i almost forgot how good
stake tartare tastes like...
until today...
     a mighty Feast of
Crimea,
    tender raw beef
               raw onions,
gerkhins, raw garlic,
raw egg yoke,
    mustard and soy sauce...
and the sight of
that infamous Warsaw
march of 2017...
       which wasn't a cry
of smothered children,
and almost all who
attended the march
had the vigour of youth,
however crude...
        compared
to those ***-****** beggars
after the Manchester
tragedy?
    anything that stirs the heart
to the point where it
chokes you...
    and it chokes you so
much that you can't speak...
i finished the Crimean
feast with a shot of *****
with some pepper in it,
and a green tea infused
with grapefruit with half
a teaspoon of sugar...
   and it's the same Poland
that the west didn't understand
as it was under the iron wall...
  apart from the early 1990s
bonanza...
          subsequently the ******
of Riyadh...
          a strange patriachal
feeling overcame me...
    **** it, let the children play,
boys will be boys:
that infamous march could
have only asked for
    a feast,
   of a mythological Khan
                       of Critimea;
mind you - it's good to see
something far greater than
the individual...
        to see man so
elemental...
              akin to a movement
of water in a tsunami,
or the rising baricades
of time... fused with
      tongues of fire,
aired hearts,
       and the stomp of
a savannah stampede...
       marches for freedoms
and democracies
are such a pale antithesis...
where you can't really tell
where one individual ends,
and another begins...
         nothing much
when looking at western
marches other than
a spectacle of altruism...
       but **** me...
          that stake tartare!