i forget who's who and a me in tow,
who's in the baggage of i...
and there's no blocked toilet
of grammar - there's no sun
coming up from above the horizon
come tomorrow -
there's the mother losing
her plotlines when she's not being
a housewife...

and the son - sort-of - steps in...
you search for a song
of the ol' juke... and it's not
the celtic paragliders...
   because ol' mama is not ol' enough...
and she's about to return to
the sort of everyday hell
i farm, i allow chickens to pluck
feathers from into
a gear that's
just about kippah tight...
15 minutes past
the 11 that would
be willing to don a tonsure...
i am the most...
self-evident faithful towing along
an evil...
drowning with a breath...
drowning with a trumpet...
chet baker or miles davis...
i never know which hand
is left or which hand is white...
or which hand is right
or is black... lefty towing elephantiasis...
and that's the anything and all
that's supposed to be "new"?
came a donkey...
with a libido of a goat's harem!

in between porky skinned
and mr. cinnamon from the raj...
boy-oh boy-up and swing
that cowboy scrutiny wheel
of dental floss:
a chance you come across
a bull full on charge
000000000000000000000
and the 0.01% of: if battery life...
is to be even smiled for:
to subsequently gain a turk
for a shave...

chess: jesus! yet another cherry bundle!
i'm torn...
is it better that i visit a balkan brothel
of romanian girls and bulgarian
girls...
or is it better...
that i visit an ottoman barber?
does it matter that i am the one thief
stealing kisses...
love lust forlorn...
and she was the elder daughter...
she had two twin younger sisters...
and she was my first kiss...
when i was a nancy sinantra song...
i was 6 she was 5...
i had a ****** surname to come by...
and she was... *****-and-bouting: KOT...
her daddy drove a truck full
of milk-bottles...

hard to imagine... but all i ever wanted
was to become a bus-driver...
now psychology and all those
mini-me psychopaths having pontous pilate
arguments for staging...
anything beside
the first attempt of dancing an argentinian
tango... or... sending a balloon
into the thinning of air...

dusty springfield - spooky...
tells you enough: run forrest run!

oh but i remember my first kiss...
i remember and it's not exactly
a catch-up catch-on pop song sing-along...
psychology and in that deity...
the mini-me psychopaths...
all those with a...
               pathology of the immaterial
concept of soul... base unit no ergo
no ego...

and we continue to love...
and we continue to love...
before... it becomes a tragedy of having
to learn into an inquest of
solispsism... that's must later when
the schematic of the atomised man...
the man under the scrutiny of
dissection... is ever fulfilled...

right now this world is not worth
the remains of what surprises
it comes up with;
am i to be subdued... waiting for a culmination
of failures?
i've come to expect the casual oops
and dross of a existential formality
that would never wager me with
a status: winner!

                     ****** argumentation...
the lesser father of the ****** son...
and skittles and all that's...
good-hope for the "forever alive"...
this... a hindering of base: thus begun,
thus bicycle racing...
and shadows to be solely left
with an arithmetic...
              pristine lady madonna...
to forgive, to forget...
                     as long as she toys
with a daddy-long-legs
and an attire of spandex...
                         and all that behaves
like a stretching of dizzy gillespie's hornet's...
when the canvas of the tights
would wallow in cobweb punctures.