people fear more being the conscripts
of death,
time aeons' worth:
becoming the patrons of
being the disciples
of "life, outstanding",
within the focus of:
                        succumbing to
                         the mediocre;
however many metaphors...
people are so afraid of death...
that they cannot deem themselves
worthy of having to suffocate
from a life worth an
extension
in the labours of comfort...
ageing...
               the retired man?
don't expect him to read
much books...
   so...
              really?
               i am tired...
of digressing,
of making fun of young men...
who... somehow,
decided to succumb
less to a female body...
and more to the insipid libra...
  i too wish i made favor
of the female body
beyond the book...
no...
            no...
   no really...
      i wish a twice more burden
of books...
to forget that infantile
scouting dynamo of
wishes...
            had i the fruit
that would have bloomed
prior to having to excavate
the perdominant
dynamo of subsequence... ?
    no...
1960s sexuality:
the end...
             and the subsequence?
i thought that the heavy nought
of a heart of a Shakespeare...
doesn't translate itself into
a market's worth of Ovid?
no?
so i was wrong then?
good to know!