it's kinda funny, but all i keep thinking about is the clipped tooth and the 3 pancakes awaiting me gnashing the smoothness into poached pear baby goo; i will not allow language to subordinate me... i, will, subordinate language! language will be my clothes, and not, my, tailor!

i abhor people owned by language,
it's a bit like debate
between portishead vs. poliça...
          love a *****-fight...
              scratching, itching,
hair-tugging,
my type of replacement when it
comes to being entertained by
cockerels or bulls (terriers) -
got i love petting those beastly boy
pig snouts!
the problem with me?
            i love drinking more than
conversations with people -
synonymous with:
animals make more sense to me
that humans...
                             oops;
i gather.
                  i have a 10kg / 20+ pound maine
**** that i bite for fun...
              bite a maine ****
get an apache headgear...
     ****** kicks like a kangaroo
when i tickler his hind paws...
               sings the **** out
of a reincarnation of Pavarotti...
either that or it's ***** 'arry,
or simply *rudy (ginger) -
              i love cats for their
autism...
                   it will never end up
being a death-stare match:
there's always "something" to
be preoccupied with cats...
usually? nothing,
                 the anti-thesis of
narcissus was a cat.
                people never have stories
about dogs,
other than: lick my *****, take a nap...
i hate the cat i own...
                  man originated
with a heart,
while woman originated with a mind...
notably the grand-schemer
locusta  -
hell knows no fury for a woman scorned,
as,
           heaven knows no peace
                              for a man: pardoned.
since we're on equal terms,
  we can only politicise language,
rather than the, infantile,
politicising of language...
               i always wonder how
an exhausted meow exhausts the mind
of a cat, with no cognitive notion
of a a meow...
     how does a cat meow...
when there's no thought of meow...
in the same exhaustion...
           how does man speak of god,
when he think nothing of god?
    if god is a beyond word,
yet trapped in (moral) action,
can we discuss the case by merely
using onomatopoeia?
               i.e. onomatopoeia,
an etymological return to the prime
of syllables?
    prior to letters having names
akin to A - alpha -
                                  or O - omicron?
cut short pretty jesus?
                     oh, what, a, shame!

p.s. sure, he can be the alpha and the omega,
but i'm the omicron in between.