-

paul joseph
              watson...

         ha ha...

                     graham /

                    gray-ham;

i can't even appreciate
this comparison
  without a sentiment
for guilt...

    but it certainly works
my pavlov
   in thinking about
a fried egg on toasted
bread.

oh, i won't be better off
having written this,
      have my feet,
have my head,
and the bits in between
that i gamble with,
drinking
a bottle of whiskey
   per night.

how long now?
        must be into my 2nd
annum...
          not speaking
                             really helps.

ever visit a farm
    where they kept the most fertile
hog,
        with a harem of meat
perfected by the "ladies"?
    
  a bit like eating any male meat,
**** just stinks of
       testosterone hormones...
   great for crafting salami though...
      
  but to me it's still just a pair
of eggs, fried and dumped
onto toasted bread...

           call me old fashioned...
   with me concerned?
   you can tell a joke,
   but it's probably going to be
a choke rather than
     a gagging order...
              
                    hands in the air:
you cought me...
                  i'll just have to
mime a reaction...
                  because, i,
  don't really have much more
than an image of
a tree riddled by
          the mistletoe botanical
parasite
                 in replica
                      of cancer patients.

***** hat that one mile
charity run?
                            and the clock
ticks,
              and the floors creak,
  and the shadow whispers,
    and these feet will hardly
allow another tap dancer
             joining cabaret berlin
                           sporting a top-hat;

stink-meat...
                      testosterone infused...
lobsters & oysters
   have suddenly become
more appealing...
            pearls & scissors from
Poseidon...
                  but still that:
harem of meat of those
                                  nun pigs...

while death, the slouch,
          the ******,
                     the "clandestine" one...
          male ***** in
                    the palace of shiva...
    decided it
      was worthwhile to agree
on yawning, rather than
         scratching his body
           with a silent imitation
                           of a scream
of a mouth agape and
            no sound being excavated.