i sometimes find myself facing
a recollection...

having acquired English...

....
      ich bin spreschen bauerdeutsche...

bindestrichanfälligdeutsche!

it almost feels like...
i don't exactly knows how it feels like...
but speaking quasi-Saxon is
worse than speaking with
a Berliner's exemptions...

peasant German...
who or what?
the English language:
peasant German.
and i speak it prior to expecting
the natives to speak it better
than me...

yuck...
******* on a lemon
becomes a less trivial take
on the grand gamble of
getting lucky within
the confines of karma...

    English, as a language...
i'm pretty sure there's
hoch deutche,
as there's niedrig deutche...
but saxon deutche?
untere von die niedrig...

then a second recollection...
i have to...
i don't exactly know why i have to,
but...
   i have to,
i hate the fact that is borderline
quasi-...
                 the sun is shining,
the birds are singing...
and i am without a desire
to do so...
  
               but my exercise of
obscenity is...
somehow...
                   obligated for reasons
per se,
known as required, 100 years from
the current year.