i'm looking for a neighbour...
you mean that when your neighbour kills
a pet cat, i don't have the right
to hack off a piece of a grave,
  with shovel and moonlight dig
a hole in the ground and bury
the cute furry crit?
                 i'll try smiling next time
i buy oranges from you...
          and because today is a special
day: for no apparent reason -
i decided to loiter in bed listening
to the only arithmetic i've learned
   to appreciate -
  first came the crow -
  then came the magpie -
          the sparrows too -
                   i've seen a kestrel perched
on my garden fance, once, upon a time,
and i've seen robin perched...
                 black-bird with the jittering
brush stroke of a tail...
                seaguls? yep...
                  30 miles inland....
the grave?
       i just hacked a piece off...
             i liked that cat: Oscar Darshan...
i remember walking through
the suburban labyrinth of streets
   with a croquet holder with
    a gravestone, wrapped in
  a black bin bag...
                      did i ever mind you to
concern yourself:
  wet tarmac in then night is
a most appealing sight...
             frozen tarmac is just
akin to a paparazzi epilepsy...
     all glitter: no diamond...
             i see the horror when i don't
hear the music...
                   play me the
Handel messiah opening
   and i could prim a cow for a stake's
worth...
                mind you:
seems a waste not ingesting
the internal organs as coulinary
specialities...
    poultry hearts,
             yum... in the
"gulag" broth?!
          do i really have to remind you
of your mother's name?!
                - and my neighbour said
that my pet peeve known as Oscar
died of a kidney failure...
    see... problem is...
i had a psychotic foresight that stated:
you have to go back home
and tend to your cat...
             i was a Columbus by then...
laughed at...
              but the problem is:
the cat actually died...
           i live among a people
i'd rather **** than drink tea with...
    and when i did my poppy impression?
i sliced off a cross, all the 50kg worth of
it and walked it to the podium,
laid it flat and said: my duly respects -
lays the **** thing before you,
uttering the words:
that i don't want a shadow to tarnish it...
   with either geometry or orbit!
i like the concept of a cemetary:
what was once flesh, became ash,
and with the addition of water:
                                  became cement.
you really can see U.V. in this world:
just stare at a sun for too long...
you'll see it vibrating,
mingling the colours (and lack of)
between a sheen, a purple,
      a mirror, a pulverising blotch -
and all the other **** that would require
a pay-for-what-you-write deal.