https://goo.gl/W9Yp0S*

we love life by pulp is one of those
rare gems you can listen to
for the album's entire content,
with the provided link, to me at least,
the stand-out track...
length of your usual prog rock output,
nearing 10 minutes rather than
a quickie of goldfish standards
getting electric-shock therapy by
amnesia... or so scientists claim...
but this poem isn't about that,
i got my wish today,
i once cognitively wished to be dead
after an argument with a girlfriend
sitting on arthur's seat in edinburgh,
got the wish, but i thought it had to
be vocalised to be jinxed?
never mind...
my other wish was to tame a fox,
stand a meter away from a wild one...
and today it took form,
someone behind me peering from
the house took out a smartphone and filmed,
i don't know how the search engine wording
works... hooded man and fox in a starring
match... man begins playing the panpipes
with his beer bottle to the fox...
for such a cursed animal his eyes
beady much smaller for the size of a mature
maine **** cat... odd...
gnats and other parasites made the fox
eat the fur of its tail, looking more like
a rat than a fox...
and the feeling from the experience? calm,
a strange calm came over me...
not like the feeling of sitting in a cave
in the dover cliffs, eating 6 snickers bars
thinking out a way to swim across the channel,
climbing out of the cave and the tide
coming in, getting soaked in seawater,
taking to the street, getting surrounded by
children, accompanying me into town
asking for directions and football scores...
the chelsea fan answered...
getting into a hotel and frying my clothes dry,
next day reading marlowe's faust in the park
along with camus' myth of sisyphus...
only a few books exist in a single reading,
the books i drop into a dead-end of interest
i dare say: begin craving the person...
i go bullseye ballistic when i read book reviews...
it's not exactly a review of a book
but a review of the reader...
books about existentialism **** me off (in
review format), much of the continental affairs
bother the english... they rather conform with
effortless arts... music primarily...
non-oratory poetry is also too bothersome for them...
so with this fox, looking it right in the eye,
mutual emotion, he yawned, i felt a calm apathy
of a missing heart... the lack of diacritical usage
in the english language spawned many accents
but it also made punctuation a beauty,
which goes unappreciated in terms of musicological
metre... the english want fiction & non-fiction
to be very simple, very un-entertaining, what's the word?
ah yes... predictable... eloquent appeasing
the Grand Accent... but dislodging all other accents
from allowing them to write an in-depth analysis...
it has to be worth the penny, each word
digitalised off the skeleton into a clear pursuit
of a straight line, without parabolas and a cul de sac,
obviously... tea at 5pm... caffeine in a syringe at 7am,
all awaiting the weekend...
look... i'm just a country boy and the forest is a mile
away, i don't feel lonely, i feel absorbed
watching wood pigeons migrate en masse in the
morning to graze in ploughed green belt fields
and then migrate back into forests to perch on trees...
i'm not into glass rectangle glaciers of the grid
you could call new york, or elsewhere...
very much wordsworth me, albeit anti-romantic;
see me in the cave of the dover cliffs
with a book of jalāl rumi... then you can see me
near the fox.