i mean, i'd love to have an English girlfriend... if she could cook.*

elitism? no, hardly, it's because you're
not someone walking past a beehive
dressed in flowers, doesn't mean anything,
it's not elitist, although poetry naturally
became a snobbish artefact drifting
among easily recyclable material of fond
farewells and petitions to vote and whatnot.

me? i quiet like the gay bitchiness of
Frank O'Hara's poem about the health of
Ginsberg - i imagine all those performers,
the umbilical cord cut from their essence,
having to entertain, repeat, entertain,
repeat, memorising their works
for a rapping cascade, mm yeah, mm, yo,
mm, yeah, *******, mm, yeah, in da'h 'ood,
mm, yeah... i can't forgive them,
they entertain and pulverise their one
potent act, then repeat, Stockholm (repeat),
Paris (repeat), Berlin (repeat), New York (repeat),
to affirm yourself like plagiarising
puppets - it must be horrid - to have
a plughole in you, in you that you require
to block - art becomes more like boxing,
dodging punches of the new, comfortably
sofa, artistry pre-readied to entertain,
no stumbling blocks of a **** poem,
just the continual revival of the true one,
the only one - lost themes of conversation,
no conversation at all, poetry lost to
Spartacus addressing the feeble minded
but eager in heart to ride an elephant for
Hannibal - Aesop biting his nails rather than
cutting them - long live the memory of
a few odds and black sheep -
Frank being ****** - mentions
Auschwitz symphony no. 1 a# of Adolph
Deutsche in that poem *fantasy -
hey, my pride is on the line, every show i turn
on, after Pope John Paul the 2nd became a
traitor i hear of Eastern European ******
everywhere - by god i too like to ****,
but ******* became a 110m sprint with
scaffold to jump across - prostitutes eased
the problems, no rabbit chase -
i ****** then played Monopoly to ease the flirting
mechanism - categorising man as mammal
breeds man categorising himself elsewhere,
a woman: mantis, a woman: black widow...
once you start categorising yourself as a mammal
and then build a telescope or shove a satellite
into orbit you'll be slightly confusing -
so what's what?
i just bypassed the printing press, nullified editors
and publishers, no one could experience such
freedoms in the 20th century, there's no question
of profit, it's... A MAY ZING...
it's a multiple ****** just now... who gives
a rotten egg's worth of omelette these days?
you see what's getting printed? you've seen the ****?
it's not even worth the softness of toilet paper,
i'm not surprised it's written like a tonne of lard's
worth off heaviness, there's no sprint technique
in the writing, it's a marathon of procrastinating...
a volume concoction of ADHD uno having a trip
flicking a lampshade switch on / off / on / off / on / off
for a month or a week... a real page turner...
well, that's that... sarcasm is dry gin and tonic
with the humours... self-indulgent, but i like that...
i'm just waiting for the trained monkey
to read me the encyclopaedia while cartwheeling...
so if you hiccup that saying: all eastern european
girls became ****** once the iron curtain was lifted,
you're probably right... and being a castrated ****
more or less i'm getting the giggles...
like that time watching a Dutch boyfriend spitting
in his Polish girlfriend's face...
well... if these girls are ******... western men
are *******... leech kiss my entry with this point,
leech kiss more clingy that Judas' -
wankers wankers... wankers.