less ****,
and more
a fetish for the german tongue...

krächzen zwischen krähen...

i seem to purposively
delete "over"-worded
poetics

of an ambitious narrative...
****!
gone... the end...

but this is a ******
proverb:

  krächzen zwischen krähen

croak among the crows...
i.e.
speak their tongue...

   i don't have the sort
of money a Russian would
enjoy,
i was "told" to... mingle...

das gleiche...

but there's still
the element of ****...
hand more like
****...
            **** more like:
a ******* easy take
on a squeezed saxophone
and...

   symphony...

being the immigrant
i always forget:
what do these zookeepers
want of me,
to allow the: believable me,
in terms of imitating
behaviour?

so why did these natives...
take away
the metallurgy culture
of my burden of birth?
blame game who's who?

i am this: |    | close
to suggesting the wording
of a wilderness,
and animal...

here...
yout tongue, ingested...
my tongue gone,
gone, gone...
oh... right...
not replica of the same
assortment
of ontological curiosities?!

speak your tongue:
i can...
but behave like you?
not a chance
in the most self-evident
onslaught
of a coming hell.

i can speak this tongue:
but behave like
you do in your export
form-variant
on the ***** holiday
away in Croatia?

so here... the so-called
spoken variant of
the universal spreschen...
but then the particulars...
shrapnel of:
what glorifies accents...
Welsh, Pict, goat...
but seems to avoid
"knowledge" of applying
diacritical markers...

i too, am late to the wordings...
i too, just, assumed...
   how one is to hide a
H from a sharp object...
within the confines
of šarp...
                              no object?

but easily: hush...
und: ha ha ha ha... aah...
      believe me,
being an immigrant,
i do not have the same facets
of other immigrants,
who... can march proud
into foreign territory...

i am using a language
i should not have an understanding of...
i deem the term
immigrant in the same
light of...
            yes... the natives...
i'm more about
the IQ of the natives
than a trans-IQ stature
ascribed to Africans...

          cushion,
spider,
                 web...
a handshake...
or what is...
   Irish immigrants in
the outer-east-London...
  me?
  i'm a farmer-land outlet...
i script my life along:
foxes and owls...
like some
          wordsworth fan-boy...

weird ******* scenario...
i don't know what to do
with it, exactly...

fiddly like an itch
or a: get given
                 rubik's cube...
or...
a heart for every
sylvia plath poem...
  and... whatever implies
sanity these days...

croak among crows...
kiedy wchodisz między
wrony, musisz krakać,
tak jak one;

and yes...
whenever i go back "home"...
to visit my grandparents...
i am precisely
back, in a place that
resembles: a place of no
origin...

       just like "i'm back"
resembles a "home"...
i short-circuit
and think of all those
lovely people with
a past and a future
where...
   tourism is their only
source
of fathoming migration...

and... like any migrant...
i am not teased
by having to succumb
to tourism...

       i doubly anchor
myself
into the experienced
contradiction
and watch...
it is said in a tongue
i can understand,
but i'm not here
to play the nuance
game...

         i am... simply...
bored of having
to regurgitate
the script...
      like there's some "grand"
scrutiny of
me being:
the constituting
remains
for having to invest...
in...
the ronin idea of:
society...

society told me to ****
off around 10 years ago
for smoking marijuana...
being suspect
for... a deed of doing
no wrong...
   well?
       now society can
**** itself...
and... i don't even have
the energy to laugh
about it.