gavin mccinnes watching videos
of soldiers being reunited with
the children...
            sure, sure...
my father was part of the equivalent
of the queen's guard...
tall, handsome,
the perfect lookie-lookie
for the role of paying the state
the due salvage of a precursor
tax...
       back in Poland...
grandfather was a M.P.O.:
(well, if the h'americans are going
to play the whole,
acronym game, why, don't i?)
      military police officer...
these men, remember a time...
when men went into the army,
i went into a university,
like **** that helped my expectation
of expecting morale...
        doesn't really matter
even if you studied chemistry...
this, ***** infested ****-hole
of an institution,
this congo infested plague-lands
of traveling riddles
  of ***** hair anacondas...
      no... a man is no man,
unless he's ejected from
    the extended lyceum paraphrase:
i.e., study the humanities...
        but then came the grand
merger...
   the humanities suckled
on the **** of (leak, not leek)
of the sciences...
         apparently chemistry became
equivalent to: tender hands,
ready and readied to play
the piano...
  raised by my father
to the age of 4, interlude,
of the economic migrant,
                "reunited" aged 8...
running up to him
when getting off a coach
at Victoria coach station...
mixed emotion...
i was hugging a "false" entity...
    i acted...
           i was left with a phonecall's
worth of voice,
notthing more,
therefore?
           i distanced myself
from the disauthenticity
           of the experience...
aged 4, through to the age of 8...
presents...
that's all i received from my father...
aged 6 through to 8...
a devil's mask from Warsaw...
and a ***** alsatian
for a "sister"...
and a dobermann for a
brother...
raised by a grandfather,
a steel-worker...
who also became a violent
alcoholic once he retired...
saw my grandmother
being thrown into a door
ending up with a broken arm...

        then the 8 year old me
being thrown mute
into a primary school,
one word of english
              that stuck through?
clown and,
pajamas...

        i don't actually have any
association with the ******
nationalists of the current
narrative...
     i have nothing to relate to...

             i still did up
my dementia riddled alcoholic
grandfather's kitchen,
painted the walls,
put on the new floor...
painted the shelves...
   whatever...

             i am: detached from
a galvanized resurgence culture...
      am i, "sad"...
                my childhood is best
associated with a house,
a jew married a ****** woman,
tsarina,
   she housed around 20 working
men in her house she decided
to share with a man, woman,
child complex worth of family
and her own children...

            pwetty pwetty people...
the "troops" coming back home
from a pointless war...
and then economic migration...
which is always the subtle
variaty of conflict...
            guess the Marshall Plan
made it as far as Sveeden,
but the communists
  taught us the delayed sense
of pride...
      not entombed in a trans-national
debt call...
    as if i own
some ******* h'american my
                       bone leading unto lead...

bone leading unto lead...

            then of course the cherry
on the cake...
   En-g-land...
you must of course include the
subscript's worth of H
in that "solitary" g...
                           giggles to no R-trill...
     bilingualism is
the new schizophrenia...
              but that's: hey...
                          are you o.k.?
      no bruises, no plum kisses on
your arms?
well... what's there to worry about?
            
    so i'm detached from any racial
identity,
pronoun bleach politics surrounding
"correct" grammar usage?
why... wouldn't you
expect some die hard
                 loose canon shout:
SALVA!
              hell,
some people thought i was naive
aged 21...
           looks like...
            some people are late bloomers...
and expect the platitudes of ageing
to be the standard norm bearers
for their illusion of:
by calm of miracle we came,
by calm of fate we leave;

         yeah... tell that to monsieur charon;
i'm dancing with an old devil,
   whatever i managed to sniff out
of judaism:
   and 'ere we have...
a brat of a religion,
Islam... throwing a ******* tantrum...
at times, if really would
require to smack this little
              futility.