can't help but see a somali smile
whenever thinking about god,
          an ethopian heart,
            and the feet of an englishman...
the left arm of the french,
       and the right of the russian...
tongue of an american,
   and the feet of an argentinian...
others get the nibbles
         on this crude pseudo-fantasy...
a reserve of any notable
examples of life with the chinese,
          and culinary antics
                       of the blue indians...
and then i think back to
an "identity"
                   of my own, pauper-kin...
translated into american
  as the gran torino:
                              ****-wit ******
in the form of clint eastwood...
sikh generosity,
  turkish speciality in giving
man the finest barbers...
         and the arabs for their prayer...
mind you:
         two days spent without
speaking a sentence in my immediate
vicinity,
      and you circuit
a numbing sensation...
                             to encompass more
trojan horse than
                a sponges' worth of a brain
comparative...
                only yesterday
the day was half awake, and half asleep...
   and i minded both
the insomniac, and the shadow,
trying to listen in on sparrows
          during the shortest night
                     encompassed by a june
on the english isles...
            typically within the confines
of: just shy of 4a.m.,
               but i still can't fathom
the blank slate, blank canvas *******
around with a set of rules
in the domain of grammar...
              not exactly sure why this bothers
me, but, then again:
   maybe it doesn't...
               there's always a chance
that i'm writing spew,
        out-dated
                                      concerns...
up to: and more importantly:
               true... till the day of my parting
is made official...
         between a caribbean concept of
lazy, and the mediterranean equivalent?
        hardly a choice...
                      it's not exactly true
that i fell asleep out in the open
     in a kenyan resort translating
night back into day,
      but that someone managed to drink
the brandy left just above my head
on a table...
                   i'm guessing
                  a macaque stole it from me...
    hard to exactly translate certains
animals in the: wild, wide open...
                                         baboon thieves?
lined up with
                             shiny red butts
                             like celebratory ulcers?!
can't exactly write about
     a macaques: fear-face either...
         you have to see it to "believe" it...
ooh! as a word is hardly
                        a snapshot of the reality...
which is enough to confine
you, happily, to a balcony,
               finding shade,
               as the hobbit monkeys
                tire you with their presence:
            in a much ado fashion
               munching on little bags
of saccharine... can't remember:
                          could have been sugar...
a comparison with people became
the last thing in my mind...
          clearly kenya gave me
         anything but an exchange
of cultures...
                        what sort of european
whitey would not act out
      preserving the little time consisting
of 2 weeks among other tourists,
   and not attempt to spend the time with
actual, authentic, monkeys without
the european caging of them?
    ever shared a balcony with a macaque?
not exactly petting a bonsai feline...
        but i'll admit:
            an animal as a concise tool...
    a labrador
              to walk the shadow of the teasing blind...
the alsatian
         and how sensible the provoked
bark...
              a rottweiler: which is,
actually my fetish in terms of ownership...
     addict sniffer dogs at
airports:
           sniff a line: can't keep 'em
on a leash for much longer...
                  ever shared a balcony with
a macaque...
    the bonsai representation of
some far removed cousin of a past
                  consisting with the current you?
black priv.,
             there's nothing else quiet
like it...
                it's like the complete pointlessness
of needing a mirror,
or a narcissus mythology...
     furry golf ball of
           moment...
                 man and the death of time,
and monkey: with time's birth...
and yet the two behind a glue factory
of not being completely detached...
maybe i'm reading too much into
this...
               as any memory:
    cinema cameo...
                     like the one in edinburgh...
   i have had too many
cognitive faculties erode before my eyes,
to "suddenly"
      allow memory to be
crippled,                 untouched,
                            "unfathomable"...
                               "off-limits*...

which springs to mind
  the first time i've learned of schizophrenia;
that pale-shade of a woman
who phoned me up and started
screaming about auditory-hallucinations...

i was on a roof of the scottish widows'
HQ tiling the concrete with
water-proof insulation...
             what was i supposed to answer?!
then it crept up on me...
         can mental illness take the form
of a virus?
              evidently...
           like any good idea can spread,
uninhibited...
                  an illness of such "abstract"
nature
                      can become contagious...

here?
     us, lepers, poets:
    with solid handshakes of a waggling
tongue,
               nothing more.

perhaps out of curiosity,
                          perhaps out of spite...        
              
i'm still to fathom the dichotomy-exit-point
from a cartesian merger (dualism)...
                     hence no adjective...
but it's there...
               but i'm hardly going
to not consider a physical reality of
         a cognitive dissonance
                       congregation-synonym...

  there's hardly a parallel...
              perhaps a misappropriation
of timing:
        but certainly a revealing crux,
later a pivot,
        subsequently a sine / cosine libra
dynamic.            

that humming sensation,
    of a breath pushed through
pursed lips
        allowing a vibration...
                  a vibration that's also akin
to being tickled...
      
   had i but two eyes in my mouth
to see with,
   and know, what i have two tongues
to peer with, lodged in
my eye-sockets.