and i walk with a desert
in my brain,
i walk, encapsulating
scorpion,
and the sidewinder snare...
and i walk with a desert
in my brain...
   drunk, labouring,
above the governing concrete...
i've brewed some wine,
and i'll drink it...
   there i am:
             figurative humanity
where subjectivity equals ∞,
and objectivity is an oscillation
between - & ~,
  the numbers don't really matter,
they don't Downton Abbey inspire me
either: to butter some lord's crumpet...
oddly enough...
               it's seeing these gnats
worth of people drop dead in a battlefield
that gets me...  
               runny mascaras of no-man's land
   at Ypres...
     they just drop dead,            dead...
            it might make abortion clinics readied for
  fundamental rights in celebrating Sunday...
         i don't get it,
and each day i am woken into this nightmare....
   this celebration of all things possible...
of a humanity...
               oh but char...
                       semblance to a cynicism...
               it never made any sense to watch, and cultivate
it...
                      forever the jammy doughnut,
  and the life i wish i could have received,
smitten with cool... cradling the wooly jumper...
             why are these people so *******
alien?             so much
the cure's killing an arab with camus' the outsider?
iron maiden did a better egyptian jive...
           to that smitten cowadrice of the the bangles
pepper-shaker dance of a numbed egyptian.
   pyramid ******* cruise-ship of female escapism.
yeah baby, it's war!
scuttling with the jive of powerslave:
abandon ship! abandon ship!