/grand terms along the way... none of which require pillars of establishing a reminder...

                  genuinely
i can approach a trans-grammatical
inconvenience of a word
with a:
          -pre
                             and          suf-,
a cat the size of a fox sleeps
with you in a bed that
could allow a woman and
you begin the lost scratch
of the cranium,
with fiddling with the nasal
cartilage...

       until bone comes across
bone,
       and the sensation is no
longer equivalent to
                         ingesting helium
  and laughing like
a pubescent torah reader...

     open to discussion,
if you mind:
                     -so-,
i.e.
                ****, a hammer enigma,
nail in a post-
ending with
              ... can you think of
an english noun
that doesn't end with a pluralism?

       hmm....

                        pillows! ah, ****,
no good: pillow...
             what sort of english
noun could end with an S
and doesn't denote: a plural?

     pre bound to o-?
                   that's easy: oßmosis...
but a suf bound to an -s
           in the singularity realm of
nouns?
                     impossible...

kant is still impossible to fathom
as a trans-national...
          monkey that began speaking
scotch parrot...
          
    language as an echo-chamber,
and less a people...
         what's spoken in english:
stays within the confines of english...
even if allowed an audience
trans-genus + "neo"-lingua...

far from being jealous:
  just this...
         tiresome bridging fabric...
    like a pavement of marble,
    ending up with a chewing-gum
stuck to your sole...
            
akin to whenever teeth feel itchy:
making a toothpick necessary -
because that's precisely the case
of itchy teeth:
               that there's something
stuck in between them...

would be much easier if
we all had the Madonna central
                      incisor whistle...
or flooooote...
         whatever you might call that...
post-scriptum of
                 experiencing itchy teeth.

so...
            much of the quest of being
human revolves around space,
as it does around a personal memory...
most of the time i find myself
nibbling on the remnants,
  of the personal,
                     yet nonetheless
crushed by the moving collective,
a condescending
        congregation point
           of:
                    ceramic implants counter
to where ivory primes should protrude...

i can't see an abstract,
individualist perspective of a collectivist
left...
            without falling into
collectivist anaswer of:
            the so-called individualist,
nearing albino,
  mild-autism-of-the-comprehensive-man,
solipsist...

i actually only wrote this
because i'm waiting for my fridge
to **** out six ice-cubes...
          no joke...

   noun no metaphor but certainly
not a misnomer...

      a warm mixer?!
              feels like a hundred syringes
shoved up the nostrils
  when landing in Kenya...

   not that i did anything spectacular
concerning the equator...
  some people decided to go
on a safari...
                 i took to hunting shade,
and a brandy with a strong coffee
prior...

   how did the english manage
the ******* heat?!
                 kenya =
       coffee + brandy + shade + sleep...

and whatever subsequent blah blah blah
accomplishes.