this... this long awaited bottle
of wine; that's for omome,
but not you... if there's going to be
a me and you...
we'd needd a ms. amber...
and some hereafter...
that bouting with the bridge
and bride of hades
and... whatever...
come tomorrowland....
i will not birdge any gaps
or any other interludes...
save those bits that welcome
the last of life and that killing joke...
here, now, the better half of
me... closed circuit worth of a
pundit...

lingo sputnik that one into an equation
for the basis of oasis that
never clamoured to burden the eurotrash
with blur
and pigeon shtiting clarificastions....

manchester chequers...
n'ah n'ah hey jude... ******* worth
of wriggling and teasin'...
  
happy to have made cheese...
says anyone beside...
an alex james...
   gear up to be riddled, moi...
something sharpening in
tone-deaf pain...

no... 4 down-under
3 across a "crew"...
             he's also greaved in
the soloist "moisting up" of suicidal tendencies...
linger me for that spot
leverage: major major of rationed bacon...

you really don't want the kinds
of me crafting a ridicule of
your naked ***... making
tabloid "oops"
of that always appeasing moon
whips and tenures...

two birds with one stone...
except the arithmetic of twenty-two...
and there's a whoop-catch
of the better half of rottten tomorrows
of the intelligent:
hardly an i.q. tester, tester, count...

i come from this affair all..
all ******* dehydrated...
and fixated on a d.n.a. of the wirth
of argumentation for the worths of
tomorrow...

hardly the happy slap...
          we... the governing
lords of salem...
                        that last misendeavour;
culprit, corrupt...
of that what's best salvaged...

mein besitzen!
           az én saját...
                               mano savo!

refresh... the death upon the crucifix
of golgotha...
then again...
that death of being impaled...
to dangle with death in tow...
but then... being impaled...
all that glory-******* the tenets
of homosexuality...
then one is being impaled
via the transcedence of buggery?

it's one thing to dangle on
a crucifix... hands outstreched...
quiet another...
to have ones hands tied
behind one's back...
being impaled...

           na pal z tym skurwysynem!
i will just listen to enough
wading through the glories of
the cossacks mingling with
the crimean tartars before...

                             crucifixion is
hardly the worthy bargain of torture to be...
exemplified...
there are so many, more...
na pal...

   to be impregnated by a quest
of making **** *** normie-proud...
at the crux of where the pelvis ends and the coccyx
begins...
at the point where the birth of the iron maiden
welcomes the weeping willow...
as a response of being
the sulking bride of commerce...

i do pity the emblem of the crucifix...
there's being subject to the pike...
one can be made to suffice in this
instrumentation of torture...
with a leonardo da vinci exegesis...
the limbs extending...
but never quiet so on a pyke...

                          butterflies of all
held hostage high heavens...
as ever... the inglorious stump...
sharpened... a death proclaimed...
two weeks short but then
the interlude... of the agon. of "waiting"...

it's called the highest crucifixion...
the lesser **** forthcoming...
the hands are tied
and the body is made to pivot
on the pelvis come coccyx...

              no angel will come here:
in spite... or repose...

                    i have lost my amibitions
to imagine... thus, this,
this torrent of whimsical expenditures;
bone-breaking
copper nibbling skimming
of loitering examinations of:
the awaited loss of value.