sure...
             if you called this the urban area
of Chelsea...
           i could stick my nose
outside my window
and sniff out a perfume of
        angst...
but this is Essex air...
         you stick your nose
out in these pinching crab-like
cold nights,
when the moon apparently walks
sideways?
           it's not fear you
interest yourself with...
     ask the Jordanians...
    and i'll tell you of the cold...
verhungern...
     i can **** my nose into
the cold air and expect you
to reply: fear...
         no, not really...
           there's something something
brooding far beyond a concept
of fear that might be comfortable,
equivalent to an armchair...
         there's a: feeding ground
brewing...
                 i can sense it in sniffing
the air at nearing 8p.m. on
a february night...
              there is no greater
antidote to the abstract of fear,
as the reality of: hunger...
             can i contest bile?
                        well...
                poo'h whittle fwy...
                   do i get the digestive
impetus, in, our outside m'ah
body?
            mind you, just itching
to "know"...
                   i leisured the
cinematic point of a sinking titanic,
finding the judas in
the engineering corp that
originated in constructing
this whale is another...
           laugh all you want...
costa concordia?
                   did that judas of a captain
hang?
            there's only one reason
people hate working...
they abhor taking on
responsibility...
               great for murking
oneself in the comedy
   gravitating toward the
   "professionalism" of lawyers...
as if they could ever be gifted
grammar teachers...
i'd sooner learn
how to do my shoelaces up from
******* al-qaeda
   than what's currently
on offer...
       which is:
                     silvio berlusconi
(81) mingling with
               francesca pascale (32)...
you do the math...
            hey...
good luck petting a gerbil
   calling it the masculine only female
genital nick names...
            can you smell it
though?
         no no... it's not angst...
      i'd like to call it a hungern...
                      you smell it?
  see, in northern europe my ethnicity
was called vermin, probably by
pakistani origin...
               but if you stick your nose
out the window in essex in february;
do you smell it?
                               this is the point
where i like to think
of the mothers of these smirking *******
in their ******* pajamas
they wear in public...
                  just an idea...
                       because when did
a ******* ****, ever condense to make
a mark on boston?!
                you smell that?!
     i'm still sniffing the air...
                   still can't tell **** from
a squirrel **** riddling this air;
smack on the gob alright...
              but please do so,
   i'm tired of hitting myself on the face.