because, what is the summation?
certainly not politics,
and certainly now, apparent,
guide toward journalism...

   what is the summation?

as honest as i might be i say:
why would you concern
yourself with prostitution,
given that you have your **** boyfriends
running the show?
all the prostitutes in england
are romanian anyway:
  why give a toss as to whether i kiss
of **** them?!

see: memory is always fleeting,
it's the only coincidence of
exercising mortality...
         memory is a cannibalism,
although stressed for no
purpose, other than the per se of:
becoming "educated"...
     i liked being schooled,
but the problem is...
           what doesn't require
a managed fathomability...
less complex, like a caged tiger...
i would pet a caged tiger,
just like i sometimes imagine
myself wrestling with
a ravenous rottweiler...

         love the smile...
             and the tooth sheen...
     just want to kiss that poor
******* to sleep,
         it's like mad barks
to later: mad said so...
                  my pwetty pwetty pooch...
haaaaaaaaaar...
you see that madness in its eyes,
and it's showing its teeth
as if it's sharpening them...
         tongue in place for a sack
of testicles...
    or a bad hair day... feverish...
bleach blonde...
       there comes a day when you...
actually want to bite the dog's
***** off...
    to get to grip with his
supposed rabies....
   well:       thank **** ****** diseases
are not transmitted via
saliva...
                 kissing a prozzie would
be bad enough, but not getting
a ******* while at it?
          ****.... the miracle of las
        vegas and: a hope for amnesia...

i'll admit,
   memory is prime confession
of mortality,
         i hate to part with it,
yet i have to, pass it off on the "sly"...
   i die three death:
              the death of forgetting,
the death accomplished by sleep,
and the death, that's a gravestone...

dangling a crucifix is about
as much of a hard-on as...
              a digestive biscuit dipped
into 5p.m. tea...
                  a serenade coming from
a castrato...
            pointless as: **** all could
                     ever, but nonetheless, is.

i still want to be awake in a post scriptum
of death taking a glance at me,
wrestling a rottweiler...
**** the 72 virgins, there's no fun in
that enterprise....
                  i can almost venture
into feeling the canine saliva mingling
with mine, and the teeth gnashing
against each other, reaching pinnacle
with exchanged nervous systems
attributed to the eyes...

    can i just reiterate the poor choice
of reward, with the 72 virgins?
    pagans sought more refined rewards
for the dead in their "backwardness"...
thank **** the jews
      only seek an immediacy to pass:
from living, unto the dead...
              a p.s. of:
a book that becomes a brick...
                       less an agitating poetic
paragraph...

             i actually woke up with
an auditory hallucination, of course due
to a lack of visual artefacts:
              uchyl -
                      gently open the door...
as i did, half awake half dreaming...
      i still want to die and be woken
with a wrestling-match with a rabie-infused
rottweiler...

                    i can't stomach
           the impetus for 72-tight-*****...
it's like spotting a walrus protecting
                                                           a harem...
unless you ****** a ******,
you might know of a certain type of
gesticulation,
           imitating scalpel using a phallus...
tender excess:
                      no other way to call it...

why would the "gain" of
       72 niqab fores be made the alternative
disneyland?
           apparently m.g.m.
   is not translated into...
what's apparently missing:
             cutting the genital niqab open...
way past the fore-skin,
i mean: you ever ****** a ******?

      it's not like a man recounting his
first *******...
               and 72 of them?!
        either mad, or Muslim!
can't see past the sado-masochism
of exaggerate puritanism;
i could see 72 romanian prostitutes,
no problem...
          
           but what reward is there,
when there isn't, any?
             females are too subjective,
in terms of their "lack" of genitals...
       just give me a chance to wrestle
with a rottweiler infused with
rabies, to chance a french "kiss" against
his canines...
              and you can keep
    your terrorists and attaché naan bread
bits, of, finicky,
for whatever consensus you're
                                           aiming for;

because that part of the guarantee?
is, not, my, concern.