coxswain or "***": a poet upon my shoulder, mind you embarrassing the comparison, twice the defeatist with a devil or an angel: twice the defeatist, still my prime mate! poet the ***! please don't elaborate on the said compliment! eight to an sixteen of oar upon the thames! you *****-nim-whitts! oar! oar! shmoore ore! by ten to 12 that coats about ten *******! you oxbridge falcons need the talk ***** to get a hardon?! trophy ***** awaits! limp ***** of McPhallon; what have they been feeding you: p & n + j all your ******* lives? no wonder you're a waste of time, i'd have more fun trainspotting that pretending to goo it out in gay over your "bulging" muscular-man crescendos... i've seen more anemics with more heartthrob effectuation than this *****-riddle-of-an-effort! at least the anemics get from (a) to (b) without having to pass your ****'s worth of (c)! i swear to god, most of these ***** sportsmen would have learned more in the army, than they ever did, or actually never did, "learn" at college... if not discipline then at least some respect, and if not respect, then at least some discipline... stop thinking about the fate of the ugly girls! row forest! row!*

sometimes, whenever a man couldn't have not have said it better, an orangutan out-mastered the masters of the swing, and gave him a permanent stitched-up kippah as reminder...

the world detests the men of necessary
stature, requirement, posture
and that welcome of adversary -

you wanted equality!
you didn't take it!
            who wants a woman equal a man
in the labour of war,
and who wants a woman equals in elsewhere,
what is there to come back to?
what candy floss dinners? what wish-you
good riddance?
    
  you are my necessary men...
       that sack-load of the last remaining rite -
but a skim off a skimmer...
the long-lost tattoo...
   i have here by daughter,
i have here my glue -
                   and may death pardon me,
for not living a life into her ageing
into me becoming a grandpa...
               who died: saving oh so worthy few...
and may my country be wed
unto tears, and let my country be
sufficed by the oh so many given,
but the oh so many pacified "grieved" -
and let that bell of the 4th of july
count 24, by noon with it,
and by midnight with all of those
we grieved a charcoaled choke worth of
goodbye...
                      let us all serve the infantry
of the years 1980 and 1990...
      when once we mattered,
we were subsequently left with
a fakery of goodbye...
in the days when we held more love
for our enemy, than our fellow countrymen,
for in those days:
at least the enemy held us in no
contempt: and looked us in the eye,
as sons of the same mother,
with a different pa...
                    and we learned
about the insidiousness of a woman's
desire to upkeep a "household"...
          and we said unto each other,
friend or foe:
         that this be the home of
joke and laughter: and the loss of
a bewildered, begrudging abode of a woman's
sorrow...
          that finally: set aside what's free,
we'd set aside the only freedom of
continuing our bludgeon against each other:
that our native tongue
became our native in translate -
          that we gained more from
fighting our enemy,
than having re-countered our, supposedly free;
we gained from love from our
enemy, than we were ever to gain from
our "citizens free".