well...
                      there's either the chopping
down of a tree,
   or there's publishing a book...
then there's the:
          what's in here?
cockney?
       what's in 'ere?
            sometimes i find that
if a blind man was ever to see
this world, and "read" english?
      **** the hype,
            too many examples of
over-stepping eloquent syllable
intake / intra-punctuation
             i.e. in words...
            whatever buddha said
makes no sense unless you
allow yourself to meditate,
      while walking,
                   in the coldest month
(february)...
                    that is the earth beneath
the moon's zenith in the sky...
          unlike walking
outside your house
    and on the opposite sight of
the road, your neighbour
      standing like a shadow
                in front of his living room
window...
            am i to be startled?!
           walks the sheep-eyed goliath...
or as the proverb suggest:
  wysoki do nieba, i głupi, jak trzeba...
translation?
    tall to the heavens, and stupid,
                       as necessary...
me ******* boyscout eh,
   for allowing myself to craft
                   this remark / reminder?
so while walking i contemplated:
the car, the horse and the autobelt
manufacturing industry,
   the limb-less man and the sound
of my feet...
                  back in the day:
so many iron horses?
         then again:
                  is it really worth
                   the argument
to own a car, while
subsequently having to "own"
                           car insurance?
it's a great joke, concerning
    zee germans...
                              when a german
is pointing at something...
     how many fingers is he holding up?
i'll answer that question
  when the english drop the F,
slop on a V, differentiate
   between θeta cheese and
   φilosophy, i.e. Fe point?!
               iron point?
    ****, back into the jack-in-a-box
   lunar motion of the hands
     that constitutes the sign of
the cross gesticulation...
       for a minute, i thought
the whole pontius pilate
  gig of washing your hands
                 made more sense...
     technically a dog barking
  makes more sense to "me" these days...
or vou... i.e. though,
                            will there
ever be an "excess" reminder?
    if ever: it's this...
            what on earth could be
             hiding in an onomatopoeia?
poetry?
                 knock-knock...
       who's there?
                    roses are red, violets
   are blue...
                       it's almost like biting
your own hand, to ensure
           that a tongue will suddenly
sprout like the insides
                           of an oyster shell...
and if you haven't seen
    the complete output of
            alexand'r dumas
                                       on a shelf...
well... the pyramids can stand and i'll
**** in a sand-pit and call that -
           gisel, ****, *** note,
    jee-sel...
                     it's certainly not gee-sel -
      ji-sel!
                     i am literally walking
   on ruins that ought to be bricks,
                   but are actually egg-shells...
for all its worth,
                     english can be beautiful,
     and the higher you climb the social
ladder, that is the case in terms of
  holding opinions...
                         but on the technical side...
          not so much.
brick upon brick,
                           yet no wall stands.