a horror movie is advanced in scares if the protagonist uses the word mother or father, as a way to calm the scared child into an enshrined audience made believable, cinematic entertainment clasping pop-corn burps... well, isn't the child born?*

you know, i walked past these fields
like a thief thieving insects
to stop buzzing around my head
like orbits of planets
and you know what one thought
i had? i need to take a ****, i need
to take a ****... i need to make
a Balaclava of a face...
i need a hunch... i need impromptu!
**** sakes let me take a dump!
that's me with six beers:
let's turn it into an 18th century:
O eerie sky, might i suggest...
****** no, we already have a trumpeter
and a violinist!
so there i was on the gridlock of traffic
drunk like a lulled skunk
kicking a pole laughing out:
'but you promised me pole dancers!
but you promised me pole dancers!
ha! ******! ha ha! hey! wake up!
i'm not ready for the amber in between
passing traffic and incidents recorded via r.i.p.
rather than v.i.p.!'
i'm serious, there i was on an island
of concrete kicking a street-lamp
awaiting a pole-dance... knickers off! off off off!
didn't happen.... the laugh remained...
i was walking home as if i could...
well, i knew where it was, how i got there
is just another brothers Grimm storytelling excuse
to not grasp a hammer to call everything outside
of manual labour slouching in sloth.