you can't exactly say two lies
simultaneously,
   esp. when one is considered
non-verbal...

and i've been with the veterans
of the scene to know:
  oh baby, yes baby... mmm...
     that placebo voice of woman
you've paid for
  to stand stark naked
and have no cognitive-armour
(i.e. a thought) to go with it...

because there aren't any similarities
of dissection... and painting a ****,
are there?

roma women...
                   how many?
               to the limit of ten -
and taken up north by Istambul's pimps...

so they say they're romanian...
   luckily enough i've had
a russian girlfriend...
              just while the hour was up
one spoke through the door
to the one that was with me...

  хαрαшо...
                       harasho (huh?
that's dobrze)
                                            i.e. o.k.

a spark "soliloquy" was left in
my head line the razor vibration
   of the last chime of a church bell
at midnight...

    a ******* left with an ******
is like a shunned wolf...
                   apparently there comes
shame with a pseudo-epileptic reaction
and limb stiffening...

          can't imagine what giving birth
would do: to compensate...

point being:
                       roma roma roma...
  so they lie about being romanian...
but speak -                            bulgar...
given that bulgars use cyrillic...
and... i'm pretty sure: хαрαшо -
        is a slavic term...

ever looked into the eye of a dying
sparrow, held in pouch of your hand?
lying for a per se
         is...
                         i actually don't
know what the motivation could be...

lately i've had to slide off my bed
onto the wooden floor,
    posit my body so that
i could make out certain points
of my body against the canvas,
with eyes closed...
          notably my rib...
five fingers...
         and then the thumb pressing down
on two artery avenues on my body...
1. in the right arm-pit
   2. just above the collar bone
(slightly to the right)
                                 to feel my pulse...
all of that:
   to get a dosage of impetus
some would like to call... meaning...

come to think of it...
    my local health service nurse
    is nagging to see me it would seem...
periodical mail through the door...
last time she wanted to check my pulse
touching my wrist...
  i sort of: dropped the veil from
her eyes...
telling her...
                 you know there is no
pulse in veins?

           so i said to her:
  if you really want to check my pulse...
  thumb against these two coordinates...
one in the right arm-pit...
   and one just above the collar-bone.