little horn:
or as some would call it:
scratching one's head...
a sensation...
   making
a focus,
of the excrutiating
base, no bias:
there are
only a fixed number
if madmen,
lext to be burdened
by excuses...
there are only a fixed
number of madmen,
willing to tow
the affairs of the "sane"...
the remaining cursors,
are... quiet unwilling...
to force the quest of
sanity, by means
of bewildering a madman?
there is but so much
a madman will excuse
to suppose: sanity,
of the accepted narrative...
no, this is no don quixote
operatic narrative...
i'm inclined to
suggest:
      well... i hope you
don't die...
but... if death is necessary?
then death is:
to be made
a culmination
of what's to be necessitated;
waiting for the backlash...
and there's me praying
for...
    the anti-thesis of
the holy cows of Hinduism...

    you know how i react
to black women?
sorry....
am i supposed to ****
'em?
                 i don't want
to **** 'em...
          those arabian
copper beauties?
         i wish i'd want to,
but i can't...
***. ninja theatre....
                              more like
******* fetish via
gloryhole...
  
            no... thanks...
                 all these arabic
gob-smacker-beauties
are selling is a pardon
for global warming....

        i tend to walk
            to a supermarket...
guess what...
i'd be most happy...
on the scaffold
of the act of decapitating
loose ends;
i would cry...
if someone decided
to play some
voughan williams.