what do you call three girls passing
a hooded man in
the suburban labyrinth of england?
don't know in all honesty,
as i don't know what to call an
insomniac crow, mid-flight croaking
    in the night...
let alone perched on a cranium-like
representation of synapses
     conjured from a vinterbaum...
against a canvas of a cul de sac:
  a malfunctioning street lamp...
          hey presto! disco!
       have the strobe in there and all
that's missing is donning a wig of dreads...
at this point it would make sense
to bring stories back from
      Thailand...
                     ******* strobe...
   keeps irritating me like a magnified
insect blinking...
      or is that what you call a
coin-flip to coin a phrase or is that
slang, or is that:
            last time i checked the bul-gar
prostitutes
                 were not thai-trannies...
lately: i've come to understand
       crux signum as
                    pilate manibus...
              to have washed one's hands
is equivalent to have paid
the dutiful petition worth of prayer...
             there are actually two instances
to learn from on the basis of
image crafting...
        the over-exemplified crucifixion...
or pontius pilate washing
his hands clean, expressing
a form of: gambling...
          the acronym m.g.t.o.w.
                is an antithesis of gambling...
but there's still a privacy of requested
imitation...
             it's one thing to carry
one's own cross, toward Mt. Hamlet /
Golgotha...
                   and another to
consider moral hygiene...
         Pilate is "what" spawned Descartes...    
sorry, pronoun disco...
              i.e. the prominent
                  artefact of expressing doubt...
   and he washed his hands clean of
the matter,
          so that a body might be blodied:
suffice to say...
             masochrism...
              a ******* with a crucifix...
a second pontius pilate must have
been spawned after the nag hammadi
library emerged and the forgotten
lament of an alexandrian libraria...
   as much as the lament of
  what Genghis left of the Baghdad library:
skull upon skull,
                   and ash instead
                                        of book.
i know the lesson,
    in that i also know who conjured
an iron maiden...
        but as the matter stands:
     better to imitate pontius pilate,
                                    than to imitate crux;
for all its worth, a reminder of
   what the old slavs whisper:
                           but what of joseph?!
ah the romance up to the age of 33,
              but what of rigour and strictness
combined with discipline?
          suddenly: ave maria...
                           and joseph... in a gutter.