assuming a "cave"...
would i be able to
                                    hear the word
                                synchronisity(!)
in echo,
                when shouted at
                              a monkey?
i guess introspection
is much easier,
with a similarity
                 of objects...
there are some parallels...
but then again:
        there's only the enough
few...
    to claim to stand firm...
****... it's not a pop. belief,
but neither is drinking
yourself on silly...
punching walls
    to make an impression
of:
     you notice how herr doktor
herr professor
       is always attached
to his ring finger, and the ring on
it?
        i thought i'd try it out...
as i'm used to doing...
    a well placed punch
against a wall invokes
a plum-pouch "bruise"
           on your 4th knuckle...
there's my equivalence
      of owning a middle-finger
and a ring on it to boot...
being constipated for the past
two days is not much either...
eat a peanut and you're
on cloud 9 of "imagining"
     yourself well "adjusted":
              rather... bloated...
how can you tell
you managed
         plateau punch
against a brick wall?
the fourth knuckle gets bruised...
proof of intelligence
is no grand gesture to
   what... isn't expected...
let me have my leeches, *****,
flies and mosquitos...
and you can have you:
winter palace...
         poetry as the congregation
of divergent narratives...
       never quiet the void
of an opened eye
of a dying sparrow,
   nested in
        the cusp of your hand...
and in a city when a teenager
was stabbed just two days ago...
walking the streets at night?
you notice...
   a scarcity... in terms of pavement
traffic...
           the closest i got
to "another" human being
             was my own shadow...
it's not big news,
given it's romford...
   collier row to exact...
         but the killer hasn't
                    been found, as of yet...
yet...
              a woman emerges
at night with an alsatian strapped
to her stride...
       i'm still found clinging
to a bottle of beer...
thinking: lucky teenage ******* -
gets the martyr ticket
  away from the current
narrative...
             and if i came from a stock of
manual labourers...
          you don't exactly hear
much about what happens
in the construction industry's no-*******
policy currently happening
                  in...            zee off'ease...
never bought illegal cigarettes from
romanians either...
       what... the legal 12+ quid a packet?!
    extortion...
given... a cigarette does less evil
           than the good of a car exhaust...
such a perfect punch
laid onto a brick wall...
               like mike tyson doing
                        a round at disneyland...
still...
            people change as do
posits of said people made toward
rigid localism...
              a stalking shadow of death...
  and you're the only person walking
the streets?
what could possibly be profound
about this advent
   of being localised by a national
news outlet?
         a deathly absence of protagonists
of the bear minimum
that might subsequently
constitute a book...
             i sometimes wish i read
a dickens' novel...
            pickwick papers would have
done me just fine...
              luckily i'm
on the bottom-end of the literary
frontier...
                and god i'm grateful,
that i know it.