you know what can be more
depressing than symptom
of the jet-lag of melancholy?
  watching a sunset,
drinking, in June, in England,
               with a receding night.
can't ******* fathom it...
    neither the early bird,
     nor the worm...
  or the lost "conventionality"
of exchanging
         ape+ to a rat-
(ape plus, to a rat, minus);
foul speech?
****** a hog in a bottomless
pit of mud, lately?
so why prance like a
spanish pony, intimidating
pristine?
           because if hannibal
used bulls, strapped to riders...
was there enough
reason to glorify the elephants
crossing the alps?!
   bulls contra horses...
   you could almost fathom
the "unattainability"
   of using bulls in warfare...
given the "unpredictability"
of the hiroshima convention...
        ride a bull into
a herd of horses?
                          no spanish
whoop-see theater...
                        of a bull-fighting...
versus the argument:
NO, WE COULDN'T...
  and you could make cats
"funny"... and leverage the moon
as posit no. 1 to go further?!
it's like watching
a wheelchair bound invalid
say: i'll take on usain bolt...
get up...
or attempt to...
and then make a pancake
with his, its, hers (forgot the
other gender grammaticism)
           turf... off of a face.
i've never had the allowance
to become synonym of: think,
owning dogs...
the extension of domestication
invoking the leach
bothered me...
    i'm not even sure why
these two maine ***** like me...
i'm turning stasi on them...
  maybe because i don't bother
their freedom, allowing myself
to nibble on some of my own
to be, believed,
                     exercised.