-
  this is what talking to a mongolian
in amsterdam does to you.

there is such a "thing"
   (or rather, a point of interest)
in the form
   of covert pronoun usage;
namely?
       hiding pluralism...
   the ever present suspicious
   they indicator...
                         because is there
a we with an i?
               ****** diacritical
marks in the form i & j...
          suddenly missing in
the form of I & J...
          quotas, quacks,
                 cats and kettles...
should have joined the
circus at this point
                   type of argument...
became an irish gypsy,
     took a **** into a frying pan
and waited for the rainbow
of fumes...
             **** me...
                   when making oaths
from the tongue utilised by
F,
       became "too" easy,
and no ***** could spell out
  the affix -uck...
              ish that licken yuck?
  yack?!
         ****... you spotted a moose?!
- and that one time i
****** my underwear
          in a sand-pit
   because i couldn't stop charging
myself playing,
  crumbs of a bread on a table
that translated into a sand-castle...
either a labyrinth or countless
rivers...
                how i love my memory
bank, hardly the to do list...
          or it's called playing
tag with Alzheimer...
            otherwise in the st. augustine
primary: bulldog.
            but memory is
just the most perfect form of cinema,
the strobe light disco effect
as if joking on the topic of:
                                     an epileptic.
                  celebrity culture,
or what became the squandering
of history... if there had been
any study concerning...
          the drunkard
muslim in crusades
          by terry jones * alan ereira...
oh you know, some
   ibn        or some      al-
or that weird case of
    japanese green horseradish,
i.e. wasabi...
      came along the purple
          tatty...
                  hands up!
        i'm taken, and no amount
of a diet based on octopii
or ***** will make sense to me...
       give me a cow and i might
just milk it...
             but i'll sooner
perform a kosher "prayer" with it...
   kauczuk?
       that funny synthetic piece
of orb that bounces really high
when asked to imitate meteor...
     jaja? hardly the spanish laugh...
just means eggs...
     one instance of an egg?
    jajo...
               because we know
the spanish took to gee-soos
      as: hey zeus...
                           and then you write
down jesus,
    and later sculpt icons in wood.
             not that i hate
the french,
      but this is the part where
i let you make up your mind
on the orthodoxy of applying
    the grave accent...
or as the french do:
        the word ends on the pivot
of having applied this indicator
of: agreed upon form of a word...
regarding the title:
                             kāùczúk
oh, you still have to utter the remaining
                             -czúk
cha, cha cha cha...
              or ch' (with a stutter)
                           ook...
                 but hey...
    even i know there was no
  charles brando band...
                  ****, manroe is pilled-up
  and trying to fake death
                        by falling asleep.