usually it takes me about 300ml
of *****,
     to catch up to the sober people
talking vehemently about something...
namely: that the freedom
of speech is synonymous with
the need to breathe...
                          300ml of *****,
or, the perfect sunset,
in a small town, just shy off Masovia,
walking back through this tangling
streets, soaking up remnants
of what is to become of young
couples promenading in the park
and on the streets,  
lonely hearts club of two girls
spotting cookies on park benches...
skin heads meat heads
and the whole shabang..,
      300ml of ***** and i'm tickling
an: into it, nose dive, kumać...
    and if I had the gift of the polyglot
I wouldn't be writing about
a bilingual labyrinth...
                     more a custard clot
worth of utility,  commerce, rubick cube
through and through...
   cameleon crowd pleaser...
I still don't know how they manage
to talk so much,
    and by talking so much,
they fall into the pitfall akin
to trivia instead of knowledge,
memory erosion,
  pedagogy's useless rubrics...
                 how does it sounds:
freedom of speech comes with no authority...
but... cuff me and usher in
the blind woman's cameo:
  you have the, right, to remain silent...
the freedom of a hen is not
analogous with the wolf...
  contradictory, notably due
to the intra-species differentiation..,
looking into the intra-species
    integration...
politicians and lawyers have no bible
and no Koran adherence...
their sole holy scriot, the thesaurus
        is ultimatum "pax"...
I still have to paint my grandparents'
kitchen in the colour: lemon peel...
just shy of the neon zest...
    if only, epilepsy at a disco
when the strobe light comes on...
there's all that,
    I don't know, perhaps I sleep better
because I have inherited a continental
biology and living on the wet,
and dingy, and mushroom clout island...
the persistent damp uneases me...
300ml into the heterogenous
fizzling of anti-dialectics...
                             and, somehow,
2 months spent in a homogeneous society
is a breath of, ease...
      post-colonialism is a real
zeitgeist...
                  to have inherited
a past, considered a future
while struggling with the present...
is it possible that i've seen more
heterosexual couples walking
about a town of  60,000 people...
on a single Saturday evening....
kissing, holding hands,
                     in one evening...
than I saw in London,
throughout all the days of the week,
for a total of say, 7 years?
jealous? not exactly,
if instanced by one, example,
maybe...
            but when there are replicas?
I too anticipated Sienkiewicz's
krzyżacy to be more engaging...
          well... less of what it current is,
which doesn't mean i'll suddenly
abandoned the book and take to Proust...
but when something akin
to Münster happens...
   I go and sit by the river,
take two glugs of *****,
light a cigarette,  and pour the rest
of the bottle onto the earth...
if I haven't had invested 23 years
of my 31 years (and counting)
immersed in England and this,
tongue...
   given the continental climate,
and the hardly exhausting
homogenous narrative...
                     what the hell are we even
talking about?
     a tongue that has become
a body tied to four horses,
about to be pulled apart...
                              if only
those having inherited English
as a host language... retained
a bilingualism...
      could actually call english,
a lingua franca, a language of commerce,
of tourism...
                the natives would
have remained natives...
   as odd looking as Japanese retirees
globe trekking...
     lost in the big city like London...
but no...
              "forgot" the mother tongue,
suddenly you have the whole
language being hijacked
by a political Heimleich...
                     I use this language...
**** trying to identify with it...
next time i'll be ******* into the sacrament
of wine and adding Nutella to the bread...
the point being,
   a hammer and a nail...
      reciprocation, symbiosis -
the jolting reaction to biological cancer,
and botanical cancer,
perfected symbiosis....
no brain of a cancer, but a vector...
the bulges of mistletoe on trees...
      reiterated Kant:
     there is not Hegelian dialectic
of thesis and antithesis...
what there is, is the reinvention
of the master / slave dynamic...
towing other dissociative synonyms...
dichotomy, dynamic... morality...
   came the master, and the slave...
came the host... and the parasite...
luckily, on the periphery...
hyenas, condors, rats...
scavengers, or rather,  opportunists.