you can't tell me that the sole
male fetish for womanhood
was her worth of the crop
of her hair..
              'last time i heard
it was her hips'
and you'd be right in stating
so...
             i was more inclined
by the hands...
     like, little figurines
of ballerinas...
           and snow falling at night,
attired in the hood,
static like a stone,
beneath a lithium
street-lamp...

i too wished for a trucker's
voyage with a niñita...
ah!
           pedant...
   that waving motion?
you can't put
either i or j together with
an ñ...
  unless..

       ninȷítā:
neen-yee-t'ah!
  ******* morons...
went for the hieroglyphs
like quick-bait
before exploring
their literacy
just a little bit further...

   ******* cul de sac
"explorers"...
manifest in:
by the thousand count
worth of drones /
viewers...

yeah...
let's all just pretend that...
we're all going to
be "nice" people...
while the police do jack-****!
just 4 hours ago
i could have been
a security guard
in a supermarket...

what's stopping me?
the person
who has taken charge...
useless as a *******
sprinter contra
the snail in a Zeno episode
of "paradoxes"...

to be made accountable
of all the 8+ billion
lives in this world,
to become the spearhead
for a clinging sensation
of, hopefully,
individual vectors...
    to come across
the sight of Copernicus...

did you know that
us Polacks feel
grieved by...
having to succumb to
a history that states...
it was Galileo!
no... it was Copernicus!
Copernicus was
German!
   no... and the no continues...
the idiots fathom the laziness
of the intelligent...
which...
means nothing as quiete
as what it should mean:
don't use your elbows
to shove into a queue...

that's how i imagine
god...
somehow...
the last refrain from
calling on santa claus:
or satan's, clause...
to be fed so many
"delusions"
and be woken up with one...
i don't know...
            god is a word
per se, and a nature...
   something biased...
an autocrat...
a despot...
        what if what i want
is not what i will never
receive?
              
the islamic fetish for hair...
last time i checked,
my grandmother reacted
to finding a hair
in a soup,
like some Ascot bride would
react to finding a fly
in her champagne flute...
i always thought
that the most ******
aspect of a woman
was her hands...
so... no head-cover...
just gloves...
   hair... who made up
this... hair-erotica
of monotheism?!
             i am freaked-out!
why wouldn't i be?
who has to feed an *******
via an association
with...

             the monotheistic
fetish for... hiding the discovery
of keratin...
how about we
begin with... a woman's hands?

it's a mad mad world
and i'm not inclined
to quote a base of song lyrics
to encourage it with...

monotheistic erotica
         surrounding keratin...
involved in...
the aspect of the fair ***...
making aspect...
of long hair...

but what if i like... pixie girls...
girls with short hair?!
and what if i were
a mundane-rock stoner
who allowed himself
to suit dates,
rather than tattoos,
and subsequently forgot
the existence of barbers...
and pretended to long for...
          keratin curtains?

but this is not a win-win
scenario...
              this topic,
was not even brought up...
it vaguely surfaced...
        face-to-face...
i didn't see no more than
i did of a screaming
police officer...
shackled...
being arrested
in an alleyway
on a Friday night,
in the dark,
*******...
               saying:
i'm not getting up...
make me...
      in a country that also reads
into a crescendo of:
the easily taken bait...
   and...
if i were truly the Pilate,
i shouldn't have trouble
washing my hands
clean off the matter,
but my hands are tied...
   i still remember playing
video games...
i'm not cross-eyed!
   but no chance in hell
would the right hand perform
the inbuilt functions that
a left hand ought to do...
and likewise...
   so... a big ******* X...
schematic...
of being right-handed...
playing video games with
a keyboard in tow...
through to the late mid-00s...
arms crossed...

    the right hand doing what
the left hand was intended
to do...
while the left hand doing what
the right hand...
                                   X

age of empires...
or some other game...
one of those first person shooters...
doom, or quake...
or whatever it was...
hardly cross-eyed...
but sure as **** cross-hand...
  
                               X

no tunnel vision, no | |
           synchronißed swimming event
worth the olympics...
no flappers either side
of my eyes...

           as for all those who support
their freedom to blah blah along?
i just want to see them
pick up a pen...

       oh, i've seen Jordan B. Peterson
pick up the pen...
           it's great...
             it's like:
being woken to speak again!
any criticism of mine?
i hope it's subtle...

     meat-cleaver
and some of the plethora's worth
of a densist's attire in
slying open a:
painting of the healthy
bite...

        chisel! chime chime!
we have a winner!

writing... and those who
suppose so...
the end of death in
life being continued,
via:
a piece of writing,
discovered, posthumously,
20 years later...
or...
           the work of a wine...
connoisseur...
             yeah... had to ferment...
some drunk from
it immediately...
  some... years later...

like me...
current year? 2019...
i am mostly a necromancer...
meaning?
   i read from the worth of
the dead, being surrounded
by the motto:
don't forget that i too,
once lived...
   i can't forget that...
necromancy:
to read from the dead...
    well... like necrophilia...
but instead of *******
a dead body...
you read the mind
of a dead person...
                              simple...
i own a private library
and about two living authors'
worth of output...
i am, a necromancer...
no contemporary writing...
   i sometimes watch these
book review videos on youtube...
like... abookutopia...
right... the reader of a writer
who's still alive...
          my library?
               a ******* cemetary.

like: i ****... into a leather chair...
and pretend it's:      eau l'automne...

                fine wine...
something fermenting, obscure...
you will not find me reading
Dickens... having heard
the praise from England,
like you will not find me reading
Mickiewicz in Poland...

so... those taboos out of
the window...
        i tend to forget which
part of my body succumbs
the easiest
to being tickled.