.this is not spectacular writing, this is mediocre, but given i've had to contra- the κατάκτηση (conquest), πόλεμος (war), πείνα (famine) & θάνατος (death)... it's like the ancient greek readers of mythology: the four titans have been conquered... but what emerges are the new gods... λόγος (reason), ύπνος (sleep), έρως ("love") & πάθη (suffering)... and i'm not using shapes or colours to depict the change... as once the mighty Chronos... to subsequently mind a Zeus... point being... homosexual literature: when the act of homosexuality was still taboo, and was even punished by law... a ****-****** poem from the 1950s? well... sure as hell competes with 1970s Italian pornographic cinema to... forget whatever is happening in the current whatever-whenever is, and is: "happening"... remember... the sister of πάθη... απάθεια... i never inclined myself to state: suffering... i.e. medicine without the anaesthetic... πάθη is only understood via his sister: απάθεια.

just across from my windowsill:
two years if not more
i've watched the lights
be turned on, and off,
    rooms illuminated:
being switched...

                nothing spectacular,
not the grief of a lingering
shadow ruminating
            post-mortem drowning
in the night at the sight
of an afternoon's worth
         of a coffin being lowered...

two books reviews:

   (1) biography, reviewer
victoria segal,
      withdrawn traces:
searching for the truth
about richey manic,
author sara hawys roberts
& leon noakes...

      (2) memoir,
reviewer leaf arbuthnot,
when i had a little sister,
author catherine simpson...

    molly russell...
a smile that could make any
man wish he were
a father...
        and...
     make one think of
undertaking a reading
of the genre of literature
that's philosophy:

  well... only at the open air
market
back in the city where
i was born...
   if only approached
with the proper candour:

philosophy is
the matriarch of bachelors,
it suffices to say:
  how it is approached,
how it isn't:
     a heaved hive
of contradictory inhibitions...
or some:
   other wording to
suit the circumstance...

"home"...
             "home"...
i too can begin a history
with a 4000 B.C. worth
of history...

    before i was an Anglo-Slav,
i was a Pollack,
   before i was that i was a
Slav,
   and before that?
   i was a Lengyel...
     now:
  the every new to be
affiliated with:
   instance and revision...

well... for what a pyramid's
worth, or the hebrew text...
seems i too can bite
into and chew a past
that's...
                     well...
   with what is a "gripping"
past:

and to think in having
the sun as a clock,
and the moon
              as the godhead
of dreams...
    and not of this:
              sped-up
variety of 1000.0001

         0: multiplier and
divisor...

               0 = x & ÷...
   and negation...

            Lengyel...
a history:
            but no etymology...
no loan words...
no Latin prefixes
or Greek suffixes...
   no modern word:
für leben...

well... it's back to:
listening to a vinyl album...
i was this close to wanting
to repeat the song
see the light
from the album prequelle...

yet upon 2nd listening...
i was still drinking
a glass of cider...
and i was still mesmerized
by the vinyl
spinning at 33rpm...

       whoever is Logos,
whoever is Pathos...
i welcome the chores
of Hypnos...

  no alternatively
arriving at the four
donkey-riding riddles
of the apocalypse...

the four brothers:
   logos, hypnos,
                      eros & pathos...

      mind you...
frank o'hara...
the poem returning...
it's as if:
   i find myself in better
company
   of ****-****** poetry
than upon the altar
and in the shelter
of the opposite
         aspect of my: function...
somehow i'd much
prefer to peruse the ****-******
poetics
   than claim subject
of a woman's body...
it's as if:
         claiming
    a ****-via-the-****
allows a man
to grow a second,
higher, metaphysical
tongue...
in place of what could,
at best: be a case of
"schizophrenia",
           i.e.: bilingualism...          

i'm done with the Greek
imagery...
            i leave the four horsemen
at the gate,
   i had to,
i replace them with:
the universal plagues
of the universal man:

logos,
   hypnos,
    eros... & pathos...

since? well... we already known
of the claim of a man
being an embodiment of logos...

honestly?
  logos, hypnos, eros & pathos...
(mort est mort! so no!
no thanatos: no man
prior to, or even upon death
allows his mind to: die)...

   the embodiment of logos...
time to de-abstract what evidently
requires a personification
on the stage of a precursor
demi- succeeded by
                       a            deity...

what else, if not rhetorical
blunders?
   clearly spoken...
as... footballers?
em, but, em, but...
you know...
oh sure... clearly spoken!

what was once a woman's
body, a perfume,
a sight in the dimmed
lights of a brothel...
what was 120 quid for
an hour's worth of
kissing a *******'s lips:
as an excuse for not
having trimmed my
***** hair...

             i had to succumb to
****-****** poetry...
   a phallus is not a phallus
is a broom is not a broom
is...
           well: unless
female genitalia were ever
to be a floral pattern...
    but no ******* oyster...
well...
my ****-envy...
   that's a skyscraper...
but, honey bear...
every **** is a floral pattern
but not a gooey salty-sick-yuck
of an oyster?

who's the *****-envious
and who's
at Alice's picnic of things
being all: roses
and not... eating-itself
slobberings of a smack
             of the ol' mollusk?