is it just me, or, do we really lie in waiting
for some... shawshank redemption
cold-shower... this: guilty until proven innocent
paradigm "shift" of the status quo:
that somehow... we're not lingering hope
that: once in old age...
once the ****** urges and impulses have
disappeared - we can find the playground:
once more... remind me!
are we expected to find playground friendships
in old age?
or are we to simply couple:
dementia riddles of ****** innuendos
of cucumbers coupled with,.. oysters?!
sniff of the ol' wildflower...
or a pair of pink infuriating the burgundies...
lesser: the burgundians...
after all: d'artagnan was a gascon...

"woke" goes "w'ham - ham m'aam:
thank you parmesan" - and broke...
for all the talk of racial inclusion...
the protagonist's whittle voice
in... some obscure background...
the race precursors of psychology;
firefighters reunited!
spandex ballet!
london's:
and the fire's raging!

they once said... belmarsh prison...
oh belmarsch prison is the, worst!
bedlam?
prison: no prison... society...
i would very much like...
to appreciate... what's cage appropriate...
and what's... leftover disney *******
maze cooking: sordid:
hi! how are y'ah?!
my name's bob - i'll be your
breathing instructor for the next
to weeks... hope you drown.

and yes: however odd the face...
it can't compensate...
esp. when the language behind it...
has horror i.q. of a down-syndrome:
balloon blower;
either narrator... or protagonist...
pun-ctu-a-tion...
even without diacritical markers...

you can... most certainly...
make... hyphen icisions...
it does require someone of a priestly status
to: "spot the cipher" of pause
and... detail...
apparently the church allowed...
a brief summary of how...
all were taught... literacy...
while some were... freed from the shackles
of slavery...
or some otherwise mentioned
piece of hag...
hog... and roadkill *******...
        
       at this point... bukowski and his
dyslexic pride doesn't help...
give me 150 years... posthumously...
not when i'm alive...
150 years after i'm dead...
bukowski can ******* with his b'aaah...
his b'aah... there's only so much pride
an educated man can take from...
what can hardly pass as being
self-taught...
i call it the stiff rubric of the unshakeable:
1 + 1 = 2... and f + u + c + k / u =
the blatant obvious!

coarse says: these words are to be somehow
distilled... made less...
oat and ore-esque...
refined like french corsets or english top hats!
well... i say refine them as blood-sausages
working on the grounds of:
only replicas of haggis welcome!

i somtimes wonder...
where does my shadow wander off to...
when i'm asleep?