/imagine! reintroducing the rolling effect, or the trill, or the rattle-snake, or the maracas... or sisyphus, to the english tongue, concentrated within R... or what became a tongue-numbing experience, so far, past the french, god-awful, hark, bound to a grapheme RH... woe of the rodent... wodent roe... king RA... queen RHO... imagine! what a trip... to imagine the english titillated by a letter, that can function as an act of: the trill! meßmo! language? a play-thing... i don't adhere to a being, that's being obedient to it... i, own, it... the rest can regress to graffiti art, or signature reiteration./

baguettes?
***** please,
it's all about
sour-crust dough
of the slavs,
or the italian
         ciabatta;
unfortunetly
i had a cliché
moment,
   drinking red
wine, eating cheese
and soaking up sober
with a balancing act on
   baguettes,
    at a sunset,
beneath the eiffel tower...
shame, shame,
shame...
         then again
there was that talk
with a gay guy about
nabokov...
         that was fun...
and about 8 lonely
women huddled into
a stonehenge prism of
secracy...
  just east of my gaze...
**** it, whatever,
as long as the shveedish
reiterate pop music
   i'm all groovy.