you know what
excessive drinking does
to you?

  hmm... melody...
rhythm...
  garbage #1 crush...

       it does something
akin to...
to feed the former once,
once upon a time,
colt...

  you drink... while fasting...
oh, the easy head
the lite head comes
in tow...

      #pointofeveryentry:
because isn't
that the symbol (#)
of the prank call?

           like...
words were phonenumbers...
and like it was spazz
to bombard someone
with conversations:
i never wish to have...

hmm...
at the brothel...
did i think twice that
performing oral ***
on a *******
would grieve me
with a transmitted
****** disease?

to my surprise,
i paid extra
for the act...

         do i need someone
attired in a niqab to
feed a hard-on?

                no...
fame...
       no...
            but you can't begin
to objectify a woman
when she's purposively
overtly-sexualised...

   you begin to feed
the tyrant, of turning yourself
into an object...
      i forget the last time
i invested emotions into
the experience of a canvas
of a woman's body...

all the women
were suspect in bed...
         like but unlike
a milean kundera
novel analysis...
        you kiss with your
eyes open, of your eyes
closed?

                   to close
your eyes: would appear to
hafe gained a true experience...
no fakery...

               but i told myself:
forget the genitals at one time,
with the excuse of
untrimmed ***** hair...
   remain snuggled
like mollusks *******
with only the lips as
proof...

                 leave the brothel
without having *******...
i had to,
to learn grieving the former
angel, sorrow-child
and not much to come
from a "man"...
         since reading
some marquis de sade
as a teenager...
would have made little sense,
by a then, and with a now...

bragging...
           but who wouldn't...
with a phallus the lesser extent
of the width of the african
continent,
imposed on a single extract
of example...

               being bombarded
with images: there's little or no
way forward than to
make inhibitions in the focus
of scribbling words...
that "hide" covert statements...

to begin to write cipher...
         is to begin to write at all.

to drink while fasting?
it's my last resort,
to feed the mind
being drunk,
   and not feed the body
empty calories...
         to drown the mind...
only accessible
  with an empty stomach...
dragging the mind
in shackles and demonic
shadows...
  in silence...
with itchy fingers
    and a knack at keeping
pedantic spelling
rubrics akin to words,
and sentences;
                  last comes pride.  

- with that in mind...
providing something,
that, tomorrow,
will forever leave me
forever unsatisfied
upon a merely glanced
review of effort;

              i'll drag this dog
and bone into a darkened
part of the wood,
   and hang it upon
a waggling's tail
wonton...
                and keep true:
to the cipher,
   to the metaphor...
to the transcendence...

   as long as i am allowed
to reign,
   above a strict obligation
to write out
   a formality,
beginning with a:

dear sir / madam.