hiatus awaiting

welcome are the nights,
with a chance of snow,
and me...
   writing practically nothing;
i guess the common ground
encompassed by a
acted out "laziness"....
    i can admire *******
and it feels
     the same dead weight of
*******' hanging weight...
        i sacrifice my lamb
on the altar of Slayer
and say goodnight....
  i like these nights, redying
myself for an internet hiatus...
    getting a haircut,
trimming my beard...
        it will be a most pleasant
experience,
being internet-free...
i can actually forget about
the dialogues...
                   for a month or so...
the whiskey dries out,
the will abides by hibernation,
the book is read...
time passes via
         a Maori interpretation....
slow, deathly,
unpredictable...
                 such warm wintry
nights when the snow falls,
and the fox scuttles about...
            are paid grievances
for want of dream...
                i write the least
because i belittled the most...
   zeit werden plötzlich halt...
        like i said: i pay my allegienace
to a tongue..
       i align with german
on a fetishist's whim,
not a nationality...
            speaking german comes
across as oral ***...
            scheiße ficken auster!
      i pay my allegiance
to a tongue, not the people -
  der zunge uber die volk...
            i reek of the kind of hate
that these zombie-people dreams of
the living become acrid...
         i am sodium and sulphate!
                              i watch
the shamanic dance and the *******
"ladies" in waiting...
                      i am the tongue
above the people;
    thinking comes later...
    last...
       the only increment of crafting
a nostalgia of carving
and a nostalgia of what's past;
****** the oyster with the serpent,
maggot, worm...
             there's nothing with
leverage of poetics...
              why has the thrill of life
and upkeep "suddenly"
expired from me?
         why has this quasi-
castration taken hold of me?
                   all before the
perfected mechanisation ugly...
                  doesn't matter,
as individualism dies
i am the one to inherit it...
                      die hitzig nächte
aus gefallen schnee...
und die tänzeln fuchs...
                                    zu sehen.
- perhaps a return to
the saxon rooting...
perhaps that,
perhaps anything at all...
what does it matter,
there's the troubling tomorrow
to pitch against...
             the lost beauty of
the sunrise, to the day's insistence
for love lost unto labour;
the abhorring obedience to
said, "love", and slavish schematics;
love is a pardoning word
in keeping things intact,
but not a word worth an ounce
of motivational value.

and due to CSFR (cross-site request forgery)...

      *Turkish Barbers

once more, the notion of the simplest pleasures in life, are the most rewarding; maybe i should be 30 to 40 years older to make such a statement, maybe i ought to be the colt-type bungee jumping and skydiving feeding an adrenaline rush... but then again once you make life slim of extreme pleasure, the real authentic pleasures come through in the most unexpected way, out of the mundane every day, a proud, strutting peacock - let's keep the intricacies of pleasures and experienced bound to a labyrinth of either such extreme experiences, or the heights of philosophical discourse... keep the pauper's share, allow the everyday form of grey separate itself: till you finally see the black & white.

it was about time, someone had to allow this
ruffian, this ***, this barbarian into society...
sure, a suit makes a man,
but since we're living in times of smart casual,
where ties are not required nor
the top button done up -
the next thing that makes a man,
is a well deserved, haircut.
i come to think that a haircut makes more
of a man, than a well attired suit,
call me old fashioned, or new fashioned -
but it comes as a shame to not bother
with a haircut, like i did for almost a year,
considering the angst of the baldies,
with their shining craniums exposed
to moonlight...
like ice converging to act as mirror
in a firming puddle on the pavement...
yes, i am prone to "forget", well, in actual
fact abandon any ****** aesthetics to
imitate a variant of Lent...
i give certain things up and fast in a much
different way... vain?
hardly...
you only notice the difference
when a girl looks your way after a transition,
even with a puffer-fish face from all the drinking...
but it had to be done,
someone really had to get rid of the barbarian,
this: feral *thing...
and who better if not a Turkish Barber?
i have to say... i lost my virginity to a razor today...
Turkish Barbers are the best in the world,
that's not an opinion, that's a fact,
and from what the result is...
women can't cut beards,
they can do a brazilian wax no problem,
but the ***** on the face?
ladies, leave that to the men...
and there's one in particular,
a local,
a very cameo parlour,
two seats, almost like a kiosk -
Ustun's -
4 chase cross road, romford, essex,
RM5 3PR.... cemil ustun,
phone number 07447752357...
i don't know what's better,
receiving oral ***, or getting a proper barber's
treatment...
i'm starting to think the latter,
since it's cheaper...
i've come to a conclusion,
forget inquiring into prostitution -
£110 for an hour of agonising *** acts,
i'd take an hour with cemil for
a £20...
first time i actually had
oil applied to my ****** hair,
and foam and blow-drying it into shape...
before i grew my hair like a, ******* hippy,
i never really had a proper barber experience,
and i've learned something important:
not all "feminine" professions are actually
feminine...
a barber is as important as a soldier...
and that coincides with:
well, if we don't really believe in
moral relativism but absolutism,
and if we don't believe in cultural relativism
but absolutism,
we can at least agree that:
every, single, job, is, important,
that there must be a professional relativism,
or that there is a relativism of labour,
since nature does not like vacuums...
every job is equally important,
in that relativism exists on the basis of
gradation, an "ablaut" of incremental changes
in "value"...
by not money has exited the original
idea that it's the source of
the trans-valuation of values -
point being?
£20 for a haircut and a beard trim,
£110 for some wacky fucky-fucky...
hey, that's five and a half sessions
with cemil...
barbers can out-compete
the necessity of prostitutes...
but you can only, really, come to such conclusion
if you've been to both...
and this has to be the most authentic
experience of pampering that a *******,
with her moral baggage, simply can't give;
but it ought to be noted once more...
the best barbers in the world are Turks...
must be the highlight of the Ottoman empire,
akin to the english coffeehouses,
the barbers of the Ottoman empire
probably had as much significance as
the coffeehouses of england...
and that's how the cookie crumbles.

with him included? the devil's dozen, or
the 13 -
             then the hours of Horus:
noon - Simon Peter -
later with covenant
of the hour: holy spirit,
and the minute hand: son
                       and the second hand: the father
oh quiet the trinity handful,
given year zero -
            hours 12 through to 1
Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew,
Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas

                                    s / p.
                    s.                                 a.
                   θ.                                      j.
                  j.                     Δ                     j.  
                         m.                                  p.
                                             b.

look at the ******* clock! something's awry!
Simon peter 12
     Andrew 13
        James 14
                   John 15 (3 a.m. / p.m.)
       Philip 16
         Bartholomew 17 (5 p.m.)
        Thomas 18 (six)
                         Matthew 19 (seven)
                James (ibn Alφaeus) 20 (eight)
     "θ" (nine),
                  Simon K9'ite - ten
          Iscariot - eleven     - clocks are wrong...
the year 0 a.d. is based on this,
               twelve disciples, twelve hours a.m. / a.d.
and                                              v.  
                                                 p.m. / b.c.,
   hence the trinity / Δ -
an hour for the holy spirit to catch on,
son monetises the minutes
and the father being omnipresent understands within
seconds...
                       but i was aiming to do justice to the harvest missed
last year, i was intending to make wine;
hence the list of ingredients,
a) wine yeast;
             b) yeast nutrient:
                                diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid, magnesium carbonate,
   thiamine hydrochloride, zinc sulphate, ferrous
ammonium sulphate, biotin;
   c) pectolase:
                    pectinase enzyme, dextrose monohydrate;
d) bruclens cleaner / steriliser:
                   sodium percarbonate;
  e) fine fining A: silica sol,
                  "      B: chitosan (derived from crab and shrimp
shells, contains sodium metabisulphite)
                 f) two months' worth of patience.
it's that time of the year where you make wine
(just a little bush, enough for 12 bottles) -
and gestapo a curry -
                                   a tarka dhal
and a kheralan chicken with coconut milk...
i love when **** decays, it tastes better than
when **** blossoms and isn't exactly edible
but merely colourful.

I’ve O’D’d on Glucosamine Sulphate, so much I’m mentally scarred.
It’s escalated now I’m 70… I’ve mainlined on my Senior Railcard…
I bow down to the Norse God Voltarol… He eases all my pains…
and there’s Deep Heat, Germaloids, even Anusol for the other stresses and strains.

The wondrous Winter Fuel Allowance! That’s what lights our lamp these dark days - ahh, those twilight hours!
But after the logs, it’s not Leccy or Gas we crave? No! We buy ***** with ours…
the Whisky, Gin, *****, Wine, a drop of Brandy too. It all helps us numb the cold
whilst memories of happier times gone by - brighten up this ****** growing old.

Supplements, sterols, statins, aspirin, beta blockers… All the heart meds - life’s a battle.
In the 60s it was *** and Drugs and Rock ’n’ Roll… Now there’s less *** and a lot more rattle!
****** fails to make it now - “no more”, after the last time - she said!
These days the only thing it does is stop me rolling out of bed!

The bus pass lets me roam the world… from John O’Groats to Land’s End.
But these days I travel locally Southwick, Lancing, Steyning; oh yeh and a cousin in far Gravesend.
Further afield; abroad perhaps? Well no…Back then it was Newhaven for the Continent.
But now I’m over 70, well, it’ll just be Worthing for the INCONTINENT!

And… did I say? Not that I was ever in the habit of measuring it you understand - or straightening out the kinks
I’m pretty sure that these days - and ’no’ it’s NOT just the cold… but, your once adequate **** - it shrinks!

I'm sorry...Your *******! It ain't so long!

Huddled flocks pecking around
seasick seasick seasick
Stor-it-all ransacked for tax reforms
jupiter pinetrees form less pyramids a month plus shipping
Monoatomic white gold texas teatree oil of bullfight storefronts
coronas eject breast milk of magnessium sulphate under the table
dealers lower deck slips tips into his cup o soup for 99 cents
landsick landsick rot cod rot cod
dot dash doctor ankh eyes windup toys half price
sentences complete fusion conagra foods lose stock market value
Judgement night of the living end time shared ethical treatments
and other plastic surgeries
hydra lost all the fifties movie stars heads and robots grew back so quickly to take their places everyone pay it forward
ships mast ripping into the ocean spray on tans
compass spun bankrupt Say Jack E onasis
chaste chasis mer ka bah light bringer fire eater
danse macabre four pillars swatch at Sacs on fifth avenue
avec mon couer le chat screams cheshire teeth porcupine all over my new
dress shirt,  that stain is not going to come out
and playground beef factory farmed like high school mindgames
seasick seasick see it see
i see

She really was real in reality where I was too real in your past


It past us by with no pillowfights , mutual loss of trustfunds
we never had
, purposefully failed attempts to make little beastly humans grow in her stomach and burst out like aliens happen in her car on long trips.

lost art of making art artfully with out chiclet teeth blank eyes and jumping breaking stuffand hitchhiker guy twisting wills
by throwing green boxes into the dark on bike trails

or inviting things to watch ***** fountains ,
endlessly cutting out pictures
, orange ice cream menthol cigarettes and choco pyramids ,
fake friends find you when you run away from yourself
so don't play hide and go seek or you might be gone forever until the devil finds you and takes you to jailbird

jacobs ladder rung 9  times and I answered my phone
"Hello ?"  
It was the silence of God on the line.
The cosmic vibration of pure being.
I didn't listen for long enough and ran out of minutes.

The smell of sulphate,
            emanating from that
accursed thing, its aura glistened,
                  seemingly smouldering .

But when the  breath of life
                    died beneath sunset,
A Spector of ill conceived retention
                                             contemplated.



Daybreak was mutilated upon the sight.
                                            established placidity..

At McRonald's, you get what you order,
McVirgin burgers from someone's daughter,
***** just wanna have fun,
In a sesame seed bun!
Do you want any french fries?
Have some fertilisers and pesticides!
We're not selling these apple pies,
Because we really love you, guys,
Here, more landfill and sulphate dioxides,
Have a nice day today,
Anyone for take away,
All in a plastic sesame bun,
Yum Yum! Yum!Yum!

i acknowledge that some of this is a delusion, but if it's only inscribed in thinking: and hurting never hurt anyone... if thinking doesn't translate into action... it can come: it can go as it pleases... as long as that feral creature: ego... can be tamed awhile... i'm all for it... then at least i know some of its needs are met... i guess the feral creature: ego... is best fed delusions...

the time of year has finally come to make wine...
this year's harvest has been terrible...
my vines seem to be stricken with a disease:
a botanical parasite of sorts...
it's not exactly the cancerous growth of mistletoe...
but the vine started to outreach with its sickness
to a nearby plum tree: and the plum tree grew
sick...
it wasn't the same sickness when "translated"
but at least the plum tree came out with
a good yield...
beside all the usual garden requirements
i managed to render in... circa 10kg of grape pulp...
which equates subsequently to:
circa 2.5 gallons of worthy juice...
finally! autumn! and finally! winter i'm itching
for! have come...

i've lived in her vicinity for almost 20 years...
but i've only learned her name today...
Sophie...
                  which i learned from my mother...
who learned it from the father of Jack...
who's she's dating...
i've seen her grow... become a woman...
then again: i didn't really see her grow:
now that she is a woman...
one memory most piquant...
seeing her seeing me sitting at the desk
proclaiming a presence in the window
with last night's circus freak Halloween
make-up... less hangover and more...
recovering from having drank a spiked drink...
some ****-art at best... it almost made me fall:
i had to pick up a slab to balance to get home...
but she saw me in my clown make-up...
and that smile... hmm...
or that time when... her older sister
would parade in the bedroom mermaid naked...
plump *******... then the mother would walk
in... likewise... such mature forms of those "things"...
and the added flab of the torso...
mermaid... half-naked...
then she walked in... how old was she then?
still in her teenage years...
   she just lived across the street...
circa 20 years... she has seen me...
aloof creature...
             still pretty much the most pristine form
of single...
if only i started using those dating apps...
i wouldn't be the one
spending £120 at half a decade's stretch
when prompted by .......
                              a female cat... no... no pandering!
ah! grooming... with her raised ****...
i had to revisit the brothel...
would i be using those dating apps...
isn't social media already: cancerous?!
it's a profile outgrowth of a parasitical nature...
it might be an investment for the future: at best...
at worst... it's a meta-mirror...

another muse... i've had a few...
now she's moving away...
from across the street... to... two doors down...
her boyfriend's father is a builder
and work is underway to recover the structure
from the previous occupant:
a single mother with an autistic boy
who would sometimes take 5 minutes to cross
the street...
a proper carousel lady...
sometimes there might have been
         a man every single week in that house:
but did he fix anything?
no... apparently it will take... 3 weeks to revamp
that house of horrors...
******* beta orbiters...
  would any of them fix anything...
beside probably abusing the kid
and ******* his mother... the boy beefed up...
stopped barking... now they're far away
about to start a new life in... Chelmsford...
somewhere in Essex...
         at least in the brothel you have a sense
of a working environment...
am i living with savages, for, ****'s sake?!
in a brothel you're... well...
there for only an hour...
there's the hour's keep...
         it's not like you can: eat where you take a ****...
i'd summon the moon to the forest
and **** there than keep my house in disarray...
where i might: read... a... ha ha! a book...
eat a meal...
it sounds even more demeaning when
listening to some medieval chants...

oh dear Sophie... she's moving away...
from across the street: two doors down...
this is where the delusional part of me says...
it's because she wants to be close to
her mother... and her boyfriend Jack is doing
the white-flight left available: from East Ham...
to Romford... not much longer...
soon there will be a white-flight from
Romford too... but not yet...

i have experienced women strangely though...
they're still a phenomenon...
i was walking out from my ex-girlfriends house
in Hackney when a "bearded lady":
a woman dressed in a niqab went past
and... unveiled herself...
perhaps i have a bad memory...
but i saw what would be best described as:
too little butter... spread over too much bread...
she looked mutilated...
i stood still and... follow her?
round up all the white knights in the area
and save her?!
eh... then this little quickie... cycling down
oxford street... this one oriental girl flashed herself
on the junction been oxford st. and reagent st.
again: perhaps i need glasses or my memory is
all lies: did she have knickers on...
or... were her ***** trimmed as... imitation
of knickers?!

to borrow from a people that gave names
to their letters: whether the greeks,
the northern men...
hebrews... or the arabs...
perhaps when a people give names
to their letters: something can become of them...
all the greek letters that became
scientifically-mathematical constant:
but not in Latin: as one might /
be expected to sing... or to write with greater
fluidity...

aleph: mim: shin...
    A: M : SH...
mind you... shin is a "doubled" consonant...
since it asks an Islam...
a harsh "Islam" of a consonant H...
to be submissive to S...
when... when coupled with A...
is the genesis of laughter...
-leph -im -in
                   Sophie could have moved far far away...
meta-relationships: investing
in the uncertain future of: from death do us part:
                Jack...

all that's happening is para... phrasing...
sense & sensibility...
pomp & circumstance...
              
  dearest Sophie is moving away...
the day Jack saw me rooted walking back
with two bottle of cider i sort of knew...
i wish i could lend you a cushion to sleep
on... Jack...
but... hey... a woman's fickle mind...
if she's not ensnared and made comfortable
to even adorn the niqab...
i'm your lucky loser... Jack...
if she is allowed old again: and i'm allowed old
age... even in my presence
she'll turn into a budgie:
reading Harlequin novels...

        i'd play a tugging game: i too want
to relieve myself of this life...
on the other hand...
it is SUB-LIME...
ha ha... not sub... lemon?
ha ha...            how words are conjured...
from... prefixes and nouns...
later arrived at...

Sophie is moving away... from across
the street to: two doors down...
might she want a better angle of me...
sometime... toiling in the garden...
psst... let's keep me and you...
a mystery for her...
otherwise... boredom...
expectation... recurrence...
same old... same in... let's become forever
"un-attainble"...
              but i hear whispers from the past...
how courting can happen in the modern
day almost unavoidably...
poor Jack... all the trades: beckon...

IF YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE...
YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE... MOVE...
YOU'RE NOT GOING TO MOVE
ACROSS THE STREET TO BE CLOSE
TO BE CLOSE TO YOUR MOTHER...
MOST DAUGHTERS ABHOR THEIR MOTHERS!

huh?!

i'm delusional! i'm even an adjective prone:
delusionaly 'appy!
poor Jack: he owns a car and works
the Docklands...
i own a bicycle and sometimes the night
and sometimes the forest...
because... i'll walk bare torso into it
and ask for the callings of the owl...
to sooth my drinking habit...

meta-relationships happen... when...
there's an invested hope in...
no death do us part...
         there's a rejuvenation process...

oh to hell! the self-proclaimed wine-making
process can wait...
there's all thought-exclusive...
thinking about the girl: woman
to be...

were diu werlt alle min...
i'm delusional.. of course... of course i am!
such tender lamb!
such impostor i!
                
we're here concerned about making wine.... whine(s)...
wine not whine...
and for that it would: most necessarily require....
a yeast compound:
dried yeast, bentonite...
yeast nutrients: diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid,
magnesium carbonate, thiamine hydrochloride,
zinc sulphate, ferrous ammonium,
sulphate, biotin...

to get things moving...
fermenting... eating itself to give new life...
i won't get into the stabiliser stage
where you'll need sodium metabisulphate
& potassium sorbate...

drink any bottle of alcohol...
it will contain a disclaimer as if vegans
are to be necessarily minded...
it contains... sulphites...
i think i'm excited about making my own
wine...
it only happens once a year...
and i think: if i were only allowed to
make... wine once a year...
i'd have a carnival!
i'd have an ****...
so much so that we wouldn't sip the ******
sip throughout the year:
faking it... seasonally!
we'd eat fruit in the summer...
apples and pears in the autumn...
get ****** mid-way through winter...
while the rest of the year would be:
could be: would be... spent... sobering up...
but only after that **** of drinking and *******!

how it is... so readily available...
for the lowest of man and the highest of man:
likewise... given the same circumstance of: now...
my heart is already broken:
my mind too... what else is there to throw
at the "unexpected"... "surprise" stampede...
boxing my liver into a cubist shape?!

                  i drink some cider: i feel... hungry...
i combat that with drinking some whiskey:
i'm full...
sober, sane, people... if not workaholics...
have so much time spent for / off of them...
i'm drinking hoping that someone
sane diagnosed me as insane...
but... there's little chance of that...

i walk in canoes: size shoe 10up... 11...
i have canoe feet...
people tend to stumble over my shoes
sometimes barricading the most shortened
space between stairs and the civil room...
the living room:
if the t.v. is to be implied as fireplace?
i'll pick up a book to find my eyes: burning!

picking up a book via someone who
wrote about: numeracy of... ******... not ******
partners... talking to someone on the phone
for an hour...
when was the last time i talked to someone
for an hour... wait... i can't remember...
last time i checked i was sending someone
the equivalence of braille...
not my first love... not her...
i was in love with her sister...
in this supposed heaven
there's not *****: no menopause...

so... i turn all crazy at the fold: this...
is... all... that... ever is... or will... be?!
post-science... post-news: fake...
adolescent acknowledgement of the rules of:
hide & seek... rekindled...
it's not like too many people know
how to play the game...
some of us made it so difficult that the rest
of them found it boring...
we turned the game into a war-game...
sharpshooting their presence...
climbing trees and roofs to aim with
imaginary rifles...
the game was lost... everyone lost
interest...
we were beginning to be snipers at
the battle of Stalingrad...
no fun in that... the world moved on...
bored... as ever...

Sophie... what a pretty name...
she's moving...
from across the street...
two doors down...
i just can't wait for the horrors...
it's not like i'm writing this from the perspective
of a perfect husband...
i'm a proper ****-up i never used
a hook-up bribe of app...
submerged myself into:

what came first... the chicken (consciousness)...
or the egg (sub-consciousness)?
i'm pretty sure h. h. holmes was
merely a con-artist...
with a few naive lambs to slaughter...
albert fish though?
needles pointing into his pevlis
while he died: ******* into an electric chair...
another: altogether...
do you mind?

the slaughter of world war I: for kin!
G... the son against the grandson!...
the Hebrews turned into... cattle...
come world war II... willingly they walked
into the slaughterhouses!
said quote: the Jew is what the Arab
now sow via...
a non-important quote...
why lever... thise Semite from a Semite...
such a kippah-tease-of-the-north...
              believe me when i say:
i have venom's worth of eyes for the niqab...
i'm yet to hear about the future
guided by... anti-usury...
i'm not going to hear much from
that "tabernacle"... am i?
                  forget it... you push along...
push forth... you settle down...
have your children...
Darwinism is... primarily applicable
in the anglo-sphere of the zunge...
i'll sleep...
                    Darwinism will never be
French or German equivalent of
existentialism... it... hasn't arrived yet...
it's still basic... form focus...
it wasn't fashionable in 19th century
continental Europe... it's still not fashionable
in 21st... continental Europe creeping in on
the islanders...
                  
the ancient Romans looked at the ape too!
and they too said: well... maybe...
similis!
                     there's nothing ******* new!
the WASP attack on Copernicus...
suggesting... the ancient Egyptians knew just
as much...
well then... given that Darwinism
is so ******* obvious...
the apes knew too!
so they allowed men to conjure up
their pyramids and their coliseums!
while they remained mute...
and via mute: giggle...
pity man...
pity that he might think himself
to remain.

how's that?! i hate Darwinism...
               i don't need to accept it...
it arrived in the mind of one man...
"originally"...
in my mind it arrived as either POP
or plagiarised...
otherwise... exhausted...
i still retain the observational luxury
of keeping: ape...
no? you revive Darwinism with keeping
a man in a cage...
i might respond... then.

i don't know how they do it-
write about how the twinkle in your eye
sparkles more than the stars at night
how your blue orbs
make a sea seem shallow,
when you and i both know-
it's just plain lies.
your eyes are not deeper than oceans
nor do they showcase a storm
or a peaceful beach wave
or the soothing sky
they're just your eyes
and they're blue.
like... a copper sulphate solution.
no
you don’t have a smile
as bright as the sun
although, i can’t seem to understand
why you’d like it to be compared
with something people prefer
to not look directly at.
your laugh is not as vivid as
the first blossom of spring
or your face like that of a winter spent
in some hill station-
you are not a landscape
or a place that can be mapped
with beauty
and serenity
you are a person
living and breathing mass of
bones and flesh
muscles and blood-
then how
how and why
must you be treasured with comparisons
and parallels with
the stars
the sun
the sea
the seasons-
anything but you.
i do not know how they do it
or what words make a rhyme
what stanzas string together a poem
what plot comprises a good story
but i do know my stars
the way they rhyme in their constellations
how their twinkle makes up a good poem
and where their stories began to end
and unlike most poets
(not that i consider myself one)
instead of your eyes
or voice or laugh
instead of 11:11 wishes
or the perfect date ideas
when i look at the stars
i see ***** of fire
and gas
and work that still needs to be researched upon-
while you
you are my person
the one who’s there after a bad day at work
who tells me (every day) that
the next experiment i try
is definitely going to be a success, unlike the ones before
the one who keeps this science freak
grounded to the earth
(even though i insist that it’s gravity bu-)
the one who i won’t mind writing a poem about
even if it’s filled with unrelated references to the stars and moon
even if it compromises everything i’ve ever known
i could still write about you
(i think i’m doing a great job)
even if don’t know how to.

Chair Man
He made a decision to clean the factory chimney out.
Did he know it would be messy?
I look out of my window and see so much smoke emanating from the chimney.
It blanketed the fields in particulate sulphate alkali acid.

I was so happy! I could be a zombie now.
I ran down to the fields and danced naked in the grass.
I was in a real pea souper of man made chemical arsenic fog.

Right away it happened: zombification!
My skin bubbled like acid and fell off in tatters.
My lungs filled with liquid and I drowned in my own blood.
Every orifice streamed liquid, a real **** burn. Won't be using it no more.
The only gals for me will be ones I eat.

The smoke thins and I see a watery sky.
The pause between before and after.

My life and my very body have changed for the better.
I feel my teeth turning into steel shards that yearn for female zombie flesh.

I go in search of my first victim.
As I stroll thru the summer grass I see her. Mrs Peters from the farm.
She looks disorientated.

I close in.

~ THE VET WHO OFTEN HEATS UP CANS OF SOUP SAYS ~
1. This is my soup & no one has the right to take it away from me!
2. How can people question whether this soupy **** was a ****? Abortion-lovin' Katharine Hepburn was soupily ****-a-licious!
3. Beef soup's the favorite soup of Vietnam War baby-killin' hobos.
4. Eating soup with a fork is not my idea of having a **** time.  
5. Oddly, showman Soupy Sales believed that the hypodermically- delivered brandy, adrenalin, strychnine, camphorated oil, morphine sulphate, somatose, peptone, digitalis, codeine phosphate, morphia, atropine & nitroglycerine complimented the saline, starch, sweet oil & laudanum enemas & the nutritive enemas of eggs, whisky & water and the high enemas of olive oil, castor oil, epsom salts, glycerine, soap, water & ox gall administered to bullet-wounded Bill McKinley (September 6-14, 1901) benefitted the president as much as the consumption of beef juice & whisky through the other end (the mouth opening) of his alimentary canal.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

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AMTRACS with gas tanks beneath the floor
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