there's a "we" bargained for in every affair, but not every "we" leisures to be a claim for a success.*

the feminine man, as last resort for the continuance
for providing: a ****, for a phallus,
and make man swear:
as i see my "children" -
ravaging in the streets,
i too have my qualms and request the repentant
asking: by god make this equal to an
abortion, or you'll be asking for
a greater sorrow!
         i now own a womb in a ******* sack,
and i can peer into this world,
and subsequently realise the words:
  chastise these streets,
       make these *****-tadpole protestors
disperse... you bunch of,
               ignorant fools!
             take these men,
and give them manhood!
            stop this mea culpa *******!
  stop blaming the righteous,
earn the respect of being allowed the chance
to blame yourselves!
              but of course, you won't,
you'll just cower into your incubators and
live as dead, pretending there's
not grave to await you...
     forgive me to add:
whatever epitaph rests in chiseled print
above your name:
is by comparison, like a ****
                   compared to a tornado;
it's not even a waste of waste of time,
just a waste of space,
   given the foul stench of acquired knowledge
as to why you could have been
left, the perfectly intact, autistic: solipsist;
still, the foul stench of an acquired
knowledge...
              just like my paternal grandfather,
who's grave wasn't chiseled
into either date of birth or death,
or name,
   and like i said to my fellow
graveyard hyena - my maternal grandfather -
ain't that a joke & a half?!
   ******* couldn't even muster up
a chisel, instead it was a felt-tip on
marble...
           i've heard better jokes,
          but none could beat that one;
oh i've seen them,
  not many gravestones champion epitaphs,
apparently not many people said anything
more memorable worthy of an epitaph
than a b. 19. 5. 1939 / d. 22. 9. 2019...
it's sad though..
       just a date or birth, and a date of death:
and nothing in between,
not a single marcus aurelius moment
of clarity...
                perhaps for the best...
       but then i think of maggots,
and lice...
   and then i turn to man:
     to be honest: there's actually
nothing distinguishable about man,
other than that there's just: man....
             and the rest: the obedient reminder
of superiority...
                 hard being a hyena in a graveyard,
as any grandfather will attest with
a grandson by his side.