the use of ritalin,
  and medicating childrens'
                                                 behaviour...

well...
      welcome to the circus!

i can tell you that
i was on an anti-psychotic
that made me
**** my bed, aged circa my 20s...

and **** me...
      i took up studying chemistry
at edinburgh university!

on the warmest day:
                 the coldest night...

certainly not part of
a dickens or a dumas archive...

   but i'm just knit-picking
the newly come... children...
    among, us,
  the 30+ veterans of
the socio-chemical experiment,
like playing
prank-call with
     a not-too-fidgety scarecrow...

and if i had clown make-up?
i'd put it on...
       since, evidently,
counter-human...
         being a drunk...
cats seem to be inclined...
to trust me...
         in sleeping in my bed...

and, what, filter the foul language
is suddenly the excuse
       to apply a plaster
             to a decapitated head?

oh, i have a thought:
   would you ask to lie on your
back before the guillotine
crescendo,
   or to lie on your stomach?

if you've ever peered into
the eye of a dying sparrow,
cradled in your arm...
    
you'd ask for being placed
on your back, rather than on your
stomach...

    because...
  well...
          a rare glimpse of god...
more a verb, than a noun...

send us your chemical-children...
apparently even i over-stepped
the barrier of "mis"-behaviour
by smoking marijuana...
               which... is now legal...

ha ha! granny needs a legal shift from
engaging mortality...

             because when i write?
there's always an invisible piano
in front of me...

                   ah... the people in their
restaurants...
              but these chemo-riddled
kids?
               it's not like they're into
being bound to a cure...
  more, a: dis-ease ingestion...

            that subsequently leads to
a hippocratic curation
                       of alleviation...      

poetic, isn't it?!

                  i've been at it for more than
10 years...
                send me your children,
hopefully i'll know how to teach
them to say: oops... or dough...

      never thought looking into
a down syndrome 40+ year old's
eyes could be so meaningful,
with him looking at me,
and me just buying an enigma
of the concept of groceries
would end up being...

   i'm guessing...
             why do these L'Oréal
companies selling skin-care products,
****** creams...
        not look into down syndrome
artefacts?
                  no wonder the down syndrome
40+ looked at me with
a curiosity...
          do people even know
why down syndromes do not
expose much, of the artefact,
of ageing?!

                ever looked at them?
                  they're immune to wrinkles!
who needs french ****** creams
to prop up faking mortality...
when you can imbed yourself
in the genes of down syndrome
ageing immunity?

came the **** joke
about making soap from jews:
highly relevant in
constructing the modern cracow
psyche...
              
   well... can't we extract some genetic
knowledge of why
down syndrome individuals
           show no sign of ageing?
and then posit
a selling point... in the mindset
of selling charlatan parisian
                         high conc. yogurt?

might as well smear butter
onto your face...
         an atypical observation
  coming from the shallows perspective;
elsewhere?
    knee deep in ****.