so many people become such  bad compatriots of drinking,
i've chosen an anthem for them: no, they're not obscure
Ukraine patrons of Chernobyl leveraging the Para Olympics
to get a whiff of the invisible  atomic wind - how many times
i got drunk from mere conversation, and how many i sobered up
when drunk when something dear to my heart was laughed at...
i decided to drink alone, because as many times that good
conversation lifted me from  the placebo effect of drinking,
it also dragged me into hatred that turned into pure bile
of rotting acid... i have an anthem for these people:
special needs by placebo... they belong in that ****-pile
of thought, yep: the ought i without i thought:
purest example... or albino lions and the one female that came up
to an engaged lion and showed her belly as if it were her cleavage...
i dare say, ol' chap, Darwinism made new assurances
in human ****** prowess a bit, too much, humanoid...
i'm not watching Para Olympians racing the track,
i'm gladly watching cyborgs... they're not human, evolutionary
terms come into play, they're cyborgs.... or how wolves yearn
for their best fried, never mind the alpha wolf being segregated -
awooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
                 discrimination concerning
   actual timing of that prolonging.
                  Dracula said: try the samosas, they're added spice;
i keep telling myself: these people can make it,
                            but then i said: well,
            if i am to praise acts dictatorial, i have to become
dictating what's anti-democratic involvement:
                 stipends of pedantry, and how that backfired
when the chosen became the elect -
                                            and how the elect
              was recognised as an unread book -
and the chosen people as, simply: people who
bought or simply owned the book,
                 not having read it.
yes, sometimes drinking alone is all you need,
         not because there's some hierarchy of addiction -
it's because there are people who can
  get you drunk on talk,
          but there are ******* that can make
you sober up with their talk -
        and those you thought were your friends
introducing you to the latter crowd are worth
keeping in touch with: they're merely worth
postcards. come to think of it, poetry is
akin to manual labouring, or the best poetry is,
the poet ought to have an implant that says:
   our work is no easier than a bricklayers'...
  there's enough to digest what would appeal
to the person seeking a river, or fluidity -
                 poet akin to a labourer -
                  some call it the contract
    of increased chances of spinal pains
hunched at the keyboard or when lifting weights
that have nothing to do with aesthetics -
                   sure... you'll hear my voice...
but first pay me for my words... if the former doesn't
fit with the latter? forget it!
                                         i have an anthem for
some people who's sole requisite in confirming
compatible life is served up in only one request: pay your tax.
                  and Nietzsche was right:
do i regret not having made such an observation,
   or do i regret having read it? perhaps both -
worse off: have i not chanced my behaviour as
containing the dynamic of having experienced such
and such an observation?
                                             the subtle nature of the year,
the ***** of fear - and music to contraband
the comforts of the house and the fireplace and the television
and the monthly gas bill -
                               subtle cries from caves and aged forests -
poetry too: ars nocturna (nocturnal art) -
                     a hive of contradictory abysses
peeling sight from sight, and eye from the Everest
cross-eyed that's the tip of the nose:
         or Bobby Moore alone, drinking in complete
company (his self, the reflective, not the reflexive
himself: that needs company) -
                          because a lot of people can ruin
your drinking, by sheer congestion of missing
artefacts that will never be exhumed -
                                  a lot of people that drink
are brought before the court of alcoholics anonymous,
but they never figure out that their sanity
    is why a lot of people drink...
                         the reflexive means the devil's
dozen dissection of keeping interaction to a fulfilment
of a night out... the reflective means:
                                                                       you.
i find it so surprising, a Christmas present to be honest,
  that so many people can't seem to ingest
     what they digest into others with their presence...
so many conversations can leave you drunk...
    but in equal measure, so many conversations
  can make you sober up due to blatant irritation:
             i was asked to join a.a., i simply said:
    *******...                    you watch the ******* television
                   and tell me you never wished to
feel the adrenaline of Somalian pirates...
                        i'll sniff out your lie quicker
  than you'll be able to say: my life's in technicolor.
            yeah... and i'm Moses the Unbeliever.