.nothing is going to fix this,
sure sure,
  you can either make a zukofsky
out of it, or an ezra pound...
no point of comparison beyond
these two,
you might as well forget
homer...
          because, that sort of ****...
needs to mature.

and i am out of place,
    i'm in england,
but i'm juxtaposing the feral
lands of eastern europe
where women have
a choice...
      either comply,
or be subjected to social
stigma,
       much akin to any small
community...
the old men ask the young
men: where's your girlfriend?!
the young men reply:
she's independent...
  there's absolutely zilch
i can do about that...
     i hardly think this
"concern" has been brewing
in my mind...
ever watch a blonde
    court-side
           at an NBA match?
well...
thanks to b.t.
   (british telecommunications)
i can't tune in into the premier
league matches...
       but if there's a sport
i enjoy... that's over across the "pond"
it's basketball...
well considering h'america is
more of an idea of a country
than anything currently available
that's organic...
   NHL and NBA...
          and when it comes
to baseball... n'ah...
   the lunacy of cricket beats it...
oh and for sure
   NFL can't compete with
rugby...
        i never understood
the "logic" of a one-throw
game policy,
    must feel like *******
into a ****
  with one ***** (runner)
able to squeeze past
the melee...
hawkeye to blade runner...
throw... catch...
touchdown...
  but the interruptions:
too many to count, put me off...
but a blonde court-side
at a basketball game...
    now there's looking
star-struck, there's looking
aghast,
there's daniel's *****
and there's the goliath...
   oh the jaw doesn't need
to drop...
   the eyes are already glittering...
well i'm also hardly
a didldo model...
   what would that look, like?
thank god the crazed monotheist
priest didn't get to me,
i knew the *******
was supposed to fulfill
some sort of function...
never thought it was
to, sit down on a toilet,
take a ****, take a ****,
and then ******* to some
                        fine art...
          well i had to write something!
this is only the interlude
piece of the "puzzle"
before i get really into it,
  before i drink enough to dumb
down and spew doodles...
and the whole itchy fingers
"thing"...
           so i made myself
the promise - write within
the time limit of a reader's capacity
to read it in reverse...
never revise...
    keep to the grammar and spelling...
and when i heard
that bukowski made frequent
spelling mistakes...
then...
         i sort of lost my respect
for him...
             it's not like i sit and,
  "ponder"... scheme...
                    as long as the punctuation
works...
then the "necessary" CAPITAL
lettering is... gone with the wind...
        then again...
just drinking,
    and... what? relaxing akin
to the will styron "conundrum"...
well...
   at least know when i hit
the mega-snooze button
                    and quasi-black-out...
which implies:
       pulled-pork and roast
tatties and some red cabbage
with chilli and coriander just did
their bit...
               as in:
          when it comes to poetics...
thinking is overrated...
and i know that the mainstream
has ****** "hurt feelings"...
but with this sort of ****...
you have to feel more
   and think, less...
              it's not mahjong solitaire
we're talking about,
it's the integrity of language...
sure...
   it's not a stephen king novel...
but like i said two days prior
to someone:
   i lack the imagination
to embrace a future...
              nope... can't see it...
not on a personal scrutiny
of wants...
                  there's only now...
and it's hardly a scenario
of "living in the past"...
sure, i "live" in the past
only because i don't think i did
anything wrong...
   unlike most people...
i like to remember the good
i've done, however pea sized puny...
and i don't have a problem
with that...
   but... "apparently"
a lot of people are so ashamed
of their past that the only thing
they're looking forward to is
a snippet of a future just
before their death...
                i like the past...
not because i live in it,
but because i have, lived in it...
   and that's one sure way
to converse with an Alzheimer's
condition...
         akin to:
last time i checked,
she picked out the engagement ring
herself...
  and she herself,
gave it back to me...
      and then all manner of crazy
**** happened...
'matt, matt! i'm hearing voices!
matt! matt! i'm pregnant!'
like i didn't visit her
after the break-up
and find her sleeping with her ex-,
so now, what?
                   i really want
to be that bitter spare-cog in
the machine of time...
                          i do...
   but something compels me to spew...
sure, drinking,
the "curse"...
          but for all the sedatives
in pharma-land...
    at least this one gives
me a sense of sanity, and focus...
  i'll cook the dog's *******
worth of a curry and a fox
   will come near my garden door...
and then i'll feed him
some left-over food,
bones, groats...
sauce yadda yadda...
       and i'll leave him like that
for a week...
   which gives me great satisfaction...
because it reminds me
of myself as a child,
    the only child...
       with an alsatian shepherd
for a sister
and a dobermann for a brother...
    ****... i still remember that
bitche's name... Bel-la...
   and she was beautiful...
   i'd go walking with my now now
dementia riddled grandfather
into the strawberry fields and
the forest and climb trees...
   and she'd be barking running
insane rounds around the tree
worried for me...
       (verbatim, not my words,
my grandfathers)...
                     and that's how it ends...
autobiographic...
  imagine asking someone
to pay you for this sort of crap...
esp. when they can't relate
to it...
                    but there's this...
and then...
  there's the tabloid press...
                          again: your choice...
personally?
   i can't stomach tabloid
spew...
              as much as i can't stomach
the lovelustre idealists...
i once loved...
          once...
                    once was enough...
after that once...
a sober reality kicks in...
                  and, lucky or unlucky
for me...
        i thankfully don't
have, what's necessary to compete /
provide...
          if there is a god...
i pray: thank you,
       for kicking me out
            from the hierarchy games...
literally: i'm out,
with as much, or little,
               as this little doodle shows;
finally!
    i get to do my pontius pilate
pose -
   not because i didn't try...
i did try...
                 not because i didn't care...
once upon a time...
    imagine that...
ending a book rather than
beginning one with:
                 once upon a time.