Godot in the Hands of Angry Spinners

As it were, in manners  of speaking.
 
Smarties abound &  it’s hard to get
Dumb in edge-wise: the Ignorance
Growth  requires who has so often
to be abusing Knowledge.
 
S’blood!  Face Book’s an oily spill
of likes & links, lol’s & loony tunes,
pics & picayune: potlatch enough to
fill a gulf & then sum.
 
Galore.
 
Let it stand for twitter, my space &
you too and  see  how rich we are in
mind  over-flowing mindfully, plenty
more where that comes from if I don’t
hold on but throw it away: to hold  is
to choke the baby in the crib,  kill
goose & golden  eggs,  more the
merrier: waste, not want..  
 
I’m running out of rant and rave:
Ron B__ leaving for points North.
I don’t expect counters to my points
or contra to the addictions requisite
for emergent phenomena rising up
from converse action; it goes with
out saying
 
Too much discretion &  disciplinary
rigor mortifying the spell that might
uncap our rich heart of darkness: mind
spilling from a small liberal arts college,
a thousand acres nestled in the Blue Ridge.
 
Seriously.
 
North east of New Haven  paralleling
the Merritt Parkway or could be Wilbur
Cross: The Sleeping Giant, a range of hills
legend has waiting for Godot & swarthy
pioneers to kiss somnolence good bye:
broad- shouldered  earth  taken for granite
shrugging-off  boulders & trees, moss &
ferns, deer flies & mosquitoes buzzing in
the years, to slouch slowly south toward
frontiers yet unknown, its hours come
round at last & chastens to be born again:

"Wrestle, resurrection of dry
sticks, Cut stems struggling
to put down feet,  What saint
strained so much, Rose on
such lopped limbs to a new life?"