with a month in absence of usage... it would take a man about a week to internalise a tongue foreign to him, acquired, esp. if he devolved to using a native tongue and spoke of community sentiment... while having to return to using an acquired tongue: on a pure cognitive basis... for what do i use english for? i have no ability to tell a neighbour from a foe, or a broken urn depicting a pregnant Aphrodite, rather than one ***** and abandoned... a month using the native spreschen will leave man question as to how he is to storm the "Bastille" once more: once more become the spider, and once more wait in a renewed spiderweb... for i am just that: what between me and the "casual" exchanges in a supermarket? it takes about a week of sloth to reanimate this acquired tongue to at least write it in this altar of space... for is it ever spoken outside the time i occupy this bound hands outside it? if it really has to appear casual... i don't see why i have to become a B-movie actor feeling omni-phobic about: a list of things that never constitute entertaining the analogy.

so my neighbour has this female Belle -
a tiny little creature - white
with heterochromia iridium -
and she hasn't been castrated...
      and the male that comes to her has
already consumed the grownd -
sown his seeds and whether not
having impregnated her:
      now makes diabolical sounds outside
my window:
           like a moaning pedohpile...
i am also curious about the goliath ginger
i own, castrated:
                looking for what a non-
castrated owns...
              darting between house and garden:
playing an invisible broom
to erase the *** of petting cats but not
infringing on their biology...
     but when i hear this cat that's courting
a teen-girl equivalent?
        the oddest of sounds a mammal
could make...
                 and then watch with
near despair at the castrato: simply because
he is a pedigree and whoever breeds
pedigree cats needs to ensure a monopoly
so that a subsequent owner doesn't
own a bull to make money off...
  poor thing, even though he is much larger
than a common dog...
           scuttling among the fallen leaves...
while this moaning ******* growls
and moans a jerking off...
                but then i am strangely clamed:
and what of the prior month:
when the foxes ravaged the outer-suburban
landscape?
      how calming the wild jarring and
grit tooth to imitate laughter?
        petted animals that have not been
castrated - and that occupy a suburban
environment as almost prompts...
  i can undertand an uncastrated feline
in the countryside...
          but here: the fox seems so much
more pristine in his calls...
         a howling wolf would also add to:
how man domesticated the wolf
  and taught him barking: by himself
barking - and if Prometheus stole
  the fire from the gods:
      what will the devils tell of the man
who stole the howling from their karbarah?
no fox, for it neither be cat nor dog
will ever forget its ancestor:
     *hyena...
             and i find much comfort in this...
that i rather watch the hyäne
   & the fuchs than mann & affe...
   it's just the sorrow for my goliath ingwer...
the epitome of a bull:
or what would have been boar taint...
  akin to the knur in a harem of hoags...
i rather peer into the hyäne
   & the fuchs...
   than watch man debate an origin in ape...
2 foxes in the night will always
sound more appealing than
a teen-bride, a non-castrated cat
groaning, moaning like some pervert...
and my ginger goliath:
            trying to insert his eyes
into the hormonal dynamic of a missing
pair of testicles...
        and if i can have no wolf to
claim a narrative of Luna -
      bride and bridge toward Hades...
     with the status of karbarah...
    in England throned:
                a ***** call to mark as more
in line with a comforted thought:
than an un-castrated petted ornament:
when watching the disorientated
shuffling of a castrated pedigree:
  ginger goliath...
           am i truly the man who
could weep for an animal's innocent
mute?
            seems i am a hindu in
a squiggly artefact of revealing babyl:
   2 foxes in the night will remain
more appealing to me than
      what: will eventually breed a litter -
like in my native land:
            of graveyard "children"...
   cats that are necrophyliacs -
   who live in the graveyard so they can
feast...
               as i have seen stray dogs
in Poland:
                 in England i see: dogs in Versailles...
i laid slabs on an extension roof
   of the Battersea Home,
   and i've walked the corridors of their
hotel glass kennels: all indoors...
        can someone please take pity on
my castrated cat?!
                      i can't watch him unable
to abstract having a pair of testicles missing!
for the sole reason that he would
break this ******* moaning neck of a cat
with one paw strike...
        what a ******* sad sight...
   no wonder i'd rather listen to foxes
in the night...
                          so much easier to listen
to a freedom...
     with the castration of breeds:
i find it a cruelty and nothing more...
   the mop's worth of the alleycat will
experience and confuse my angelic ******...
the missing wolves,
        the hyenas ancient: the foxes sly...
    and the bewildering sentiment as to
why people wear headphones when commuting...
because that ******* clamour
of metaphorical horse-hooves of a train
clamouring is: my prayer, my bowing
before the alter of progress?!
        3 cats and 2 foxes make all the difference;
- can't believe i can feel more for
an animal than i can feel for fellow man...
but then again:
            maybe it's easier,
    in that: it's worth gravitating on a mute:
and not having the poodle of wanting
a "meaningful" conversation...
  just as today: his excessive meowing
met my reply:
     you've ended up speaking more than
i have in the past week;
     keep it up: we'll ask the peacocks
to join the choir in our church we see before
us.