look!                magic! i've actually turned
a hammer into a mini-skirt flirt with
     the wind! i know both are "useful",
but i never heard that poetry is: necessarily
useful...  never heard that, once...
     i might have gravitated into owning a yacht,
that i was hoping would clearly sink:
rather than sail across the pacific... so i heard
the motto: poets and plumbers remain behind the
curtain call: and there useless... clearly sink:
  because i wanted: a ******* anchor!
like i might want gravity, minus Newtee...
and was i prone to be wedded to
rich girls? thrice the ******* number of
thumbs and tweasers, so: d'uh dumb me...
me? i just nibble at the idea
of a mongol horde,the horde and
Stasi... becaue i just love envelopes and
   stamps... hardly the case with e-mail...
  i mean: ****-one up the flute,
either 1, 2, 3... and the rest are hexagonal blank:
meaning you don't deal with it...
you sorta just pass it as neccesarily un-,
like i always wanted to be photographed
in Monaco, or being an actor in a french
*****... 1: as genital proper...
2.. well: one up the veggie and one upon
the palette... tongue licky-licky without chew...
third party sources told me: it had to be ****
as intended transcendental..
so 1, 2, 3... and that's really when you become
bored... i'm poor and i get bored like
a rich man... which counter logic, makes me
rich..
            i'd rather spread my ****
    for an eliphant's ivory than, that thing
i might also call human...
             or when elitism just disappears,
how to have a proper Sunday without
having to go to church...
               i mean, really? you really want me to
do all that?
         can i just be lazy and scalp a monkey?
or play hairdresser to do a mohican on
a chimp? i mean: slap / pet that cranium about...
i'll write as i will:
only because i'll never speak it,
only because i'll never have these conversations...
  i'll write what i write, only because
i'll never have these converations...
    come on! look at me!
   people have become busy in undoing
the siamese twin introspect,
they actually managed to stage a unity
of opposites... and made children...
   i'm so ******* bored of caring to be mortal
akin to also being mindful of:
the nearing surprise...
             well: it's usually a grave...
  how can mortality ever fathom itself
when it suggests immortals?
                  i can't exactly digest that...
there's not mortality at hand,
    there only a mirror toward a quasi statement...
if mortality was as true as our phobias could
lead us to believe: there would be no talk
of immortality...
    i just can't stomach being mortal
   and not exploiting it, and being told of
immortality and the immortals who later become
as self-evident as gravity that newton didn't
become self-evident: but genius...
       i mean: why state mortality and keep up
with Vatican Disney?
               so you get all the ***** and i say: dodo?
   then i will also claim:
you, aged 70, are nothing more concerning
life than me aged 7...
                      it really doesn't matter...
first they said poetry was a bit pointless...
  then they said philosophy was a bit pointless...
then they said modern art was a bit pointless...
here's to you! admiring a brick wall
   or looking at a toad, or becoming a plumber...
well, here's to you!
    oh wait... that won't happen...
   and what i admire most about freedom,
is that you can best express it,
having made the effort, and someone also having
made the effort... unlike having made
a video...
      i mean: writings books, spying...
two parties conceding to a no-man's land involvement...
  i can write whatever the **** i want,
given my english teacher said: books are bricks...
  and only because i write these words
i can clearly say what the hell i want...
   i hear dialogue in central london
and i start to really realise i'm vague...
              the circumstance of reciprocated effort,
it's really akin to spying,
the reciprocate event, which is a book...
   the same effort invoked and later released...
    unlike a you-tube video in between multi-tasking
  and laying it: down low... for the "necessary"
social commentary... and yes, i concede:
Günter Grass was worse for me than Kraszewski.