tailing off / trailing off poetry, or signature poetry prior sleep
is usually filled with too many prepositions,
and by being filled with too many prepositions
the prepositions tend to be repetitively used;
nonetheless, a study of language is provided,
not everyday you get to see language
in such quanta; yes, quanta, because
physicists will not get away with smartphones
by mystifying words with all those theories
in the subconscious working on the word idiot
consciously in argument with an antagonist;
well it would be hard not to express mystification
of a word in the standard vocabulary package
of conversation, without having so much quanta quarks
stork butter and curd cheese to mash up:
for a thrill in the trill... yar yarn pi's randomised counting rates.
because not everything you read is technically
within the framework of an addressee, or read aloud,
and no one wants to read **** like a bog standard
newsreader prompt on auto-queue of flimsy pages of lies:
i mean, it happened on a monday, but not a joycean monday,
it was 4pm, one gun shot was heard a minute prior,
but then jules anno domini came along and said: stern!
make the eyes stern! then gregory the pauper of paupers
said: it was actually 9am and the gun shot was heard a minute after:
but still the man at the market shouted: '*** yer bahnanas,
toe fo' 'un, *** yer bahnanas - toe quid bunches fowl's worth!'
yes, the h in english is an elongation "umlaut,"
now say it *****, say it *****: bahamas.*

most people wash their faces in the morning
for the eager 9 o'clock slap of reality
for the bossy 8 hour toothpaste feel
on the vertical, without the whips and chains;
i only wash my eyes, knowing that
i'll probably "say" something *****
but see all too squeaky;
then i fuse a hangover with a bit of alcohol
to ensure the hangover stays longer
and feels like the previous night's binge;
we apache and aboriginal down here,
we don't ask for cruise shipments of thoughts
on the sunny side of starboard with the pensioners
under blankets of deceit.

so the first time they tried to **** me was
in a hospital cot,
the nurse almost suffocated me, gave me a heart
condition, fearing the monster with the chernobyl
birthmark.

the second time it was my childhood companion
conrad, who pushed me into a deep dark well
but having clung to the edges i managed to not fall
and climb out, conrad's mother was there too
(sunlight in a sugar crystal, or the punkin for a
pumpkin in canto xii from chicago breezy,
now the poem, reflected with the pumpkin in mind,
or that rowntree pastille twinkle of bleached tooth
and thumbs in thumbs up the ****
for things sold with audacity past the use-by-date;
cold-air balloons nearing titanic!).

the third time? south american poison, brain damage,
the entire prompt for my writing expedition
into ***** wonka's factory of candy tooth smiles.

or as i say of darwinism with relief: am i watching
the athletics or am i simply watching a chemistry experiment?
shouldn't it be called anabolics instead?
a needle to the puzzle muscles of aesthetics without
greek ship oar, *** horse reins, the scythe of wheat,
and we turn protein into carbon dioxide covered
by some plastic surgery on the sheen of lost wrinkles
in balloons on film - well obviously - given the tractor
and the aerodynamic future of fifty hundred different
speed mechanisms - the lax and laze of the populace
requires constant intellectual stimulation:
the 100m record was downsized from 10.5 to 9.5seconds
over the past twenty years, the mob rule is?
talk talk talk.