zooming Past a Bus Stop.
Blowing Fast Food Litter, up into the Air.

Looking out my Window and seeing a Toy Radio Controlled Balloon.
Crash landed on my Snow Covered Lawn.
Woman at Bar Striking Bartender, with Large Pan of Meatballs.
Every Time He says Something Wrong.

A Thirty Year old Shy Owner of a Large Corporation.
Embarrassingly admitting that yes he owns the Largest Office.
A Newspaper Relationship Column advising.
Whenever She is Still the Softest.

Headlights of a Large Truck Turning into our Driveway.
Approaching a Wolf Waiting in our Open Garage Someday.
A Passive Model on a Catwalk Stage walking Past a Toilet.
Placed at the Start of the Glamour Runway.

A Well Practiced Rabbit Rushing Exactly and Directly Home.
With a Well Practiced Window Leap.
Finding a Pair of Reading Glasses.
Inside a Well Compacted Composting Heap.

Woman searching for Good Place, to Hide her Tough Man Spike Belt.
Looking towards my Pillow.
Woman Gut Punching a Garbage Collection Man.
Who is just Making his Regular Rounds so Jello.

Explaining that its Paw over this Barrier.
Demonstrates its Political Views are too Radical for Me.
My Cat saying, we, could Never be Friends.
Must Stop One Doughnut Per Day, Goalie!

Unfindable in an Ominously Messy Sink Cubboard.
An Automatic Scent Freshening Machine bought Last Month.
Where, as they Take a Break From Scavenging.
Man and Woman Make Love, in a Garbage Dump.

A One Thousand Protester Sit-In for no Reason Really.
Except to Share Lunches and Relax.
A Man DisgustedÊby Acquaintances Removing and Returning.
His Pets. Saying, Why would Anyone, do That.

A Man Looking into Stove Oven Tossing Food behind him.
Saying and Now it's Time for the Real Heat.
A Portrait I Painted of Myself with Some of my Siblings.
Where for some reason I'm a Ball of Meat.

Man and Woman Driving Convertible on Fast Highway.
With Woman Pulling Down Radio Antenna to Take Something off for Play.
A Proud Insert Falling out of your Newspaper that reads.
Inspiring Ways of Solving problems Everyday.

And Lastly for the really Big Bonus Question.
Name the Cells that Rhyme.
A Man watching a Man at Work, who has Converted his Big Toes.
Into Guns so he can Tunnelling Demolition a Mine.






poem 78 by Earl Dinkin

Oh what is this thing so cruel.
If when pushed stops like a mule.
And flutters like a cobweb's code.
The ironies of life I rode.

Sled Robert's slopey secrets.
Lamp air in-spectives.
Pure fascination failure.
What is this domain floor.

To take from life at such a rate.
And just as fast it gives.
A snail appears so slow.
But oh how fast it is.

The goal of all fast food.
Is really quite wonderful.
To train every person.
And have one customer.

You'll have one million thoughts a month.
But you only get five stars.
When I look at constellations.
I can see what your dreams are.

You only need to have one eye.
Which I counted and worth living grew.
And just when heaven filled my heart.
I realized you have two.

Please lie and be a one kink woman.
Or two kinks if crazy steams.
Or three thinks upon a vast forgiven.
Says my one heaven blink that leans.

Attractiveness, is a fickle lean.
Reading all the directions it Fonts.
Which explains how every "had him" seems.
To be as distant as the distance wants.

To see "who" through a dimpled glass.
And know pi sums of lean.
My life fills up a painting masked.
Five symbols shy tons unseen.

Show me an ant or ten forest streams.
And I'll show you a mountain or a single seed.
Details and distance are forever entwined.
One needs the other for understanding of mind.

Listen to your dreams.
They call you accurate names.
The billions of voices, searching for equals.
Only call you games.

Never once understanding.
We're all saying the same thing.
Clever all who speak outstanding.
By expressions so many bring.

A man and woman with zero expressions.
And no place to go.
Relationships glued, by regression.
Stimulation needed throws.

Where symbols harm no souls like wonder.
Fused and lit, but thrown no thunder.
Where in hand only knowledge measures.
Like casualties their wrong forevers.

Nor angry bee with bad teeth, throwing cigarette.
That lands on lost envelope under curtain.
Nor the way the accidental grin is made.
From lost days of being certain.

To that solution of a million loose rocks in a row.
And the results of all fractions per year.
In lieu of huge actions, I'll toast the microns of throw.
And to the get there from here, here here.






Poem 77 by Earl Dinkin

And photography shall be a great equalizer.
Where, heavens and blames shall bore.
Enchanting instead the worst horoscopes.
To come live in a world so lore.

It's like two totem poles leaning into.
The entrance of a television studio door.
Somehow the raven lets us lore.
Hinting somehow the slant knows more.

When we're awake we think at our tips.
Where our lightning bolt chooses explore.
But when we're asleep we think at our root.
To direction our lightning bolt's core.

I know this is a personal question.
But how do you connect the dots?
In the mist of thinking screaming equals.
Should beauty join the dewdrop thoughts?

Winners pretend, they like winning.
Losers pretend, they hate losing.
Dust who am I, to write of love.
Except to referee the choosing.

Losing being that finest right.
A gracefulness only wisdoms toe.
Where problemless kites light up thin nights.
I fear "blight men" might know.

Though big pictures fight alone like wind chimes.
Storm never has seen one lose.
Their strife so simple like boarding inclines.
Warm tethers but it must choose.

When playing poker against a display rack.
Of information pamphlets lose.
Five pixels beats a thousand tacks.
And appropriate response beats news.

To choose is this a heaven.
To lose is this a hate.
Wish like grow is everywhere.
Pressure finds escape.

I think up to look at stars.
And think down to look at seeds.
Would you mind if I think of you?
Horizons are the weakest needs.

In that ear they passed two mighty laws.
Worlds should tilt just enough to please.
And twenty percent rebellion.
Became officially the most attractive tease.

The way motorcycles have maximum slant.
And kites and Earths must perfect fly.
I humbly hope aspect ratios can't.
Ever find the slant of pi.

And personality makes it's own slopes.
The angles it fights then slides.
But the lone key reaches gentle grades.
Then only one lock it tries.

The greatest things there are to see.
Are made visible by observations.
The way the heavens own no light.
Or return key constellations.

Heart with proper direction finder.
To find a way up every minute.
Finding that positive so small.
To steer by such goodness in it.

On the front yard lawns.
I saw a horrible fight today.
Infinity surrounded eons.
Good thing I looked away.

I know there's alot of atoms.
But one somewhere contains your song.
And when you call yourself bad things.
I go there knowing that you're wrong.

For in it's way a voice is not.
Just as thought is yet so lonely.
A word that rises to be heard.
Was wise as once known only.






Poem 76
Tic Talk by Earl Dinkin

I think you'll need a calendar that holds the
heavens hues. And all the clocks that time
forgot and the hourglasses too. And start
them all at once, to time my love for you.
The rushing sounds of sands, nor the songs of
clocks nor moons. Nor the winds of stillness,
nor joys could silence you. Mine ears would
hear thine laugh so gently, times army could
hide nor gloom. The brushing of a finger. Who
fears that sonic boom. Just a pupil in mine
eyes, now learns the song of you. Clocks nor
calendars nor raindrops. Autumn spring time
blooms. These the things that know me. Your
happiness I your tune. Count them, count
them, for me. For chimes or sunfilled rooms.
Are numbers that escape me. I can only count
to you'ne. I'm sorry. Were you saying
something? Your watch was shinning in mine
eyes. I guess it's almost noon.






Poem 75
14 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Can a simple thing be who.
As simple as the at.
As tiny as an inconclusion.
Yet two worlds fit through that.

Hers was a quietness more than rain.
That a party of noises could not name.
You know that darkness where simple should.
I seen her once where the willow stood.

Again and again it never ends.
Unloud like a dancing rain.
Somewhere in the faster light.
Not now, something simple claims.

A universe with so much to learn.
But oh I'm crushed by gloom.
For all I know are simple things.
And you just left the room.

Tall woman standing on helmet of a construction worker.
As they watch the sunset seem.
The world was once a simple place.
Where man knew where was gleam.

And as a derivative of homely life.
Though such little pains.
Through the roof of simple nice.
Oh such little rains.

Do you know why simple lied.
About why complex was rude.
It is the only betrayal of fine.
To fail to hide the crude.

It's not just such a simple problem.
It's complex like the spelling bee.
But if you garden the hours right.
It ends in justice like a pageantry.

The art of an artist is their real bio.
If it's simple then so was their strife.
They would pick discovers sure as pick their colors.
And mix choices sure as they would mix life.

Succumb to all such rhythm.
Thus the universe has ran.
The simple act decision fights.
Each person codes each sham.

At the center of everyone's hurricane.
Is a story so slow we would weep.
But no one has ever been there.
For fear of the storms we greet.

You cannot see it.
But there's a flickering flame.
There's no monopoly on centers.
In the shadows game.

What is a season the reason enters.
Allowed can a road have sign.
No spectrum ends that has all centers.
Uncompared one is sublime.

Am I allowed to call you the speckler?
Because fragile loves the simple song.
Where at the center of every heckler.
Somehow the art world grows our wrong.






Poem 74
15 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

In my second life I can pace for hours.
On no hillside called lichen's rift.
Where men who like her can think for powers.
And improve the song of if.

If I ever run in heaven.
I will walk and ask one know.
How come slow is actually fast.
And fast is actually slow.

If I owned a magic company.
I would call it eye duct works.
And there in lab ten twenty three.
Atoms would hold thoughts to perks.

If I owned a famous newspaper.
I would name it, people doing what they want.
And at the bottom of every page I'd print.
A white rectangle for your tears to haunt.

If a paper airplane dividing a feed of punch cards.
Made one side with no holes or seams.
I would ask you softly to have dinner with me.
If I could just compute what that means.

If I started jogging and then maybe swimming.
And perhaps maybe bicycling too.
And then stepped over the international date line.
Could I have a date with you.

If I were near smart enough.
To make everything just right.
Or would I hold my part of life.
At magic angle like kite.

If I could have a magic wish.
I'd see in five dimensions.
The fifth would show true distances.
From chance hope and ascensions.

If I believed in you hard enough.
I was sure that you'd appear.
Just like, how a snow flake.
Can wish to join a tear.

If I could choose a distance.
For me to you by floor.
I'd measure out for instants.
Then fill the space with sure.

If I wake from ocean sand shapes.
I must have met someone.
People are the boldest landscapes.
And where I fear to run.

Drew rapture, drew on his face.
If tennis was a ball.
Nothing changes everything.
Behold her corporate wall.

In the fog over dimlyness.
The tennis ball of calm seems near.
But hark oh if to volley it.
Which racket love or fear.

If we spoke by colors only.
Oh what things we'd say.
But our world is hurt by thrown glee.
So my favorite color is gray.

Inside a driverless van with a small tree.
Growing on its roof like an antenna.
I was wondering from behind gray walls.
If anyone can hear my heaven.






Poem 73 by Earl Dinkin

Stimulation is sold in what's.
Some want none and some want lots.
The world is where that price is fair.
And what's between us finds a level there.

Apartment buildings? Get over here.
Eat anyway you want.
Cup your river like a spoon.
And in each bedroom taunt.

Councillors for all the winners!
Professionals through the snow!
Nice degrees at eleven.
That is news, advantage knows.

List the waves as speculation.
All designs, by make believe.
Insinuating Neptune's morning.
That such a mate can leave.

For I am one, and little grown.
As statue as my preening.
At lest, great heavens, having havens.
Can "magic" in-betweening.

Go dielectric! Or go-to a show.
But push away the-drab.
Sundance bears a special meaning.
At no-dancing science-lab.

Sinister or happy cravings.
Why thus are shoes your team.
Over caverns like a torment.
Where witness was a stream.

Nine were Wednesday.
And leaped like gold to sand.
Antique-ing into secrecy.
Like barking is to band.

Breathe again and live again.
The shortcut to the fin.
Dark-towards hunter-nights.
The Savannah pushed within.

Shoe the cobra. Cue the din.
That lobsters-never-meet.
Bubbles like the sands of time.
Dreaming angels to a street.

Crumple up, all years be friends.
"across" one-page of climb.
FedEx in-betweens the mountains.
And mere decimals are-only fine.

I am love, and I am gold.
But which one pleases best.
Hollywood floors, under carpets.
That become the hidden test.

Dopamine! Yes how clever.
Radical! Until send.
How to make a million nevers.
Outside a self-made pen.

Clients and a shovel!
Nurse! Fetch my costume old!
Weary being the only illness.
No "mask" can keep untold.

Cocooning, never drew such rapture!
Like the bumblebee might-sing.
Dog! "Oh-how" needs a pasture.
How gold-should be that ring.

Fine or flat, toss a coin.
For how could stone be both.
Like reeds, elude the depths of mind.
There! It-feeds an oath.

Over sanctions, over smiles.
Famous raisins for two hundred please.
Goodbye paper, goodbye overture.
What parchment ever remembers trees.

With neutral under dig-it in!
And rise against the clock.
Hampton road must now-await.
The slowest search for sock.

All the world a host of hours.
Needs every second thought we'll have.
To steer the spoils away from sours.
Could you-aim your shy-sweet sad.






Poem 72
15 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Are there any good books that love me?
Like how the Dewey Decimal system cries?
Like that way I wrote ten thousand quatrains.
And stored them in your eyes?

Her eyes would hold no believe things.
And nothings would storm her hands.
And the sun would join our sleepings.
Among the unrests of man.

Man with box on his head and arms held out.
Wandering woods near woman seated on ground.
He invites her to join him, in his world.
And that's how men are crowned.

Gray silhouettes of man and woman "free falling".
In fetal positions seven feet apart.
Excuse me miss are you falling alone.
May I please share this art.

Two art patrons with triangle heads.
Looking at the center of my pie shaped painting.
If they bunch at the atomic scale somehow.
"I'll know" after hunch by tainting.

There's a road that leads away from my home.
"I'll know" not where it goes.
It's newly paved and lined with flowers.
But I'm sure it's timeless old.

To stand and wait so long it's timeless.
Tightly holding reciprocations.
Near the blame as close as kindness.
There are two types of stations.

Two types of "stimulation".
And doors not for the faint.
To know by ink and pixels.
To stare at only paint.

I stare at three 23 inch displays.
And bravely steer the nil.
At an empty desk for thinking only.
Near some hours on a window thrill.

Thinking at ten thoughts per minute.
Is the only race track I play.
Counter clockwise is the surest bet.
But clockwise wins by days.

The nameless of all clever wins.
Is to find that every way goes in.
Of all the ways to tangle night.
And bend the evenings by what is right.

As valuable as our right to speak.
Is the power to hold our tongue.
Intention is my favorite word.
Rare as defeat meets lung.

Where interruptions, so rare, can become repairs.
And yell can become tell deep.
A door with a sign indicating a future meeting place.
Where neutral people can speak.

People holding paintings stolen from people beside them.
Showing what they would like to be.
On that grid where all good art lives.
You can phone the less of me.

I'll seldom bleep of inner wings.
And less seldom translate space.
I will seldom peek at womens' wise.
And less seldom speak of face.






Poem 71
14 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Would you like to go for coffee.
I know where they serve it weak.
And cooperations barely know.
Where defeats need meat.

Join me for coffee in the best frontier.
Where no place has greater depths.
Testing our souls to points of tear.
Siting on our front steps.

Where your caution still looks new.
And twenty billion people grew.
I'll think of coffee and pour a true.
Was I among the ones you knew.

She lived behind an engine grill.
And I lived behind a hubcap.
I asked her out for coffee once.
But the world was just too unmapped.

Box of frozen fish hidden below floor.
Bottle of cooking oil retrieved from the trash.
Cup of coffee knocked over on counter.
And a compass so I look out right glass.

The best feeling in the world.
Is to know that you're caught up.
To just place your coffee down.
And ask yourself now what.

She visits the coffee shop frequently.
Frequency is how to tell.
Heros hide in higher specdums.
You have to fine tune well.

It's a different theme, at a party!
And very scary heights, oh my!
With embodiments, and a coffee stain.
Please-never tell my kitchen drain.

Where are you going?
I'm going to buy a coffee mug.
People only care, about being vicious.
Ooga. Ooga. This one's dishes.

Snapping two fingers with great struggle.
Only to find,, it's a new-way of dreaming.
Pouring two coffee mugs into a sink.
And a shade tree,, to celebrate meaning.

You want force? You can't handle the force!
Because absolutely nothing can be left uneven.
So how about a cup of coffee instead?
My treat. And we can talk all evening.

It wasn't could, giving it away.
That makes the getting up in morning.
You understand who seldom care.
If sirens hear a coffee scoring.

If you don't mind I'll have it black.
Since coffee comes from havin.
Lifting a sugar cube takes a trillion years.
If you count the seasons of atoms.

Coffee makes people talk to each other.
Where un-excitements never share.
And bland woman how, goes our morning?
Let us burst-compare.






Poem 70
14 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Please tea look for me. I could become your see.
Where it takes thirty years to steer one decree.
I'm in an instant gloat, from a distant far.
Where inner heavens turn towards. Look where are.

Her eyes don't need to see me.
So I must have blocked her view.
As if the sun had asked for tea please.
And behind me poured a true.

I'm kind of hoping you'll have tea with me.
And tills hold choices in such high esteem.
And I'm hoping tea is a scoreless game.
And no fans will jump or cheer our names.

I was wondering if while, you-were-quiet.
And while you were being meek like me.
I was wondering if in between your shyness.
If your seduction of me might tea.

If there was such a thing as a shallow-dream.
Could there also be a shadowed task.
No, tea would be a crowded heaven
If any man could ask.

Let us talk all day of arts.
And as so tea must steam.
While lesser known the finer starts.
Our hearts we fill like cream.

So it's a date then.
We'll meet for tea that noon.
When science has blocked all consequences.
And I can leave my room.

Two robots at table pouring tea.
One with no legs one with no arms.
Where there's only one thing I can do for you.
Turn my head and wish for charms.

May I please keep this memory.
The one where trees never joke.
When I slept outside your one foot cabin.
And the chances of tea were remote.

When I get to know the nighbors.
Neighbors they will be.
In this new era of nighbors.
Neighbors must like tea.

Female Arctic ostriches.
By a woman who paints like me.
In that ice there is only nice.
Our world of motionless tea.

She would have to be homely.
And know where dust lies stilled.
With eyes as moist as only.
And tea just as fulfilled.

If one bites the bully.
The bully will bite thee.
As frost upon the window glass.
Records the dance for tea.

Creepy isn't it what man is doing?
Echoing vibrations, in all his wooing.
With all of me, I shake frequency.
But tea just want's some brewing.






Poem 69 by Earl Dinkin

Today is the biggest "less" investment, anyone can pound.
Let us hope you right out of kitchen.
Some of these are both Fish and Fiction.
So put the metal down.

When he looks at the oblong stars.
You see that they are broken right?
Do you also see their lost-serene.
It's going to be a bad day for night.

Because the music, stares at tambourine.
Then dips-in the banjo mixer.
The flow goes through, the inner lean.
Towards the extra-note, for thickener.

Whatever it is it ain't my tent.
I am more like just-resisting.
Trying to get up before toilet wealth.
Mothers aren't mean just something else.

A few dark clothes and beverages.
For the experimental king.
Trying to mine for mind again.
Some space, and resign to pen.

Bold as even writing sins.
As much as heaven has no eyes.
And statement onward delivers "light".
Afterwards the meanest prize.

And how-has your music deserved such wine.
The big guy at your work defines.
Occasionally de-boarding, without stopping.
To begin the slips on time.

And underlings.
Let's re-coast the shore.
To em-pass, the decadence.
And remind the floor.

Like Harper as a diligent.
Tired beyond all the escapees.
Unaware of skeletons-below.
While sleeping under trees.

And so begins, such a story.
Because kinships contain no spare.
I heard that rockets run on money.
That lift your beverage there.

And an empty Sudan from your mother.
From her Serengeti tray.
How many fingers are on the numbers.
That can lift the March that way.

Where slow-alarm clocks never planed.
And deserving showers must rust "unmanned".
Waiting for gold's asbestus-sorrow.
Ingesting instead a fused-tomorrow.

Bob Dylan and the entrance.
Let's begin the true exam.
Is that all, "the next line is"?
Let's begin the test of sand.

Ask me About That sand-flow!
I'll know with some simple luck.
Both the talk show, and the banjo.
Mere strings, no man should pluck.

Now listen here denial.
You're a master of the neocortex.
But we like people! Just like you, just like me.
Poor people, if you just let them be.

Listen. You are going to need another one.
And yes I know we're pigs.
But that's just the way it feels.
To map a device, and get pulled in.

So let's try this one more time.
My stage again. But the other side.
Now stop being scared. I never use binoculars.
But I'll use them if you ever become popular.

They're not too good, for a thousand dollars.
And meanwhile this soup, is a woman you like.
But the real deal isn't pimpernel blossoms.
It's somehow making the toast just right.

They're insatiable actually. Is that how they're able.
To consolidate alot of their clearings?
No, because I just found.
A whole box of their informal earrings.






Poem 68
15 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Teach someone a lesson disease.
Has a privacy at it's center called loved.
Right where teach someone a lesson breeze.
Keeps a privacy at it's center called doves.

A darkness we won't test by leaving.
A tome where no distance is breached.
We live in a thing called a brain cell.
Knowing there are things to be teached.

The larger the lesson the less fine the teacher.
The Force can crush submarines or wine.
With hope abandon I ping my trust.
You get one chance every dine.

All knowing brains cannot unexist.
They just want to teach someone a lesson.
Every blame helps hoard no zeros.
And wisdom is a lean in session.

The true teacher just passes the butter.
And all the learns of earned finesse.
Like a cat and an owl in beanbag chairs.
Need I mention permanence.

An overhead projector hiding a teacher's face.
Second teacher at the back of the class.
All the characters from star wars in a life boat.
And a billion thoughts one ask.

Dare to teach the sun a lesson, and hide
in the freezing cold. Let the be world
teach you gently, or by its sting be told.
To whet oh pliable soul.

A relaxed art teacher dressed in all white casuals.
Teaching a class showing all my art.
Woman knees to forehead lowering self into well.
Painted rescuing an artist's start.

Art and poetry teach like mountains.
What the hiking boot needs to know.
Nothing to shoelaces could be more louder.
Than the silence of something so old.

It measures care on the nectar scale.
Where the insect is least in question.
Near where the mozart steers the fine.
The uncalm teeds the teach them a lesson.

A university of higher learning.
Showing you a slice of pizza.
And then without a worried word.
You understand the teacher.

If a teacher is mad at a student.
And a large red bird flies in through totality.
If it lands on that student's finger.
Is that the nature of reality?

To be so still we never get that illness.
Will a core shaped wrong un-please.
There is no pill to cure the thrill-less.
Of the teach someone a lesson disease.

Teach someone a lesson disease.
Has a privacy at it's center called loved.
Right where teach someone a lesson breeze.
Keeps a privacy at it's center called doves.

Have you ever stood upon a sadness so long.
Believing unhorizons could do no wrong.
Have you ever watched a field meet a hidden glen.
That's how slowly we'll flip a switch called friend.






Poem 67
12 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Have you ever searched the Internet.
To find your other word.
And pro wrestlers holding large writing pens.
In headlocks almost heard.

Bullets are very very strong words.
That shoot out from the backs of guns.
Learn their lessons and study hard.
And know their times and sums.

I would feel much safer.
If the word god was replaced by the number zero.
Then every equation would never hate.
And never love the strong odd arrow.

To aim not hurtful words at thee.
As archers' trounce go wry.
If I could be the air they move.
When angry arrows fly.

If I stand on earth and move less gritty.
I can almost fear no angers.
But I don't believe that please ignore it.
I was just admiring sanders.

Sturdy strands the monument.
Within trust like abandoned glee.
Forged by anger while their irony's not.
Damming how they all should be.

Rest oh wind that carries sin.
And fear what the heart calls merrier.
The 4 am pen must have no friend.
Or the treason of a window's barrier.

I want to grow up and be unimportant.
Unimportant like the sea.
And lift no danger higher than quotient.
Divide by lift my tea.

Among the avenues of the inner slopes.
There lies a dangerous curve.
Power point a to power point b.
Near excuse me I've lost my nerve.

Thank god mountains all have peaks.
So climbers can end their dangers.
I fear the climb that never meeks.
So thanks for the end of angers.

There's a fuse in life every ten feet.
They are sown for a harvest of dreams.
And oh how easy these lessons light.
By that candle of thought made of means.

That is the strongest shield.
When anger sounds like don't.
Nothing can hurt the warmth of self.
When a kitten's hidden in your coat.







Poem 66
12 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Here with the irony of giving you flowers.
Like the knowing that activists sleep.
Are the results of all the known April showers.
And the please laugh I'm trying to be deep.

You see that empty chair right there.
That's the man I was.
Please don't laugh too loud or soft.
The man I was might love.

And hide the humor best as can.
That it never did shine well.
Bet all mindings on the dimming hand.
The never of the candle's yell.

Within a chain reaction.
Clouds and smoke despair.
Like corridors need funny.
Karma and finances where.

They're sort of like promotions.
The price of things or height of air.
The funny thing about emotions.
We can't get to them from here.

He wrote it to make us smile, laughed humor.
Cried drama said no I'm why.
Then reason that is the depth of man.
Finished reading and squatted a fly.

Correct time is handed down by favor.
And I must choose a source by flavor.
My mind is only good as ask why.
And who I choose to set my laughs by.

A bull in water between Archie comics.
And a seriousness between the ears.
Laughs for two on a balcony grew.
When lightning disturbed the years.

A man with no musical talent returning.
An instrument packed in meat to a music class.
His cartoon character front saying meekly.
Known reality hears his beeps but laughs.

Two women large and small.
Watching man locked inside a santa suit.
To only want to do what's right.
Women with keys to laughter mute.

Please don't try to make me laugh.
They knock you down for that.
That reminds me to mow the lawn.
And wear my lowest hat.

With a compass informed by a sturdy map.
What's a Canadian the captain asked.
Someone who says the truth three times.
One of the sailors laughed.






Poem 65
14 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

The psychics and the poets in the forest.
Have similar mating calls from mind.
But the complex will only explain to psychics.
What the poets will only explain to rhyme.

Do you ever feel, a breeze at night.
And think you were kissed by plan.
That moment needs magnetic north.
I guess that's where I am.

Could you please tell me your coordinates?
Are you currently fast or slow?
Meek or angry, thoughtful or active?
Let's kiss and I will know.

You would know me less by near.
Nor I should kiss for disappear.
How shadows twine thyn revery bright.
My heart a bulb you give one thought each night.

If I tuned my antennas to that lowest frequency.
Somewhere far away from your kiss.
If I spoke point one new words per year.
Would you know that I exist.

Attractiveness like the wryless kiss.
Steers the heart as a full deck of cards.
How I would miss your tenderness.
If the jokers were shore'n in shards.

I suspected, he, was there.
That mastodon that kissed you.
He would have Shelves so strong.
For raging river issues.

Like I would kiss you to wake you up.
I love how your listening counts.
Waiting for years to dine with your nears.
So quatrains I can recite unannounced.

To kiss you I wanted more than life.
I'm sorry, I don't know why.
I could have told you how the universe worked.
But this moment not why I cry.

I would give a kiss to learn.
Why their interruptions burn.
Is such hurt, the reason why.
Warm fronts speak cold fronts shy.

I would give a kiss to know.
Why our centers turn so slow.
I would live a wish to throw.
Why the gentler am we stow.

You know those lapse of never time.
Where you don't-know a second hand exists.
Well turn right there at that never wrong.
And that's where the bland get kissed.

To also be at home like dust.
Where size prevents no stars.
Elephants kissing the new ease of mouseclicks.
In the non event of cars.

I know what mistakes are for now.
They help art distort the lines.
I dreamt I tripped and kissed her.
I tripped a thousand times.






Poem 64 by Earl Dinkin

The continuance of all life depends.
On the inaccuracy of all minds.
Where incorrect feedback makes each hour.
Grow you differently based on rhymes.

It rhymes with climbs and dreams with seams.
And it's safe as money and just as funny.
Have you ever longed and missed a metaphor?
With all my heart that's what my clevers' for.

Where the cleverness never goes.
That's where reason never grows.
Where men of warmth must go to class.
Breath steams up the window glass.

Window open and the wind knows how.
Could you teach me what should men do.
Lonely like the autumn leaf.
Is your friendly home like you.

Sleeping homeless on abandoned bus and hearing.
Homeless woman sing about seeing you today.
Stowaway male kissing stowaway female.
And a universe pushing dust away.

If I gave you moon dust.
Would you throw it in the trash.
Or forgive a man for soon must.
If he was quiet enough to ask.

Like the quiet mind reaching out a hand.
To catch a friend's falling book.
We look upon the all of man.
Glancing long at brief chance or soot.

There is no chance of men unteething.
But the wind stops still to pro.
There among the endless teasing.
Is there someone reading slow?

Have you ever lifted your heart from reading.
And watched a rain-drop tear.
With a focus so sharp it knows no needing.
The river of my time here.

Time oh what a wondrous vessel.
To journey through the number pi.
How ellusive is the positive thought.
Like a broomstick I balance thy.

A balance that keeps a world so level.
Never changing and never shouted.
The back of a city bus may be owned by the devil.
But the bus couldn't move without it.

To move the thinking to other thinkers.
We all must fight that haze.
Poems and paintings guns and saintings.
Life invents so many ways.

Judging ways and sometimes days.
Look away, they're only voices.
There's only rhyme, so there's only time.
Time to think about rejoices.

If we all think about it hard enough.
We could change the speed of light.
So yes I'll have a cup of coffee.
And keep you in my sight.

Oh the way my voice sights cloud.
The obvious is a mist of wealth.
How hidden be joy from saying out loud.
Ideas only new to myself.

And I also wish for growth of man.
Or less semblance of unique.
And a blanket warm as a failed strand.
Storing the technique.






Poem 63
15 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

I wish there was a movie called Fine Tuning.
About how people grow.
How they change their inner thoughts.
Until themselves they know.

Oh and could you please become warm to touch?
Not as cold as a morning clutch.
Not as hot as a favorite scream.
Thanks alot dear movie screen.

Sometimes I curl under my blanket.
And pretend I'm a one celled life.
Imagining what frictions are possible.
And then discover I'm only a nice.

But reciprocations are just as steep.
For two who sound like rhyme.
Have you ever tried to be so deep.
No thrill found you to climb.

People going to work pushing inside of bus shelter.
In the middle of barren parking lot.
Near man and naked woman being pulled.
Onto moving bus by fishing line no stop.

Don't hesitate to ask for wait.
And please forgive each word.
If you find a fisherman on a lake.
No dancers have ever lured.

If towards lure shadows I cast a spite.
Key has no time for me.
Sea has no time for non friends.
And only I have time for tea.

I am just a camera.
So please don't merry me.
Hold me very still like drama.
To see a world I see.

I see women two floors down.
And stairs are scary things.
To rise so high no insect flies.
But oh how memory stings.

But then as if they could not tea.
I see them trying tangently.
And as they walk down thumbtack road.
I see the day they never hold.

Impedance was a test I see.
That stood between success and me.
Things I finally found in shun.
Turning them less than anyone.

It is not dust that I would harvest.
My work to be done like chandeliers.
So often when I look to artists.
I don't bring my can of years.

A contest winning drawing by a child.
Titled hallway to a nightclub for the bored.
I look for you there in the lonely hours.
Until drawn where the reason is stored.

Sweet attention to focus thee.
Upon the world in front of me.
To watch their shadow's loanlydance.
Untill you see their eloquence.

Steering a life must be done so slow.
But brains are fast not doll.
So with eyes low and to the left.
May I watch a beetle crawl.






Poem 62 Earl Dinkin

I will have to turn the sound up!
To find that treaty lost in violence.
Your-brain impresses me.
The-other side of silence.

Can I sit in your chair?
So tart this Jane of sanity.
Does that make sense to you?
To be as soft as Emily.

This chair is here, to help you.
I repeat, do-not go down there.
Old dry rum, and cologne for one.
Soldier! Igloo-your-sound-gear!

Does all that dust move with me?
Am I here just to rent?
My-hat falls off me, too at times.
Should I sit? And move no lint?

Is it true That he has edges?
People saying peanut-butter DoesHave Sound?
Ronald Reagan even said in China.
Can you find-me please such brown.

Does that even work for you?
You knew it was a quiet medium!
It never feels-like typing-"friend".
And there is a bit of tedium.

It is-like reading a diary, but where did it go?
It will-be back shortly, on a second tier.
So we're not allowed to do that here.
Just don't bore-people who sleep up there!

And maybe he loves someone's murk.
You know how it is! That transit-tunnels work.
He writes down there, to keep on track.
So what would You-do after day like that?

Who can pass a high voltage wire.
Under a curtain as part of a complex plan.
A man rushing into a living room.
Quickly touching a tree light can.

The 15 and 17 inch plugs are-complete.
And because, I always, have cold feet!
I always rev-up, every day that "Specials".
But then my "Igloo", of-course says, "No hassles!"

And then I forget to add one letter.
That only way, to Can food Cozy.
I CLEAN the stitches around the elastic.
Then spring back home, and feel prosey.






Poem 61
15 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Are there any new tricks in the house?
Well there's one man. And wow boy, is he dumb!
Oh listen to you!! I don't want to know!
If three? really-equals forty one.

Who, has the prettiest brandy?
And Egypt as the Sun?
Forgive him, for his ear my dear.
But let no dancers run.

And for-no hope of transfers.
I heard that-bee has stung.
William is willing, over there.
The other side, of tree unsung.

For Capricorn then, despise this!
With measuring eyes I think I'm going!
In languages spelled, with a marsh-bog.
Please arrest my cat for knowing!

One third are windmills.
That tempt the fate of rare.
Where I've not lingered, so it shows.
Envelopes-too would send-some care.

With a wind that howls ever slowly.
And could take a man away.
That leaves the apples ever lowly.
I'll measure them-wrong and stay.

Eight more quatrains then?
And before it snows today.
And walls I've measured, living-once.
I'm tempted to say they sway.

But a wave, is not a centre?
Remove the black stuff, code!
With harmony where Kelly loved you.
I often stub my toad.

I'm indebted to you dearly.
She going to say "No!" right-now.
Oh Yes, Oh Yes, I've heard You!
And the take tonight was Wow!

Brothers and sisters!
For-the, pin-hole fight that wins.
Forgetting photography's focal point.
My wisdoms belong to kin.

Dan Aspirin!! How you doing?
Shake his hand and grin.
The brain is heavy and-now law.
And that's the thing you win.

Crab-apples are the best because.
They are-enough for now.
And curry for the astronaut meal.
Dining only in the bow.

Please, make "that lake" recursive.
And let me swim for more.
And rise in hunger from a cot.
Or less, if halls have doors.

Like parchment is a test of sand.
That "is" my desk of late.
With Hubble-Scopes "within some" wine.
What lovers-observe though hate.

So what is new? A few next year?
Pink sparks, I'll watch till still.
That linger on a better balance.
"within" no reach of skill.






poem 60
Where I Played a Piano by Earl Dinkin

I am walking through my old neighbourhood where I
grew up.  I end up at my old House and I go
inside. My father is here and I greet him a warm
loving hello. We go into the kitchen and
two of my younger brothers are in here. I can't
help feeling sorry for them all for having
to live in such sad and poor conditions.
They are all smiling and cheerful to see me again.
But I just feel sorry for them all.  They
start to show me some home movies.  In the home-movie
I can see my two twin sisters when
they were very young and were very sick.
All their hair has fallen out and they can barely
stand but still they look cheerful even in
all their poverty. I can see in this home movie
some of the other neighbourhood mothers
looking at the twins and feeling angry and
upset that someone near them might have a
contagious disease. The movie ends and now
my teacher is here in the kitchen and we announce
to my family that she and I are going to
play a piece of classical music for them. There
is a very beautiful grand piano here in the
kitchen.  I start to play the most beautiful
and sad sounding song I ever heard. It sounds
like the kind of music you hear from a
girl' s musical jewelry box but this song is more
slow and lower keyed.  At first I don't feel
surprised that I can play such wonderful
music. I am thinking to myself about how everyone
in this neighbourhood must survive such cruel
conditions and still they are always
smiling.  And the whole system of life and
survival seems so mean and I feel contempt
for whoever designed it. And I think about a
music box and it's simple beauty.  How every
note is needed and wanted and completes a
beautiful thing.  As I play I am crying
inside and wishing my family and the world could
learn this lesson of the music box. And I
wish I could redesign the life/survival
system and make it more like a music box. Now as
I get near the end of the song I realize I
shouldn't be able to do this.  But I keep playing
and listening to the song but now I
appreciate it even more.  I become now so
overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. The song
ends, and I wake up.






poem 59
Time Traveler by Earl Dinkin

I have privately discovered how to time travel.
I go back in time a hundred years, mingle
with the people and enjoy life.  I try to teach them
wonderful things about the future. I paint a picture to
show some of them what a big city looks like.  I am
walking around one of their small shopping malls and I
see a hand beckoning me from a hole in the air. On a very
inner level I think I know who they are and what they
are waving to me for. I go up to the hole and see no
hole now where there was just a few seconds ago. But
I know the hole is still there, a small hole about six
inches round.  I feel like I know what it is.  I put
one of my feet into it and find I was right.  There is
an invisible hole here.  I put my other foot in and somehow
magically I find I am able to lower the rest of myself
through the hole and I drop down ten feet to the next
floor below of the same shopping mall.  Only there are
a few people here I did not see when I was above the hole.
They welcome me. I still see the people shopping all
around us but they can't see us here under this hole.
I feel I understand exactly who they are.  They are all time
travelers like I am. And this is a private place
where us time travelers can meet and talk about great
things.  One person explains the hole to me.  He tells
me it is a test of my fear and trust.  Because I have to go
through the hole feet first I had no idea what could
have happened to me. I could just have easily been
shackled and captured. The hole test is used to filter out
the people who do not trust others and fear
everything.  This person who just explained the hole
test to me now opens his briefcase.  I see that he is an
artist just like myself because he has brushes and
paints.  Also in his briefcase is a very beautiful
electronic device. I can tell from the look of this
device that he is from very far in the future.  Farther than
I have ever seen.  I open my briefcase to show him
that I too am an artist.  When he sees my painting
equipment he says to someone beside him, "Ah! another artist
has joined us." I suddenly start to cry. I have
never before felt so overwhelmed.  I have finally
found a place where others know why I paint.  An
understanding that only people from the far far future
could have learned.  A lifetime of struggle and desire
has been realized.  I am crying now so hard that I
can't breath and I am fighting for air.  The man from the
future pats me on the back, to try and get me
breathing again.  He smiles and says to someone in the
club,  "Most of them have this reaction".







Poem 58 Earl Dinkin

That could mean.
A dust, like angry sky.
I wonder where the yellow went?
I told you Byron lied.

That's the one! Hidden peace.
Wake the November sure.
The mighty SL! in my heart.
Come into, in-my-store.

Twice daily rascals!
Phone for backup sweeps.
One unbutton! Two unbutton!
Three, alert the meeks!

It's so upsetting! Do come in.
I'm trying to rearrange the door.
And stack the angles, in a heap.
The good of any-more.

What did I say?
The lion gate's the same!
BRAIN, don't say it!
So near a velvet tame.

I love that!
The same way, velvet felt, was rhyme.
And doctors yet so numb I'm sure.
Could repair a verse of mine.

With practicing license.
And a desert known as place.
Emily, for the heaven.
And Byron for the waste.

It's dark in here!
And no time has ever known.
Pass the buttercup, and some mind!
Cameras are dead in Rome.

Dandelion are still alive!
And forgetful as repose.
Making up, such a heaven.
I know! I know! I know!

Count them, six more givings!
The songs that living chose.
No one ever, invents a light bulb.
That doesn't know what shows.

The spiders dance in Neptune's honor.
Where passwords forget their pain.
Excuse me do you accept Visa here?
Earth is-my home again.

For love of time or money.
A river should be, so bold.
Ticker tape, or funny.
And suggestion, just as old.

Tangles be my corner shop.
Her hair, the yellow rose.
To stare forever into the mop.
And never banter prose.

With wrong for heavy, and light for rain.
Who knows where dancing goes?
Perhaps. The very-first hiding spot?
Beneath the yellow rose!

But I'm a statue! Hear me not.
Demure has no disclose.
Except to say, just one thought.
Five broom sweeps, and one pose.






Poem 57
16 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Woman politician moonlighting as kid's party magician.
Changing costumes mid stride with help from her fastest aid.
Whoopi Goldberg wearing marching band uniform shouting wait for me.
After falling on behind, with her laughter of spinning played.

A children's charity drive thankyou ad.
Cryptically written, where words need pride.
Using several advanced symbols.
To make educated donators teary eyed.

From the photocopy of an important manual.
Foot hard, to the imaginary rake's deep thought.
Parliament protester, who dances like Michael Jackson.
Even though no one ever gathers to watch.

A contract laborer working hard.
At painting the sky blue for Michael Jackson.
Knowing the balance and focal point.
Showing the art of inaction.

You want force? You can't handle the force!
Because absolutely nothing can be left uneven.
So how about a cup of coffee instead?
My treat. And we can talk all evening.

First a coffee shop.
Then majestic wolves and horses.
Third a frog in a protective cage.
Then unknown snakes and forces.

Wild horses in a fast gallop.
So envied by all slow carts.
Please forgive my latest fear.
High speed remarks.

Would you mind if I crossed your path.
At the incredibly slow speed of wife?
I would only be a bother for just a moment.
And we could pass the time with life.

And when she looks at the raining frogs.
And wonders why life is sad.
Through endless darkened hallway windows.
She sees my reflection glad.

You know how lasting silence is.
When a finish line remembers a race.
When you catch me glancing.
I try to make that face.

Each day I wake and drive another nail.
To hold my house to the mountain brine.
And hold in place the saddest face.
You can buy with peace of mind.

You know how you can't keep your arm out straight.
That's what an honor is.
You know how wind learns that our tree limbs date.
That's what the song bird says.

Living like the bird unfound.
How unsword is the small profound.
Forgive a universe that meanly hides.
All the needs of a world in prides.

Let no insult fly by day.
First dreams have not yet test foray.
Lens fields of wheat that touch by leans.
Fear no zeros only means.

Someday I'll understand frequency.
And which is better slow or fast.
But I suspect they are both the same.
With extremes that touch at last.

Woman kind resting surrounded by friends.
Viewed from forty five feet away.
And I also saw a robin this morning.
Which was equally years non prey.






Poem 56
11 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

A newspaper to me always solemnly feeds.
Deep corrections that each field beds.
That I turn for harvest of flaw's sweetest seeds.
And know things not needed to be said.

If I owned a famous newspaper.
I would name it, people doing what they want.
And at the bottom of every page I'd print.
A white rectangle for your tears to haunt.

Design a sink, make it gold.
Newspapers can you, flow of this.
Fill with wealth, and had behold.
And in a diner, make her wish.

Because it inspires ways of solving problems.
I read the newspaper everyday.
Where I'll trust behaviours someone knows does work.
Then I stand out of their way.

Symbols are my favourite ease.
The newspaper is filled with them.
Read the news instant free.
And you don't cause the world to end.

Two newspaper stories side by side.
The combination makes them three.
The way a personality comes from.
The bumps that make a key.

The weakest force is the line of aught.
If three be known two will join by thought.
So that is how I read the news.
Seeing what love a constellation glues.

The out there looks very out there today.
Two galleries collided without a single collision.
And in other news I saw their rights to spring.
Sung by the kite's beautician.

Where the alphabet can leave like wind.
And even the adjectives may think of spin.
Where the uncaged focus may roam or be.
And even the news hounds sleep touching free.

When playing poker against a display rack.
Of information pamphlets lose.
Five pixels beats a thousand tacks.
And appropriate response beats news.

To push or to shove.
And then, news one way to watch.
And then forgive my atomic number.
That bullied up one notch.






Poem 55
15 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

I dreamed that you took my picture.
With a one pixel camera gleam.
I became the average of all I've done.
I wonder what that means.

Ways to embellishments.
Of artificial Intelligence.
Pretend to blow spit ball.
Then remember you're in dance hall.

It has no harp and it has no strings.
And no heaven has heard it ask.
And yet it stings those awful things.
Dance and it shall instantly pass.

In that ear they passed two mighty laws.
Worlds should tilt just enough to please.
And twenty percent rebellion.
Became officially the most attractive tease.

The nature of earth and a universe.
Always knows why men react.
It continually unsharpens their metaphors.
But I have no allergy to that.

To always love simplicity.
And believe it must exist.
To finally make a painting thus.
And arm its small with bliss.

Happiness just like bliss.
Always lagged behind.
Forging ahead the will led.
But the pausing heart knew pine.

A painting shall always have magic wings.
But will fly forever between two things.
It will rest upon the rocks it knows.
But will oft as thought fly far as chose.

If you drop your arms upon your mattress.
They'll always bounce and land on your waist.
But only if you believe in magic.
And steer your strife by grace.

To see a strife from orbit.
That's what dreams are for.
Let no moment hide it's beauty.
So minds shall always soar.

I don't understand.
Can't a moment be bland.
Why must entertainment.
Always ruin refrainment.

Speaking is always that self surprise.
A presence only speakers trust.
The one every person you're talking to.
Knows was obvious.

Complex and simple share a trust.
To trust the other is there.
They'll never meet but always touch.
Within your eyes like cares.

When eyes of potatoes look inward each night.
They always contemplate their true meaning of life.
That expiry dates are printed illegibly on purpose.
To pass laws near a world's un-nice.

So when you see a second hand.
I hope you see the years.
And when you see a second man.
I hope you see his tears.






Poem 54  by Earl Dinkin

Close your eyes and sit right there.
And in that chair beside you, see empty stats.
Imagine there sits, your ideal boyfriend.
Now open eyes.. and grinning there I sat.

Shovelling dust from bins of character flaws.
Into a kiln adding stealth today.
Or a one thousand hot air balloon festival.
Where one is falling,, amongst all play.

A trained attack dog and it's owner.
Following a paranoid person,, for lint.
Angry at man, for not filling out, form.
That he read, not-to in-the finest print.

Office desk with a small model.
Of an elevated lounge chair, facing sky.
And a hydro electric dam for water.
With visitors on it's lower deck why?

Respecting stylish folds, in my brother's pants.
As he explains something complex to my "sisters".
A rich-person's car hitting one poor child.
In front of a luxury hotel, (no blisters).

Trying to hang a spatula, onto a small weak flange.
Two-bends away from breaking.
Woman making, funny-face,, changing to sad.
Miming,, "crushed-heart and aching".

Snapping two fingers with great struggle.
Only to find,, it's a new-way of dreaming.
Pouring two coffee mugs into a sink.
And a shade tree,, to celebrate meaning.

Relative asking, for money, and laughing.
Thanks chummy! Slap money! Dance leaving!
And an ashtray with ledge, and a purified edge.
For non-smokers to empty with pleasing.

Famous, bounty-hunter family, teaching their toddler.
How to pick locks while they're out on runs.
A flower cupping it's petals, and leaning towards you.
To hear all of mankind's puns.

A pretty model on a catwalk stage.
Walking passed a toilet on the stage with a logo.
Of a happy car,, on a happy bridge.
Almost passing a fashion hobo.

Owner of the Apple computer company showing up!
Out of the blue to keep a woman's car drove'n.
You're going to need a new Pyrex dish.
I think it maybe broken from stove'n!

Woman finishing a complex phone call.
Just in time to stop a man touching her back.
A man successfully asking, woman for date.
Phoning friend but never mentioning that.

Two binge-drinking women in love,, with binge-drinking man.
They just "noticed fallen on sidewalk mortar".
And a washing machine, with a digital readout.
Saying, "Seven friends? Sorry out of order".

Man with 3 shirts on backwards.
Peaking out door before leaving coded.
Voltage transformer labeled fearful inside.
Electronic devices ok duly noted.

A pretty woman made from folded paper.
By an Origami master with too much time.
A pretty veterinarian, checking a man's blood pressure.
Healthy dog between them,,, and grand design.






Poem 53 by Earl Dinkin

I found this love note written in the evening sky.
By the stem of a daisy on the back of my eye.
Those lonely visions and my love of you.
I keep them in a place called a minute or two.

How like a race track are the walls of hate.
Drive wrong and you feel their cue.
Show them your choices to demonstrate.
They'll know balance even though they're crude.

If there is only just things.
What happens with importance.
Would you like a cup of coffee.
A universe loves orbits.

To change your mind must seem so hard.
To keep it safe from breeze.
And throw a hate away were thus.
The chain that needs no key.

I could love for some conversation.
If one could grow at the speed of tree.
And just as slowly changed direction.
At the pause before each me.

A hate filled person doesn't hate you.
They just believe you can improve.
Like a bubble that floats to a surface.
You must take that their guidance is true.

I would be your gentle lover.
You would hardly know I'm there.
Just like your home drip coffee maker.
When you make one cup and stare.

Their microscope so cloudy.
So filled with who to hate.
People know a science.
Accurate to one hesitate.

An imagined slow leak in an air mattress.
Feels the same as a real one theres.
Exactly the same way falling in love.
Knows, that real time disappears.

Feel free to speak freely.
But know, that we can always wait.
And those who yell all their lives.
We can't figure out what they hate.

I always know when I'm in love.
Like trees a desert lends.
I thought I saw you twice today.
Of course it always ends.

When hate tries to climb a ladder.
Please try not to stare.
Its plight is a private matter.
Remember you were once there.

Well how about a lover.
And a note so good.
No man has ever held before.
So long or should.

That of shall be the hardest might.
To lift the burden of hate.
A rock so hard to heave it so.
To find it oh so light.

The atom which mattered said to the atom unsung.
I love you but please don't watch the fun.
Have you ever been lonely within a breather.
That's kind-less, where pearls send all levers.

Hates are priced nothing per "announce".
Just bushel them by weighing worlds.
But loves, are priced everything per "pronounce".
Because no scale, can weigh unfurls.

Are there any good books that love me?
Like how the Dewey Decimal system cries.
Like that way I wrote ten thousand quatrains.
And stored them in your eyes?






Poem 52
15 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

We have a massive destination.
But how could we ever go?
Cooking inside like a poker.
Which is up to us to throw.

There's only rhyme, so there's only time.
Time to think about rejoices.
Judging ways and sometimes days.
Look away, there're only voices.

There is a body! clean it up.
It's siting in a "factory of sorts".
Well it's a pretty big city.
So we'll prop it up of course!

Yes it's a very big city!
And also just a big amour.
So it's called the stereo section at Sears.
And mostly for purchasing cars I fear.

Because it inspires ways of solving problems.
I read the newspaper everyday.
Where I'll trust behavours someone knows does work.
Then I stand out of thier way.

But what has value?
Often, it's quite a car.
Boom! Wow! Now that's, tight knit!
And Banks of course, if you pay for it.

I'm a safe very-could!
Destination Hollywood.
Perceiving what it's meant to be!
Second-exception! Please November me!!

Oh and I am also very-fun!
Rough draft! I wasn't expecting that!
You're forever showing no opinions there.
So writing, please put stunning here.

Meander!
Often writes like me.
And then brings back.
Responsibility!

It's a different theme, at a party!
And very scary heights, oh my!
With embodiments, and a coffee stain.
Please-never tell my kitchen drain.

One person laughing. One person rain.
But I didn't get, to hear their name.
Nor a cell phone stored within my mouth.
Or a peoples' self reclaim!

Angie's taking off now?
So I'll have to do the paper work.
And there it is! The pooh and glee.
Please don't critique my river fork.

Creepy isn't it what man is doing?
Echoing vibrations in all his wooing.
With all of me, I shake frequency.
But tea just want's some brewing.

It's mostly just looking into my eyes.
Hiding lots of summer in winter disguise.
Lost-socks are there! And so is Dos.
Advising "only whenever she-is-still-soft".

It's mostly just explanation now.
Because I forget what makes me cry.
My neighbours. Oh yea, that's one thing.
Hey isn't that my sky.






Poem 51
14 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Fourteen seamstresses.
Making a perfect girlfriend's dress.
And not knowing which to love.
Her world or emptiness.

With thirteen insects swarming around her.
Cup of fresh coffee being enjoyed at a mall.
She should hold our astrays, up to the light.
And examine our rights to call.

A plate of leftovers in a refrigerator.
Very strangely not getting warmer.
Table twelve just asked for fame.
Very strangely from in that corner.

Excuse me where does the eleven go.
Is it the same place I forget like time.
Towards unleaning or towards unmeaning.
Or towards an indifferent mind.

Head only of man in a computer chair.
With a ten foot high backing oath.
There where a man can never steer.
I'm expecting substantial growth.

Until the announcements, are completely different.
I will hear these yesterdays at nine.
I'm alone, and where's the party.
Say it say it. Say these words like crime.

I've been gone from this terrible octet.
With eight sides, and it's very own hearse.
It smells like fries and sells like fries.
And to purchase, costs one first.

Gray silhouettes of man and woman, free falling.
In fetal positions seven feet apart.
Excuse me miss are you falling alone?
May I please share this art?

I put six fresh keys in the battery compartment.
But there still seems to be no light.
And they just rehired more flower waterers.
Could you re-explain true right.

I almost thought about you last night.
Could you tell me more about you please?
The subconscious sees life with only five pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

And a very bright flashlight with four legs.
Shining at the moon at night.
Answer is less than a midnight glimmer.
But nothing can beam that slight.

I learned along time ago.
The physical world is not for me.
So I do not operate heavy machinery.
Wherever three equals three.

And then lots of horses moving slowly.
Eye blinks two days long.
My thoughts of you are in perfect light.
Forty eons still no wrong.

What was heaven or what was hell.
That can use such whips from one brain cell.
From what begins like a typist's eyes.
No man can count all his autowise.

For the women asleep on small platforms.
Halfway up walls, and dreaming heros.
As we fade to black, let the credits rain.
So many names for zeros.






Poem 50 by Earl Dinkin

Like that weird feeling, in an emptied home.
Balconies provide shivered irk!
Eery! the way, people are walking proof.
Their theory of how life should be, can work!

Like breaking a twig in four places.
Long art titles are no crime.
Thinking alone are the five spaces.
Joined by art broken fine.

Like telling time by a clock hand's shadow.
I need just one source of right.
So as near as I can tell it's hello.
When winter strikes the night.

Like the quiet mind, reaching out a hand.
To catch a friend's falling book.
We look upon the all of man.
Glancing long at brief chance or soot.

Like a man's last cigarette lighter.
At the end of hundreds of them on a bar.
I look each day towards the permanence.
And wonder where you are.

Like the lightning bolt, the river bends.
Were we cursed the turn arrives.
A million mistakes, a million corrections.
The no sugar mistake disguise.

Like an irresistible supermodel.
Showing the newest unapproachable fashions.
Like a woman setting up her first art show.
Of artificial fruit in a restaurant, passions.

Like a man before a high voltage control wall.
Shorting one component, with pliers.
Current, almost, is the richest sting.
Like a dream of BEST (for tryers).

Like a concert equipment truck for the Who.
Wrapped in tracing paper in a dark unheeded.
With it's skin so thin down the street of men.
Can you hear the inner spin be needed.

Like a man living inside a small cabin.
Built inside an art gallery stopping to think.
Might there be a surreal woman nearby.
Sleeping on a bathroom sink.

Like when you're on a desert.
And someone's on a dune.
Chance is good they are nice.
But what's their chance of youn.

Like two twenty one pm.
Rarely receives aware.
The secret way a moment can love.
So deeply from equal share.

Like passengers of, a large ship and it's captain.
Standing against a one foot railing waving.
Goodbye to an overboard woman.
Oh how our world loves saving.

Like wind chimes under a dining room table.
Sung by situations, instead of breeze.
For kinships we could never hear from granite.
Could you task the flimsy please.

As long as you keep that warm stuff inside.
Who comments on their server dreams?
Fake heart! The grass painted itself.
Actually I'm happy to hear the long guy teamed.






Poem 48
11 quatrains matching war by Earl Dinkin

Turn the lights off when you leave.
The night time makes me sure.
Fearing all atoms are solar systems.
And electricity was war.

And lo however, I ride the bus.
A chapel, as quaint as far.
With war, as ample, as sitting brings.
The knowing what moves a car.

Fire makes fire and cold makes cold.
Who avoids that war filled dance.
Warm makes warm but lasts a moment.
Yes heavens are found by glance.

With adequately as my favorite word.
I try to shave each war.
Blightless like my Apple Macintosh.
Perfection is just being sure.

Peace shall cause war.
And war shall cause peace.
Dare but to choose friend.
Or both when's shall cease.

Dream evil caused by temperature.
And niceness caused by cool.
And all night long dream thermostats.
Were endless wars of rule.

A soldier rests a moment, to write a letter.
Then notices he has some very bad wounds.
My, but you sure have a lot of nice china.
Would you mind very much if I choosed?

68.2 soldiers good.
31.8 soldiers bad.
Beauty is but 1 soldier.
Such divisions make him sad.

I wish they were all called peace keepers.
All police and military force.
As I bend grandfather's pipe cleaners.
And learn his world of course.

The secret to safe anti gravity.
Is in the strength of military thread.
When aged for twenty five years.
You can't hold down such dread.

Bullets are very very strong words.
That shoot out from the backs of guns.
Learn their lessons and study hard.
And know their times and sums.






Poem 47
10 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Then one day through ultimate science.
We heard the sun speak loud.
Your garbage, was all it said.
Then all its actors bowed.

I'll throw on one more piece of wood.
If she ever stakes her claim.
Wow! Are you wearing something new?
I love your loin cloth shame.

I think I might know what's down there.
We're going to need a very long marriage.
But we know we won't get anywhere there.
So seventy five percent sounds fair.

First prize commander!
Never in command sir!
That, unwitting advantage.
I'll buy it with a grain of manage.

I may get some of it.
From my internal voice at noon.
Augusta in a conscious effort.
As pretty as a spoon.

I'm going, to shadows now.
Excuse me, I have to write.
Being second, has a very clear voice.
Gotta go. I'm late for nice.

Now I'm stuffed with cranberries.
Perhaps from washed ashore.
With extra heavy dialog.
Parents, please stop war.

He is brave!! Right over there.
The sun, the moon, and stars.
Running on unclear fiction.
I present to you, all cars.

I would love to stay and chat.
But ear-plugs are my art.
And across, the dust of deserts.
One photon has my heart.

Standing up.
I wasn't, waiting fame.
With midnight always set to noon.
And undecided sun for whom.






Poem 46 Earl Dinkin

At the coordinates of true fine arts.
On the island of never preach.
The drop of water, that is true man.
Finds crevices not fit for speak.

Started to lock in!
Well excuse me! Well he can!
New relation-ship huh?
Are you buying, a towel plan?

There it goes, pure guidance!
Avalanche talking snow.
Heavenly made, pure science.
Rocketing all we know.

Hold on! There's Justin Timberlake.
As actual as a nose.
He writes bread! And I'm dead!
Oh god let's pray for toes.

Then it starts, and the room starts changing.
Heaven in repose.
Forget what dust has told you.
Talking fuels prose.

Forget the lust. The river chose.
Daddies are made by vroom!
And sparkles! are showing on the counter!
Neptune is my moon.

Have you ever seen a dark as fumes?
I believe that might be home.
That silver lining must be loons.
Guidance take me known.






poem 45 by Earl Dinkin

She has a favorite place. The woman I wish I
knew. She rests inside the rafters, warm and
safe and lew. Curled up like a fetus, as
ceilings hide the moon. Cramped know not a
tenderness. Unspoiled wood could do. And
cobwebs touch her less. Than any man could
choose. Somewhere made of passions, between
attics floors or rooms. And wish a symphony
of silence, she hears so loud a bloom. The
rafters would not sing, for I hide up there
too. The spiders as but friends, are old and
inner tunes. And fonder than a pillows dust
could year no broom. To dream of such a woman
near. To know but never swoon. If she and I
could see the world, so close as air to room.
She and I had crossed all mysteries. A warmth
of solitudes. And I had courage to find her.
Then we already do.






Poem 44
10 quatrains by Earl Dinkin

It takes fifteen years to make a moment.
Because giving has no past.
And fifteen moments to make one near.
At fifteen cares per crass.

That same way mirrors look like silver.
But also, exactly, recreate the game.
Any lies or truths, you might hear from me.
Deflect my homely effort to wane.

In the language, of digital cameras.
A pixel is a metaphor.
Which means within, poetic brains.
We wash our screens with never more.

Well we're not there yet.
But it's an interesting thing to do.
He self-gets!
So he's right to feel, guilty too.

I think I might need a few more tears.
At night, so I'll have to go home.
But something always comes along.
And as always a question's known.

But I'm back in town. So I'm back on ice.
So maybe I'll brunch once or twice.
How much does that hurt, being nice?
Oh I don't know. Well perhaps a slice.

I always do, go out well.
And I bring home, whole store freezers.
You see, everything, is not so wrong.
Well, just cereals! The height of teasers.

So why do what the eyeball caught.
To impede the not that hinders.
Much by men so tired fought.
So grows the thought that lingers.

Feel free to speak freely.
But know that we love to wait.
And those who yell all their lives.
We can't figure out what they hate.

So I set my sails of diversity.
And for a lifetime watched for wind.
Never realizing controversy.
Must firstly move within.






Poem 43 (maybe also 218) by Earl Dinkin

This with bravery and secrecy wrote.
And delivered in urgent times.
Dear friend please read then burn this note.
My memory has outlawed rhymes.

Today I mourned, that conversation.
True friends keep deep inside.
Because they know, our hibernation.
Would never match their stride.

Silent centers move so slowly.
They hardly move at all.
So bravely in a room of talkers.
I see silent centers crawl.

There's a way of looking I kite the most.
With soft hues of inner blands and blends.
With a tilt to one side that sees two dogs.
And two owners that will never be friends.

They're insatiable actually. Is that how they're able.
To consolidate alot of their clearings?
No, because I just found.
A whole box of informal earrings.

And should the music be fast or slow.
We'll know by the face of gain.
Year of the two eye blinks given.
I'll be arriving on that train.

And so it was there was stipulation.
And not a train was lost.
And above each tie in an endless sky.
Blew a mist of possible frost.

Know-how just like piano keys.
I love to hear your news.
So saddest part of your worthy notes.
One time and just one choose.

Thus is not what one is.
It's the changing in between.
Though I give you an ample gift.
It's the rearranging that I dream.

Here is a token of that greatest gift.
It's worth a million homes.
Familiarity the most precious sift.
And where we keep our knowns.

Here is my gift of misdirection.
First I wrongly go down from care.
Then I surprise you with elevation.
Chin up from the prides we share.

Like batting practice watching lovers leave.
It's truly close. Just like flee.
The electric razor with electric jolt.
So frighteningly close to me.

The correct way to use correctional lurid.
Is to apply some "galaxay".
And upon man's history of improvement.
You must dare not stop his way.

And I also wish for growth of man.
Or less semblance of unique.
And a blanket warm as a failed strand.
Storing the technique.






Poem 42 by Earl Dinkin

A contest winning drawing by a child.
Titled hallway to a nightclub for the bored.
I look for you there in the lonely hours.
Until "drawn" where the reason is stored.

I saw a meadow where the "samed" were wheat.
Where each stem wept the claim for tall.
"Neared" were the minds that never conceit.
And compare was the real force of all.

There where the trend calls no friend.
Like the winds with inherited duties.
Be cautious then when names offend.
And be careful of their poisoned movies.

Where the wish obeys all motions.
Improvements are at the heart of sand.
Lonely cries into the deepest notions.
Where heaven divides man.

I lean my head towards the dread.
Far thrown as the care filled eye.
Holding the posture of hours instead.
There where the friend is nigh.

Where the tailgaters fear the future.
And those tailgated fear the past.
Where a time-line is a point in space.
And the mind's eye goes to ask.

There the wind has never seasons.
And the sun is gold from proud.
Tears grow from guarded reasons.
Where feel torns are allowed.

Where the cleverness never goes.
That's where reason never grows.
Where men of warmth must go to class.
Breath steams up the window glass.

Where the alphabet can leave like wind.
And even the adjectives may think of spin.
Where the uncaged focus may roam or be.
And even the news hounds sleep touching free.

It's always dankest before the wrong.
Where "haven" in the mind repeats.
And hurries shine upon the shone.
Where the worries can grow obliques.

Where the lilies turn tomorrows.
There the "week" fields lay.
And elevens only stand in morals.
Where the meek deals day.

It measures care on the nectar scale.
Where the insect is least in question.
Near where the mozart steers the fine.
The uncalm teeds the teach them a lesson.

Somewhere there beside the action.
Two leers behind the "acquiesce".
Loft in the garden of main distraction.
I'm hoping they build their finesse.

Since we have reviews and points of view.
And focal points of no return.
I wonder how five leaf clovers grow.
Wherever lies the learn.

Would you like a cup of coffee.
I know this place that's on no maps.
Where the rivers are so lonely.
They hide in the water taps.






Poem 41
8 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Let's do this next year.
And get a small bed.
Good luck to all of us.
This is going to cost said.

I would scatter the whole house for you.
Scampering and shuffling about.
And the rosy bit the next day.
Becomes the ticket out.

Yes they do it odd for you.
On my train at the very next trust.
Yes the roses were brought, from me.
He works for me conducting hush.

But a pirate disc can't do that.
Not even, with just the right spit.
Yes they wanted me just, to see you.
But it wasn't me! It was just a bit.

And as a college-woman.
What happens, to, your, next, salad?
Ah, it gets stabbed.
And doesn't work, nor ballad.

Is this really supposed to work?
The time clock of mankind's sparrow.
I find that very interesting.
The cage that protects the vowels.

Awesome! The nerve.
That makes one smile.
And takes the rain.
To Blossom Style.

Where are you going?
I'm going to buy a coffee mug.
People only care, about being vicious.
Ooga. Ooga. This one's dishes.






Poem 40
5 quatrains about spring by Earl Dinkin

Here with the irony of giving you flowers.
Like the knowing that activists sleep.
Are the results of all the known April showers.
And the please laugh I'm trying to be deep.

That's the lost in cost oscillations.
When a mood can swing light years or shawls.
Lightness when it wants more springs.
Heaviness when it wants more falls.

Down on his shin, pour leg, pour leg.
Recall, recall, amnesia.
Avoid the spring, endless traveler.
And we're off, well did that please ya?

The out there looks very out there today.
Two galleries collided without a single collision.
And in other news I saw their rights to spring.
Sung by the kite's beautician.

The meadow dreams of shadows.
And a young bird dreams of air.
Where I am warmed by dreams of you.
Spring snow holds my stare.






Poem 39
7 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

If I'm ever, there, I'll get into that!
It's the only thing I cannot find.
So all I'm doing Now is getting ready.
To get into some art school crime.

I could have gone while you were.
Brushing your hair. But you cannot make me go.
But that is rich. So I'll go ahead.
Now if only I could zero no.

We tried to, read, it out loud at noon.
But there's, absolutely no one in this town.
There! It's gone!
And somehow it lights up this frown.

You can check it out almost everywhere now.
And soon it will be going everywhere else.
I'm building a slower world for troubles.
There it's done, my little shelf.

I suspected, He, was there.
That mastodon that kissed you.
He would have Shelves so strong.
For raging river issues.

Raging, river, raging so.
I don't Know-where to begin.
Commentary or campaign!
Your white dress in the wind.

I was going to go out today.
But changes kept me in.
I'm sure I don't need a wisp of sway.
So raging river wins.






Poem 38 by Earl Dinkin

The weight of Shakespeare on a chair.
As old as distain glass.
I caught the writer moving so.
The hardest sting to ask.

Packing deliveries, I've never seen.
Salinger, rise no more.
As I would hold, out one hand.
Do you suggest what for.

Comically given the dance of tune.
Re-motorized for traction.
Into the wells do never sweep.
The truly half done action.

Ready ready, hurry hurry!
Snap the sorry cast on.
Not for me. Not for tea.
He's not even sure of Captain.

But stars have beauty over there.
Son, you have no passion.
The rise in meadows have one bloom.
The blue, of plastic masks on.

Right for candy! Wrong for gold.
My very-berry castings.
Liver-shiver, I've been told.
Is ripe, and filled till taskings.

With practicing license.
And a desert known as place.
Emily, for the heaven.
And Byron for the waste.

Can I sit in your chair?
So tart this Jane of sanity.
Does that make sense to you?
To be as soft as Emily.

And here is the seven forty five.
Right on times and true.
And men begin the castings then.
The wait at Shakespeare's shoe.






Poem 37
7 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

That's, what I'm worried, most about.
That waters, are not sure things.
Holding a match up to the problem.
Beholds our rights to wings.

Diamond is not a pretty thought.
That shelter of the saddest king.
Each minute, of an average moment.
Disturbing his inner swing.

And lo however, I ride the bus.
A chapel, as quaint as far.
With war, as ample, as sitting brings.
The knowing what moves a car.

Insane beleaguered people scream.
The fanciness we fall.
On running transportation.
Where waterbeds know all.

It's, better that way you know!
To get free rights! And a tangled nose.
But wherever exactly roaming went.
I have no ideas, like pros.

But now? Would you take it?
Like Christmas again?
That nature of gold?
The standard, often?

Here's hoping our eyes, receive tainted feedback.
And what we believe, always slightly wrong.
So each and every, thing we touch.
Becomes slightly more like song.






Poem 36 by Earl Dinkin

On the finest paper like can see.
Can I send a letter to a tree.
My life defined on just one card.
To you I send the whiteness marred.

If I started jogging and then maybe swimming.
And perhaps maybe bicycling too.
And then stepped over the international date line.
Could I have a date with you?

Frequencies, please let dates decide.
And give them all of mankind's flirts.
Oh and since all spiders, only have one pride.
Please don't take away, their megahertz.

Have you ever listened, to your time.
And raised one hand like steam.
Depending on which plane you're on.
Horizontal is crowded or team.

I have forgetful paranoia.
Which means, to wish for two.
To rise above then not detect.
The worlds beneath love few.

Misunderstood, means the cause of all things.
And misunderstandings become crystal hearings.
Mistakes I've heard, make the best inspirations.
So let's hope, that our order sparks dearings.

The stings that make a world keep working.
I suspect are the things half overheard.
For oh how boring would be perfect tuning.
If communications had harmless spurs.

From the photocopy of an important manual.
Foot hard, to the imaginary rake's deep thought.
Parliament protester, who dances like Michael Jackson.
Even though no one ever gathers to watch.

Opportunity rains all night.
But there is no-where to go.
Gone is sold on the bus.
But song removed the road.

That's, what I'm worried, most about.
That waters, are not sure things.
Holding a match up to the problem.
Beholds our rights to wings.

Diamond is not a pretty thought.
That shelter of the saddest king.
Each minute, of an average moment.
Disturbing his inner swing.

And lo however, I ride the bus.
A chapel, as quaint as far.
With war, as ample, as sitting brings.
The knowing what moves a car.

Insane beleaguered people scream.
The fanciness we fall.
On running transportation.
Where waterbeds know all.

It's, better that way you know!
To get free rights! And a tangled nose.
But wherever exactly roaming went.
I have no ideas, like pros.

But now? Would you take it?
Like Christmas again?
That nature of gold?
The standard, often?

Here's hoping our eyes, receive tainted feedback.
And what we believe, always slightly wrong.
So each and every, thing we touch.
Becomes slightly more like song.






poem 35
The Cooperation Game by Earl Dinkin

Of all the games upon the shelves Cooperation
knew. Risk was there, Chess was too, Monopoly
and Clue! Battleship and Checkers, and Snakes
and Ladders tried.  But Cooperation beat them
all, and soon out sold the sky!  It's happy
board, had no points or score. And no one
could win or lose. The dice were round and
made happy sounds, and when you dropped them
off they flew!  The players spun the wheels
for fun, then danced around the room.  Then
read their cards and wished real hard, opened
their eyes and swooned!  And printed there,
no one knows where, was the one important
rule. Trust and share, cooperate and care,
even till you look the fool. And sure as
night turns day, somehow someway, you will
find a friend like you.






Poem 34
8 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Where does mind hide high fidelities.
And level thoughts of my favourite melodies.
Songs so stung by such tall keepers.
And played so wrong, on each life's small speakers.

That sweetest harp of easy sleep.
That harbours no hate, nor of others' levels.
Steering the din and finding brave new peaks.
The think well of mankind's trebles.

Being no match against the common good.
I heard a knot start to cry.
Upon encounters where I stood on standings.
A community truth's new sky.

A newspaper to me always solemnly feeds.
Deep corrections that each field beds.
That I turn for harvest of flaw's sweetest seeds.
And know things not needed to be said.

Hates are priced nothing per announce.
Just bushel them by weighing worlds.
But loves, are priced everything per pronounce.
Because no scale, can weigh unfurls.

Let's raise a toast to the power of leapfrog.
While each winner needs one rest each two!
Let's remember fondly, when there were famous people.
Now let's show them, what humans can do!

Quick now you have zero time.
To invent psychic power and predict.
Too late, your mind's made up.
And lightning grew a world at tip.

Within each morning as smart as free.
I have to recount, the internal tree.
For within each time I dreamed of life.
Distraction stung abstraction twice.






poem 33
The Sunrise Tear Brigade
by Earl Dinkin

Do the children laugh and the windows gleam?
Within but their memories no sunrises seen. A
pearl of such potential. A world of countless
seams. Complications old and withered. A
child conducts for dreams. So could the brave
among us, cast but tears behold enough all
seeds. What battles cost in sunlight, who
would we give all green? With bullets words
or punctuations. Treenail bouquet
confiscations. Dog tags may I or please?
Ethics known as people, teachers lips would
heed. Who applies the brakes? Who keeps warm
the keys? Heroism, chivalry. Wands that water
weeds. And soft a whisper gasps, infinity
repairs a garment haze. What sentry stops no
clock? What mill what road not made? Has the
tracks of mud become, the sunrise tear
brigade? Help pull some feet unstuck. Those
thoughts succumb to praise. Dance dance
dance my love the horizon shines today.
"Would you mind terribly darling if I take my
hand away?"







Poem 32 by Earl Dinkin
By Earl Dinkin
watch on youtube  https://youtu.be/XWEjNzHq_tw?t=225

I'll answer your questions.
Like the edges of clouds.
Smile when I'm maybe.
And paint how autumn bows.

Where you can hide your wishes under any rocks.
With no needs of keys or combination locks.
Where your hands can hold rains of long divisions.
And leaves pile themselves in mourned decisions.

The eddies of the stream are slight.
The bravest leaves have known.
Choice at the master's keel of life.
The smallest turns they've owned.

Do you ever think about the leaves.
And wonder why the water comes.
Haste partitions as a resource.
Self autumn as the quiet sums.

Shore lines talk in whispers.
And leaves speak soft as breeze.
I will shout as loud as grasshoppers.
To communicate less with thee.

A mother with two children waiting for a bus.
As she suggests they stay off the road.
The four stages of a clothesline failing a blanket.
Stage left the autumn leaves I've owed.

A man's thoughts are like a mountain.
While on it he can just paint leaves.
But when he dreams he stands far from it.
And can paint what autumn sees.

Action is a place.
Where sighs don't need to be.
Were every happy pulse to race.
Somewhere rustle leaves.

A woman looking upward.
And explaining the green leaf below her eye.
It's for when a man loves inner nature.
And never moves for wind or why.

After all leaf regrets have healed.
How far should a tree sway health?
I know how a man fools his enemies.
But how does he fool himself?

Tell me only autumn leaf.
How do you like your brook.
Should the water be so calm.
Or move just oh so lill.

There's poetry rising on the albatross stage.
On the next clear "what-men-want-croon-phase".
If the cloudless blush upon two palm trees.
Turns away her milky ways.






Poem 31
10 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Odd today I liked all music.
But I will never like all poems.
But being the world's most hurtful word.
I place my compass home.

Opening your matter to energy conversion storage closet.
And seeing nothing, is eerie every time.
So wear thick clothing during these moments.
So people stings, can be a tolerable sign.

Ok, we'll do, entertaining.
London get the cheese.
Sad part get the usual experiences.
And someone get the tease.

Alright boys, I have a solution for you.
Wait now, she's coming out from that club.
Woman leaving bar noticing gold plated door step.
I put there while she was in love.

Everybody knows where they think on the dart board.
And lovers love like rain.
Soft in a corner, away from excitement.
I'm trembling fearful of your name.

Like a sunset known by only camera.
Like a picture of its unknown tree.
Please imagine your favourite canyon.
And at most remote know me.

A year after the cool thing stayed.
No paint, no polish, no mixer.
This is the best stuff I've made.
Full body armour fixer.

Presently on the semi-phone.
I can almost hear the mega-tone.
Current topic we discuss the most?
Earl Dinkin super ghost.

Have you paid for parking yet?
It's ok, because this is fun.
Monopoly Good times at the rat house.
To stay in the game go love.

Slow man leaving building through revolving door.
Before fast man asking would you like me to carry you.
No, that was just art, stealing the sink.
Let's only respond to what we have to.






Poem 30
5 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Kindle wood is very fairly.
Ready. But I don't need that nup.
Whining is very very rarely.
In tune with science coming up.

Do it yourself. Suit yourself.
Have a nice time and fun.
Too bad for me, I'm like a person.
Stronger when I was young.

Winds and sanctions and rivers too.
Are these good things we do to you.
Where ostentation hides a right occur.
Do you hear a butterfly or fear a purr.

Until the announcements, are completely different.
I will hear these yesterdays at nine.
I'm alone and where's the party.
Say it say it. Say these words like crime.

Every day is a myriad of thoughts.
And thoughts like a pyramid stay.
Two steps down from their tops.
And that's enough words to say.








Poem 29
10 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin
watch on youtube  https://youtu.be/ZYWyx5qK0no?t=105

Deep in the recesses of time's eyes.
A curve curves or a line lines.
Maybe it changes each asked for rhyme.
And mere darkness darks or mere shine shines.

Should I love you with lines or curves.
My paintbrush needs to know.
Wherever decide becomes decision.
That's where eye will go.

Creativity and mental illness.
The magnifying glass to the ants.
Let's raise a toast as wide as wellness.
To the elbows then let's chance.

Roll the eyes, back into the head.
Slack the jaw, and stand unbalanced dead.
Chance the lottery of the dancing lobotomy.
And lean towards a partner to wed.

A woman who focuses inward.
And hears not how babies cry.
And shields herself from the hungry quoting.
Near the wishing they could say that's why.

I see women on step ladders cooking in kitchens.
At their ten foot high countertops.
And embedded into their ambitious soccer fields.
I see their giant shopping carts.

Where elephant stacking reaches the usual limit.
The good of any copy looms.
Near the fear of what it might be like.
If man understood cartoons.

It's always dankest before the wrong.
Where haven in the mind repeats.
And hurries shine upon the shone.
Where the worries can grow obliques.

I put my faith in Corporations.
Individuals I fear.
That's the opposite of misguided rust.
Yet the sleep well of unsteer.

How far do vibrations go.
From wrongs so non or tall.
To stand beside a nebula.
Or was the mood that small.






Poem 28
7 old quatrains by Earl Dinkin

First stop on our tour, I forget his name.
What I do know is the guy just sat there.
As we went passed our poor, and their histories cornered.
Something about pretty women normaled.

A person ponders well that's odd.
And sets the dials to zeros.
A person yells that's the level.
And sets the dials to heros.

Sarcasm died today.
And reporters knew it most.
Don't worry said one boy.
You'll get your ghost.

I am not impressed by talking.
That worst abuse of words.
If you don't mind I'll stand nearby gawking.
To understand by thirds.

Least I not hate nor love too much.
If their meanings find me lost.
When as an evening showed me how.
A sunset told me soft.

Here's a good river, for your put forth motions.
At great new levels and very moist.
How much faster should strangers conference.
Before cut in shy levels feel out voiced.

A red rose and a genie lamp.
Dropped from a bridge into a river.
Its magic required one more love.
Than my heart could deliver.






Poem 27
5 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Now listen here denial.
You're a master of the neocortex.
But we like people! Just like you, just like me.
Poor people, if you just let them be.

Listen. You are going to need another one.
And yes I know we're pigs.
But that's just the way it feels.
To map a device, and get pulled in.

So let's try this one more time.
My stage again. But the other side.
Now stop being scared. I never use binoculars.
But I'll use them if you ever become popular.

They're not too good, for a thousand dollars.
And meanwhile this soup, is a woman you like.
But the real deal isn't pimpernel blossoms.
It's somehow making the toast just right.

They're insatiable actually. Is that how they're able.
To consolidate alot of their clearings?
No, because I just found.
A whole box of their informal earrings.






Poem 26
8 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

I watch eye runs, in order to try.
But what does hope, near thirst?
To open cans, or go to battle.
It's called the home rock. But never worst.

I've been gone from this terrible octet.
With eight sides and it's own hearse.
It smells like fries and sells like fries.
And to purchase, costs one first.

That looks important to you.
So honey dew.
I dream of you.
The whole night through.

The ones that are out there.
Are pretty empty! Already dressed like priests.
And yes they walk very gently!
So I'm avoiding, becoming least.

You have to pay to open it.
It's called the My Arms Snooker You.
But the real problem you see is this.
They cost one arm, for two.

If he asks for one hundred dollars.
Do you have that spatula key.
Then throw the stove door open!
So he cannot know such tree.

Like batting practice watching lovers leave.
It's truly close. Just like flee.
The electric razor with electric jolt.
So frighteningly close to me.

If there's anything I've left not right please tell me.
For as I dust I'm goofy.
If a flower is wrong! or cup, out of place.
Now that could, wow be juicy!







Poem 25 by Earl Dinkin
watch on youtube  https://youtu.be/27HwMZfe3T4?t=352

Maybe it changes, something in the air.
I have nothing in storage so it must be rare.
Man in iron mask, behind a stare.
I'll sell him for peanuts. I'll display his care.

I'm too drawn for this.
The redness and please.
Out of the air!
The him or me.

Yes that's right. If you buy now, it's third.
But not one of them are here.
She's gone with it!
Or as her copymate, I've heard.

You were there weren't you?
When I really sold that guy.
And then they finally knew.
In moderation, with one try.

You're not using it?
Knowing she was near?
You're not using them at all?
Those blankets, and nights so clear?

And you're not using, those evening cards!
I've stopped, people! and ask them to.
I've penned at winning everyday.
And loved that cars can't too.

It seems alot faster, for us then!
And, I write memoirs, of those things.
Because after that, she's lying here.
And we can laugh, at all such springs.

Oh I'm sorry!
I gave you a mustache didn't I?
Mere witches, we've called tragic.
And yes I listen, for their magic.

It's amazing! -How Grin finds dates.
Everywhere he goes'es.
So in a way he's found a home.
And I'll never, know such proses.

It's not that funny, that he's trying to get out.
So they're sending their youth gangs too.
Games aren't fun, without device.
For all the good they'll do.






Poem 24
4 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

A soldier rests a moment, to write a letter.
Then notices he has some very bad wounds.
My, but you sure have a lot of nice china.
Would you mind very much if I choosed?

Let's look. We know there's something there.
I'm scathing with Phoenix on it.
Open the bay doors easily.
I don't care. With no sea to sonnet.

I don't like it. It looks like garbage.
And seems like the rubber worn in youth.
Same dress. Same test.
Same action suit.

Throw those pants in the air.
Where the red can't sting.
But not for telling nature.
It's my turn for such things!











Peom 23
2 new quatrians by Earl Dinkin
watch on youtube  https://youtu.be/A7RHEzj1RT4?t=190

The psychics and the poets in the forest.
Have similar mating calls from mind.
But the complex will only explain to psychics.
What the poets will only explain to rhyme.

Aw, I'm sorry.
Well actually, I think I'm love.
Don't you remember that turkey?
Na! I don't hate the mud.






Poem 22
6 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Hum every object you've seen on television.
Ends in a landfill site someday.
And if you've heard humanity's wishing well.
You can almost commend each sway.

There's only one pillow for people like us.
So it has to, occupy the timeless rush.
So I almost called you again last night.
Hoping you could please, move just in one touch.

Somewhere else other than mission.
Where reproducers bright the scariest grin.
Soft and quiet men near soft and quiet women.
Fearing oh how I wish the slight could win.

I'm at war with nature's hour.
Perfecting my one two punch.
Explaining to rhyme but never touching.
Then winning by right hand lunch.

That's what poets call.
The fear of pressing the button.
Who'll grow up today.
And publish the rights to nothin?

How did my business partner say it?
I want to cut knife!
Did you check the 407 on that thing?
Now that's nice!






Poem 21
5 new quatrains by Earl Dinkin

I'm a man, and I have jel-o fingers.
But the whole world needs to know.
If only I could type this out there.
That traffic is made of people's prose.

I just remember you.
When all the world's afire.
And dreams come in from another place.
And I journey to the last desire.

The frog's way to pollute is very clever.
An eerie low quiet no bog can jeer.
Untill awake talkers become very peaceful.
Then true tips of pine cones can steer.

They are, two anguishes of angel hair close now.
To solving a question once and for all.
If they could just stop the train of circumference.
Turning phantom as its track becomes small.

Like physics at the end of day.
Rockets, they send back to nonperformance.
If race tracks have secret backwards oarsmen.
I'll only seek strength from their importance.






Poem 20
5 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Winners pretend, they like winning.
Losers pretend, they hate losing.
Dust who am I, to write of love.
Except to referee the choosing.

Losing being that finest right.
A gracefulness only wisdoms toe.
Where problemless kites light up thin nights.
I fear blight men might know.

Though big pictures fight alone like wind chimes.
Storm never has seen one lose.
Their strife so simple like boarding inclines.
Warm tethers but it must choose.

People can orbit people just like stars.
Then I saw you at the mall.
To be around you until we lose count.
When to have no wall.

When playing poker against a display rack.
Of information pamphlets lose.
Five pixels beats a thousand tacks.
And appropriate response beats news.

To choose is this a heaven.
To lose is this a hate.
Wish like grow is everywhere.
Pressure finds escape.






poem 19 by Earl Dinkin

And the winds of change are omnipresent.
And they always heat seek the learn.
And where ever we look too long at slightness.
The meanings of life will burn.

That's what we in the industry call.
The nun to nun ratio sums.
Where three out of every ten nuns are bad.
But only to the other nuns.

Oh let me tell you stories cold.
That no one can compare.
There is a place so lovely.
Called the tv static stare.

The weakest force is the line of aught.
If three be known two will join by thought.
So that is how I read the news.
Seeing what love a constellation glues.

I learned a new word today.
Well actually I made it up.
It's all that fuss between one and zero.
When all men know nilsenough.

Of all the wrongs a world can blame.
I hate my voice the most.
You see a man hole cover crime.
But I see a coast.

And a very bright flashlight with four legs.
Shining at the moon at night.
Answer is less than a midnight glimmer.
But nothing can beam that slight.

Like a particle, or like a wave.
In the grime, or such will amaze.
I promise I'll look. Twice for you always
In the mind, and then in the haze.

The air conditioner, half believed in heat.
The baseboard heater, half believed in cold.
To enjoy such fun from wasted teamwork.
They secretly hid their belief in droll.

Powered by the hour of compression.
First you lush two trillion learns.
And when you stir in a timeless question.
Then you've heavened all my turns.

I shall never know such beauty.
Like a person so hard at work.
That as she oh near sips a coffee.
Which no cost can compute such worth.

And if you imagine each thought was warm.
How could such a hot be normal.
Oh sweet choosey dragon how I wish.
The average cold trip was formal.

I'm kind of saving that for less.
My oldest toast for some the fearless.
That a slight might slow the laughter.
Enough to learn by tearless.

Moonlight silhouette of a flea inside a parasite.
On the stomach of mankind's all.
A look to the curtains, a touch of the "havens".
And of course a wisdom's brawl.






Poem 18
14 selected quatrains
By Earl Dinkin

Try to begin, so I know it's new.
And try to leap deep, into authorize.
What is a people, in hero words or less.
And try to leap keep, into scrutinize.

There is a savory as brave as asking.
I'm sorry but I don't know how.
Two billion years and still no apogee.
For a fish hidden behind my brow.

Would you like to see my art.
I own a five pixel camera.
Five symbols is all it takes.
And lonely folds the drama.

I have something to think about!
Some cards, if that equals enough.
I'll show you a sentence. I'm never hungry.
What are you doing? Are you crazy? Hush!

As never say good morning man.
I fight for all terms unsung.
Ideas so small they have no voice.
Yet every man points at one.

Ask a world by endless chose.
What it arts and what it throws.
And on its hunch it carries those.
Secret votes the ladder knows.

Excuse me are there more stars or atoms.
Which way should one pay one's toll?
Should we sit quietly until all are bored.
And is this training going to Be One's Role?

I know this is a personal question.
But how do you connect the dots?
In the mist of thinking screaming equals.
Should beauty join the dewdrop thoughts?

Isn't it weird that things go right.
Who knew that atoms drive.
Right here so deep in the meaning of life.
Who knew that fathoms pride.

Tell me in rhyme so I know it is truth.
Which unstoppable force can move hell.
If it shines in your eye or causes first cry.
Heed way it's the need for approval.

Poems and paintings guns and saintings.
Life invents so many ways.
To move the thinking to other thinkers.
We all must fight that haze.

Have you ever cleaned a keyboard.
And accidentally wrote a letter of love?
Or ever cleaned your mind so well.
You only spoke in of?

The meadow dreams of shadows.
And a young bird dreams of air.
Where I am warmed by dreams of you.
Spring snow holds my stare.

There are five reasons near any center.
I suspect most teacups know.
Here's a toast to infinite finite.
That internal five pixels glow.






Poem 17 by Earl Dinkin

Tap Morse code on the corner of a pillow.
And know everything on your frequency hears.
Outer evolution takes eons and eras.
Inner evolution takes ten dawn years.

You know that shape of humans.
Well humans are nothing like that.
But kept secret hidden inside somewhere.
Is where their circle is at.

As equal storms are men and weather.
I shall never hate the see.
Like on an oar, like sinned are sure.
All wind and men shall be.

Where the alphabet can leave like wind.
And even the adjectives may think of spin.
Where the uncaged focus may roam or be.
And even the news hounds sleep touching free.

One step towards an irresistible woman.
Pause long enough to meet.
Five steps away from her, down an embankment.
Until there's an elbow repeat.

Let us talk all day of arts.
And as so tea must steam.
While lesser known the finer starts.
Our hearts we fill like cream.

Is this how you choose choose networks.
At night in your apartment's dark.
Pretending that you are a floor lamp.
If so please forgive my art.

Flowers and landscapes are the letters.
Surrealism banged are the keys.
Now let's type a real message.
Art from lucid dreams.

And I also wish for growth of man.
Or less semblance of unique.
And a blanket warm as a failed strand.
Storing the technique.

To dislike all animation.
To stare at a logic prize.
To wonder with eyes so stationed.
What makes a vase advise.

It arrives disfigured as a situation.
The unthinkable ugly hunch.
And somehow someway a choice is made.
And the universe bungie jumps.

I know what mistakes are for now.
They help art distort the lines.
I dreamt I tripped and kissed her.
I tripped a thousand times.

Like a concert equipment truck for the who.
Wrapped in tracing paper in a dark unheeded.
With its skin so thin down the street of men.
Can you hear the inner spin be needed.

With its light blue shade of habit.
And sun spun like a plastic fan.
With invisible true smiles of women.
I'm spinning all I am.






Poem 15
6 selected quatrains
By Earl Dinkin

Let me ask you around a storm.
While everyone is wide awake.
Who is writing, down near the ask.
If pimples make the same mistake.

It wasn't could, giving it away.
That makes the getting up in morning.
You understand who seldom care.
If sirens hear a coffee scoring.

Want no trouble, plastic bubble.
Is that to like as fist as see.
What a great man, stands I am.
That revolts the quest of me.

And know each day in a never way.
What groceries take away.
To awake and store, a lust so sure.
What makes it to a corner core.

To the tune of stars vast as captains clover.
And rise at the end of day.
Mute the bus and call friendships over.
I have no words to say.

Know what at unheaven savors.
And hums the slightest air.
Just once upon a clock of haven.
And the thirst becomes so there.






Poem 16
14 selected quatrains
By Earl Dinkin

If all atoms were just solar systems.
Where would I choose to live.
I would travel farther than clever knows.
To be in her tear of give.

I saw a shadow try to hide you today.
But you moved so the shadow retracted.
Every force of life in its own weird way.
Has tried to be that much attractive.

Could you please tell me your coordinates.
Are you currently fast or slow?
Meek or angry, thoughtful or active.
Let's kiss and I will know.

Did you know hubcaps are just as round as wheels.
It's a mystery that eludes my eye.
Oh and would you please be my girlfriend.
There's a reason but I don't know why.

There is a friend you'll never see.
That works long into the night.
There's an angle you need endlessly.
And there's two ends to a kite.

Since we have reviews and points of view.
And focal points of no return.
I wonder how five leaf clovers grow.
Wherever lies the learn.

Then my five pixel camera.
Answered her question in kind.
Inside must be simple.
Because outside is all time.

To rise above ground level.
Be given a voice and breeze.
To stand just once and revel.
That's all I ask of needs.

To worry is the warmest weapon.
If only all men had fear.
In corners they could lay and reckon.
And at worst defend by leer.

Then when no one sees you.
Shine night through seven days.
Where there's pensive trace a lark.
And you've made poetrays.

Around the face of the undisturbed.
A mouth had news for its ear.
And what was only known in dreams.
All worlds knew not to cheer.

With nothing as solemn as window grime.
I'll ask as if wind were mine.
Within the harbor between two endless scopes.
I'll ask the din to dine.

A force so wishless were it found.
Even kindness could knock it down.
Weakest is the know within.
Of all I do not comprehend.

I thunder what five calls per day.
Thinks about zero calls per day.
One man's crazy being another man's lazy.
And in some ways that fills the tray.






Poem 14 by Earl Dinkin

I think I became small today.
So it's traditional to wear my uniform.
Sun dust sparkles, within a darkness.
Are "saluting" to my lesser, hello-storm.

I heard about a loneliness.
That is as walk as mars.
With two porch chairs soft as romance is.
In a house above the stars.

There's a way of looking I kite the most.
With soft hues of inner blands and blends.
With a tilt to one side that sees two dogs.
And two owners that will never be friends.

It can't get any faster.
Because of the way you move such things.
Hurry up, try them on.
They're going to surely miss those wings.

Fortune and unfair with just enough Moon.
No one should want that much room.
For whenever it comes to something like that.
There's nothing behind me, I'm a robot perhaps.

Forget the lust. The river chose.
Daddies are made by vroom!
And sparkles! are showing on the counter!
Neptune is my moon.

Hold on! There's Justin Timberlake.
As actual as a nose.
He writes bread! And I'm dead!
Oh god let's pray for toes.

I'm going to tell you everything right now.
That's the classic, big box alone inside.
I started talking to them, some how.
And now I throw myself out wide.

I could have minded my own business.
Like "she" did that to you.
Right there, why so much?
I'm the Robin's egg, it's true.

Flying together tonight.
She, impressed him chimes.
Me and you, stop it, stop it.
I can't do this a thousand times.

Occasion liter pour your wine.
Shots heard only, in ears of mine.
Divided days that rapture lays.
A paved-song sings what stays.

Noise where vegetables knock for game.
Hunger team ease your train.
Drop not, stock in thought.
Rewind be kind oh rain.

So many crooks produce on a stage.
It's absolutely why I come here these days.
A "McKegney" on "Craig's List" and doughnuts well made.
Holes gone in seconds, and an audience paid.

Meekly showing someone a painting of their "Hug" brand.
Cigarette-rolling-papers on a table "without-speaking".
Two upside down "teardrop-shaped" UFO's.
In a sunset to "sow" un-weeping.






Poem 12
7 selected quatrains by Earl Dinkin

Well, I'll introduce myself.
A wife would need to know.
No travel, I can give you that.
You choose a reason though.

A fine actor, harvesting no wind.
All, that, you, were, going to say.
His father mean while hosting.
Just enough sin to sway.
Ê
It's two o'clock in the morning.
I'm having, a nervous breakdown.
I think maybe no, one, can see me.
So I can write this round.
Ê
Oh, not that again.
That's not the way it's done.
I don't know what this is.
The wish to know someone.
Ê
Your chimney, is corrupted.
I know because I stare.
If harbors have erupted.
Please forgive my shadowed air.
Ê
You're not going to open up.
Take it one step further.
We don't want you on the carpet.
The taper today, said heard her.
Ê
Because you were asleep.
Rockets, oh my god away.
An introduction without the happiness.
Place your bets and day.






Poem 11 by Earl Dinkin

Stimulation is sold in what's.
Some want none and some want lots.
The world is where that price is fair.
And what's between us finds a level there.

There will always be two paths in woods.
With Kingdom and Boredom signs.
Boredom being that meanest enemy.
That path that causes rhymes.

I know of dust that loves good people.
And settles where it can.
Ten trillion thoughts are sharp as equals.
On wind that forgives plan.

There's a way of looking I kite the most.
With soft hues of inner "blands" and blends.
With a tilt to one side that sees two dogs.
And two owners that will never be friends.

I look to the poets at the helms.
Finesse is a gentle stern.
Never pointless they only speak.
When culture needs to turn.

Would you like a cup of coffee.
I know this place that's on no maps.
Where the rivers are so lonely.
They hide in the water taps.

If you don't mind I'll have it black.
Since coffee comes from "havin".
Lifting a sugar cube takes a trillion years.
If you count the seasons of atoms.

People are best described by the invisible alphabet.
And complete thoughts are a nuance shamed.
You see that distance over there for instance.
That's the prettiest glance you've named.

I'm thinking life started from a lightning strike.
And humanity is a very slow burn.
Forgive me I'm seeing how lovely you look.
I'm sure it's just a million year yearn.

Know how just like piano keys.
I love to hear your news.
So saddest part of your worthy notes.
One time and just one choose.

Am I allowed to call you the "speckler"?
Because fragile loves the simple song.
Where at the center of every heckler.
Somehow the art world grows our wrong.

In between chimes heard forever.
The smallest known place is the care.
Show your poetry to family never.
And problems to strangers not share.

If I owned a famous newspaper.
I would name it, "people doing what they want".
And at the bottom of every page I'd print.
A white rectangle for your tears to haunt.

Like the quiet mind reaching out a hand.
To catch a friend's falling book.
We look upon the all of man.
Glancing long at brief chance or soot.

Imagine each gear so incredibly small.
Time to look at your clockwork-universe.
Now imagine each "thorn" moving immeasurable ratio.
Time to turn on your cement-truck "turn a verse".






Poem 10 by Earl Dinkin

Supply and demand and all known motions.
Started by the slightest new emptiness.
How do modern suns with sunlight in tons.
Know whenever we try happiness.

Like dripping cola into a pile of ashtrays.
It's called the oldest complexities effect.
Just mix in tall trees from zeroed suns.
And more what does the young gain from that.

Here with the irony of giving you flowers.
Like the knowing that activists sleep.
Are the results of all the known April showers.
And the please laugh I'm trying to be deep.

How about we just trust what the experts learn.
And look deep into the unknown frost.
Like complex and simple in the explainable pimple.
Undivided till the truth had cost.

Now adjust the focus then measure the light.
You'll see how the shadow contagions might.
Zoom out and you'll see too much illusion of edge.
Zoom in and you'll see too much blurry pledge.

Oh what irony an eye becomes.
When a tear can hold despise or love.
And the hardest heart with hate filled stare.
Will have mementos too somewheres.

Today in school we learned about lift.
So first we learned about lifting by pulley.
Did you know when balanced broomsticks drift.
One man's majority becomes another man's bully.

Well let's see if you count the sun.
Then divide by a mist of stars.
And put all atoms in a clockwise circle.
I'm forty three cookie jars.

To learn new things for my own use.
And not learning for use by others.
With the straw of knowledge I choose to drink.
Because the straw to breath just smothers.

Like the puppet slowly rolling down basement stairs.
With a smelly shoe on its face lands nice.
There's something about the bottom of cares.
Which bears thinking to one's self that's life.

Now look closer but not too near.
Do you see the thoughts in thirds.
Do not judge the drivers harshly.
But can you see the speed of words.

Where I glanced among their legends.
How slowly my wish unfurled.
While scared, there within their engines.
I vowed not to hurt their world.

A woman in Florida safely watching alligators.
As she thinks about the importance of tools.
Like a three foot globe of the earth on a desk.
Which is actually just a man's ass on a stool.

Until we find the real reason.
The truth will have to do.
We can only know so much.
So there's always something new.






Poem 9
14 selected quatrains
By Earl Dinkin

To speak I need to mold a vision.
Let us raise a toast and laugh.
But know a thought divides a wisdom.
Let us mourn its other half.

To be most proud of an empty quiver.
And not wield a frozen whip.
To stand in the way of an endless shiver.
And not need a spoken quip.

No harm is a stone made of tongue grown stale.
If said though the stone will fail.
And tea has an enemy with watchful sores.
In so much pain from the stones it hoards.

When of courses become just smart enough.
To make hourfull gongs and drums.
And the dawns become just smart enough.
To use showerful longs and strums.

If the correct were corrected without transgressions.
As far as why farms could knew.
And felled sideways each demand's two lessons.
Would that be dancing for true.

I'll try not to speak among unchoices.
In the grave yard of the jeers.
Where I'll stand, and fill with spokens.
Flowers no one wants to hear.

To be so still we never get that illness.
Will a core shaped wrong un-please.
There is no pill to cure the thrill-less.
Of the teach someone a lesson disease.

A university of higher learning.
Showing you a slice of pizza.
And then without a worried word.
You understand the teacher.

Where man looks there he goes.
Learned mosquitoes say.
And where he finds incline in dreams.
You'll find him there next day.

For the folding conclusions that pro man makes.
And all the false ends he claims.
For the strength of a beautiful toe man stepped on.
There's a sheathing for all his names.

No hand held out sideways over a brook testing air.
To feel what trees fall upon reason's softer.
Uncared within one never been there.
Is all a universe has to offer.

When you look at the knight of a shining star.
How does your love begin?
Does it song on a planet years away.
Or does it slow within?

With ties of untold believe strings.
There's knowing there's a single strand.
Excuse me miss have you seen things.
I hear there's a distant hand.

I can only give you all humanity's behavior.
Molded by the dins of past.
So here is everything for the complete space traveler.
As you turn each page please vast.






Poem 8 by Earl Dinkin

This with bravery and secrecy wrote.
And delivered in urgent times.
Dear friend please read then burn this note.
My memory has outlawed rhymes.

Be quiet when you hold a human being.
And try hard not to hurt their spin.
Of all the creatures that near the Mozart.
They'll have the "thinest" skin.

The Internet is a very long snake.
Inside I lie down and dance.
When the mind dips down one notch.
I move one inch then chance.

Have you ever searched the Internet.
To find your other word.
And pro wrestlers holding large writing pens.
In headlocks almost heard.

Put your palms together.
Then push down quick with force.
Then put your ear to the Morse code key.
And listen for a pulse.

From in my heartbeat I can hear of man.
His must the smallest code.
So each day I find an unloved pebble.
And add it to his road.

The non-cynical pinnacle.
Is the hilltop I hope to found.
Where they forgive a poem for pausing.
And poets choose higher ground.

Dance and forget the placement of light.
Every pixel knows.
With more giving than per-second can trite.
Oh please forgive my prose.

Poetry loves what it means.
And what it means' loves keys instead.
Have you ever turned a viewpoint sideways.
And knew it pulled all-said.

No deal nor should has yet impede.
What is swirled by the power of wants.
As rhymely small as the heard indeed.
Is the unstoppable returned-response.

All day I hear planes and buses.
And proud cars with no collisions.
So once a month I paint for your walls.
Some forever mourned decisions.

When our eyes see a rare moment and forfeit.
Just how are such windows shy.
Dear NASA please put a teddy bear in orbit.
And give it a good view of why.

A man fishing with dry stale cheese.
And a strong warehouse dolly for the catch.
He thinks alone about the law of attraction.
But observers decide the attach.

If men and women, have used each other up.
Then let's exchange our fish bone keys.
I promise not to flurry much.
And I'll stay like autumn leaves.






Poem 7 by Earl Dinkin

If every person was maximum careful.
What a perfect world I'd see.
But nothing is allowed to slow down or notion.
Except the odd in me.

I shield my wise from the smallest skies.
That shadow of the magic don't.
Where those that would.
Meet those that won't.

I almost thought about you last night.
Could you tell me more about you please?
The subconscious sees life with only five pixels.
And stands alone near no breeze.

I would ask you to go for coffee.
But freedom holds me back.
Somewhere in the perfect heavens.
Have you seen a cure for that.

Guess wisdom in all the shuns and winds.
And on all sunned men and she.
It's within no unturned type of zero.
Dear mist of wiser things than me.

And I shall have a crystal mind.
But liquid until then.
So when you ask me for the time.
I shall not defend when.

A comedian testing the hearing of his audience.
By increasingly elaborate means and drastics.
Allure which always seems to be unheard.
And perturbed are my favorite tactics.

A dentist testing out the advice he just gave.
By brushing his own upper lip.
Make no mistake, the hush of science.
Is morned, marred within the quick.

Like the seashell wears the ocean.
Beholding the sand has ears.
Knowing that fame needs no talents.
Only volunteers.

Could you please tell me what is a vote.
Is it cold by nails or warm by coat.
Where exactly can one go try.
The loneliest digit at the end of pi.

If I stand on earth and move less gritty.
I can almost fear no angers.
But I don't believe that please ignore it.
I was just admiring sanders.

I saw an amazing thing today.
A choice was right or wrong.
Inner judgment was weak as may.
So atoms were quite strong.

If a teacher is mad at a student.
And a large red bird flies in through totality.
If it lands on that student's finger.
Is that the nature of reality?

If I look at that star with all my station.
All mistakes great-men made are "hue".
Like that way all men turned into granite.
Celebrate with no world's undo.






Poem 6 by Earl Dinkin

We live on a perfect plain.
It's one inch behind a lens.
Where no one ever needs to shout.
To hear what silence sends.

It fills like living every place you know.
That place so tall it hides.
Where chance can't move the things of mission.
Yet everything motionless tries.

Have you seen the indescribable?
I think it might be near the din's unhideable.
And maybe almost where humans find.
Their major moments of never mind.

Near the subatomic scale they grow.
The who is following who.
And way above the planetary scale.
They harvest the me nearing you.

Only a music lover will rescue you here.
Sing at your own risk of shun.
Musical instruments are mixed with rescue gear.
But saddly not all men hum.

Somewhere there beside the action.
Two leers behind the acquiesce.
Loft in the garden of main distraction.
I'm hoping they build their finesse.

The things we do in time's climb.
They are the crystals we form.
So yes I'll have a coffee please.
With just enough heaven's warm.

If I look at that star with all my station.
All mistakes great-men made are "hue".
Like that way all men turned into granite.
Celebrate with no world's undo.

Do they ever set their clocks by jeers.
When our stop watch ears are timed by trees.
And if all our stems were found by years.
Could we ever become full grown tease.

Neighbors are the true horizons.
So I do not need a sky.
Within the unknown depths of hearts.
I see all the seasons why.

It measures care on the nectar scale.
Where the insect is least in question.
Near where the mozart steers the fine.
The uncalm teeds the teach them a lesson.

And then lots of horses moving slowly.
Eye blinks two days long.
My thoughts of you are in perfect light.
Forty eons still no wrong.

All I want is the loneliness.
From the ideas as lips as eyes.
And conversations wearing the inspirations.
And the sweetness black coffee hides.

It's not by stature or envelope.
That knowledge is held by teams.
Dear song time ago and your single spark.
Can I watch you and fill my dreams.







Poem 5 by Earl Dinkin

Where the wish obeys all motions.
Improvements are at the heart of sand.
Lonely cries into the deepest notions.
Where heaven divides man.

Arresting a government, man's-binary.
On or Off like hoovering blend.
As ghastly, as, interstellar space.
Vacuuming my place again.

Moonlight silhouette of a flea inside a parasite.
On the stomach of mankind's all.
A look to the curtains, a touch of the havens.
And of course a wisdom's brawl.

Where elephant stacking reaches the usual limit.
The good of any copy looms.
Near the fear of what it might be like.
If man understood cartoons.

Those moments when clouds look fast to a man.
And stars compute in his head.
And the sum of a man shines each night.
And he doesn't believe what he's said.

I'm a man, and I have jel-o fingers.
But the whole world needs to know.
If only I could type this out there.
That traffic is made of people's prose.

With the unteachable self we know is there.
That earliest man soon found today.
As slowly as deadpan rhymes might hour.
I'll don't know what to say.

The correct way to use correctional lurid.
Is to apply some galaxay.
And upon man's history of improvement.
You must dare not stop his way.

We shall never see a man.
Have self knowledge without a fan.
For any men who lived in barrels.
No approval was the worst of perils.

Where is that diner where we can order deep.
And ask for the truest depth of man.
Where fire and spark believe long enough to mark.
And flourishment becomes sit or stand.

Where the difference pays a man.
His balance scale of goal.
A cruel trick that newest price.
Each piece is worth the whole.

Where man looks there he goes.
Learned mosquitoes say.
And where he finds incline in dreams.
You'll find him there next day.

Man never falls on his own icy driveway.
The way spiders don't stick to their web.
While we stand upon the words of history.
Please forgive the slopes I've said.

Words that build are told for height.
Rare among none we say.
As easy as living a few stacked right.
To measure a man's decay.

When a man sits down to think next movement.
His eye turns inward and he plans improvement.
And when the wind makes the sound of could.
He gives the campfire and his heart more would.

And I also wish for growth of man.
Or less semblance of unique.
And a blanket warm as a failed strand.
Storing the technique.

Man against his pen.
Locked in combat till the end.
If you ever read these words.
Know I won by sunrise birds.

Known as where the crickets shy.
Where fame is the least of man's.
I'm above within below the din.
Wondering if you have plans.

When mankind broke the sound barrier (sorry).
Soon every man could talk.
So anything stronger than zero meaning.
Could ask you for a walk.

Someday I'll tell you and you'll be glad.
Why I invented the phone.
It has to do with a song of silence.
When a man's alone.




Poem 4 by Earl Dinkin

I try to stay away from that.
Ergo women tracks remain.
There within inner field.
So far ahead she fames.

If you look, at perception.
Ten dollars for a month.
I wasn't saying that awake.
Just dreamed a favor thunk.

Drew rapture, drew on his face.
If tennis was a ball.
Nothing changes everything.
Behold her corporate wall.

Lines of change pre-composed.
Are you done with that.
Comes from heaven, thanks forgiven.
Very Deeply, lost a hat.

Soak in oil for the winter.
The, like not having some.
Cross your legs and tea some bitter.
And confirm the winnings won.

Anti-aging blistery morn.
Shoes not matching norm.
England does not march on Sunday.
Rally fortune's poem.

Design a sink, make it gold.
Newspapers can you, flow of this.
Fill with wealth, and had behold.
And in a diner, make her wish.

Shinny shines without us.
Just turn thirty, then compare.
Then you'll have to, for a couple of months.
Be crazy about her hair.

It's not my job, turning forty.
Ask any bells of man.
Turn a profit, then give to arrows.
The great loss, of who I am.

What should you strain for supper.
In a state of "plain".
What should you name, the upper.
Dandelions or pain.

Forever told you the answer.
Eliminate the steam.
Look I'm holding everything.
It's hot and old as dream.

Stop, I shouldn't say that.
Into each mission's-covers.
It's amazing what costumes-assume.
And out of turn, discovers.

I'm living in a can of soup.
Where music makes the man.
Hidden until opened up.
But until then I plan.

Someone wrote to thus last week.
I believe it's called "understandings".
With two hundred heard of courses.
I can stand to learn, all brandings.

With, ties of untold believe "strings".
There's knowing there's a single strand.
Excuse me miss have you seen "things"?
I hear there's a distant hand.






A Poem for Autumn
by Earl Dinkin

You already know don't you. No thought need
touch your ear. The yearned first frost of
winter, is my favorite time of year. The
leaves have chosen their mates in flight, to
share their endless kisses strife, bright
mornings frosty air. To rest oh last the
burden, of pollens held in care. And water
crystals at last can fight, forms gratitudes
thus rare. If only thus till warming,
companionships they bare. But I didn't need
to tell you thus. Always truth you knew. With
first frost comes a sadness. A joyness sends
we few. For hayfever is a blessing, if first
frost bids it adieu. Something that so longed
for, should only shine could soothe.
Shimmers, endless, shineness, kindness. Frost
not for me but you, I'm sorry. I thought you
two, were together. Your noses sure are blue.
Tables for one in the arboretum then. The
windows should clear quite soon.






Dream Wariers
by Earl Dinkin (please read this for me)

If I wore shinning armor. And the shadows
could be seen. I would fight your bad guys.
By going into your dreams. And there inside
your alley. I'd find a crying fawn. And I
would cure its bite marks. And arm it with a
song. And the sunlight would then travel, at
impossible to measure speeds. And wash away
the shadows. And fill your dream with trees.
And all those little fires, before you let
them grow. I would say a magic word, and rain
on all your foes. And I would hold you
dearly. Even though I'd have no arms. And I
would tell you passions. Till all the words
were gone. And you then stirred to morning.
And in your eyes I shone. "Hello sleepy
head", I'd say. "Guess what the coffee's on".






To Drowning Men Send Glee
by Earl Dinkin

Of all great ships upon the sea. The best of
which will ever be. The ship of lost
identity. Where even on the nicest day. A
voice will shout all hands at bay. Man over
board the voice will say. And to the railing
all will come. To see who possibly could have
no fun. And someone shouts to the man at sea,
"Tell us sir what do you need"? "What pray
tell could your problem be"? But the man not
answers any cries. As panic now keeps him
alive. And everyone now steps aside. In great
relief as captain arrives. And with great
authority he does yell. For he throws words
to save as well. "Whats the matter son"? says
he. "Are you bored to death"? He shouts times
three. And they wonder all in thoughtful pun.
How will they send this man some fun. But the
man knows not what all they throw. As
fighting for his life he goes. And this is
life each day at sea. On board the ship of
lost identity. And sometimes if you listen
well. Towards the ocean from your cell. You
can sometimes hear the mighty cry. "Man over
board!", then wistful sighs. And if by chance
you ask of he. What could you do to send him
glee. Don't send him words or thoughts do
tell. A life preserver works pretty well.