you must know how i feel
when the boy next door decides to shoot hoops
rather than kick a football against the shed
and the woman next door takes off the clothes
from the washing-line
while slayer’s raining blood blasts in my room
and is audible to a teasing treat outside,
while the grey grey skies of england make me wear sunglasses...
home... that’s what it feels like,
it could almost be 1666 with charles the second organising
the excavation of the z in ß - and as due concerns go...
having no diacritic in the sphere of letters
will only provoke a monster of youth debasing language furtherest
from the furtherest use of truth (emoticons)... making swear words holy
will only provide excuses to pulverise the eyes with *******...
it will end up a mistake to have crafted such eloquent reminders of the said
and unsaid with: f*ck smear cow s&@~ on your face.