i find it scary that i found proving god
was easier than proving
someone to share a life with -
that i found a deity's imperfections
more justifiable than the imperfections
of mortal beings....
i really appear as a cold-heartless
selfish swine / solipsist -
                                                yes,
that's how it is...
                               i found it easier to prove
god with everyone jumping the bandwagon
of circus acrobats and hospital surgeons,
and disk jockeys never playing in extremo
or die krupps -
because it was easier to argue the non-existence
of such a being, with colonially ardent dismissals,
because like Lethal Weapon II and the apartheid
master race choke-joke... sing me a king crimson song
you ****!                 oh right,
                                  no Pirates of the Caribbean then,
               fair enough.
                                            but we're
all up for cheese, when reconnaissance
just means: otherwise Renaissance.
                                                 bridal chambers
lefty, and if it was a hoarded arrangement...
then the curry house did
tailor the bridal dress, to avert ivory white
and instead lace the cotton with white boys'
turmeric coloured dentures worthy of
that bridal pattern that would sooner bed
a widow than a ******, if as suggested,
                     then i'm your man;
or the random **** and jalfrezi of the alcoholic's
twitchy hand...
                          oh sure,
alcoholism is a bit like exploring the Amazonian
****- / acid-forest, 'cos' we all care about the globalisation
of our private parts having established the whereabouts
of our petted dogs in the publishing industry
as: well, doing quiet well; never thought
that a woof would be so hard to find as an echo...
apparently a woof was hard to find, which is why
dogs recieved publishing contracts. also:
                             funny how i'm half ashamed and
half of anything that comes when providing a compilation
of shame cut in half with something engaging
                                        some sort of arousal
to make an arsenal out of and later simply shoot
blanks.