beam me up, Scotty!

hundred percent proof Gaelic,
drawn from a shaft of wheat,
near Glasgow, or in the Canines
mountain range - strange that
so few mountain ranges are called
Canines - all weathered protruding -
man perfected the mountain,
constructed a mountain improvement
in Egypt... but reduced it to a status
of tomb, every stone a man dead,
and inside the womb of fancy
gold, no books... just gold and a
zombie flesh, papyrus rotten -
imagine waking up in the afterlife looking
like a ******* mummy - i'd rather wake
up like the Brahmin stated: elemental,
fiery, ******* - yeah, i know, the part
where we get to be part of the geological
history, compressed, burnt in diesel...
i don't mind the "covered in cow-****"
that much, surfs up on the Ganges;
**** alba corruptor primus.
that's how Latin translates - the verb before
the adjective - in Anglo-Saxon
the arithmetic is white man, prime corruptor.
****... the poem was about ****** Muslims...
well, i have a pair of aces and we're
rightly gambling solidarity...
Jalaluddin Rumi... and *Omar Khayyan...
they were ****-heads, winos and worse off
than the last Tsar of Russia, hashish smokers...
poets, defilers... what else?!
i'm not going for a citation, that's too scientific,
just trust me on this one, no one sober in
the right frame of mind writes words like that,
sanity and sobriety doesn't work like that,
you can stack supermarket shelves with
packaged goods, but poetry? nah, no regime,
all spontaneity - the similar thrill of theft -
you steal blanks and write whatever is jeopardy;
i swear to Allah the brimstone knee-******,
if your people don't start dipping their soul
in the fiery water of the second to none Styx
that's εθαε i'll be worried - dudes, you have
a reputation for pristine Persian poetry...
i'm done.