there are only two options...
******* into the wind...
or... pouring gasoline on the fire...

but there's always that third
avenue of "substance":
once the overrated demand
to speak freely -
when... thinking could be...
in the winding
crude pivot of...

       what was it that "we" were
trying to achieve...
ah...
writing is not speaking...
writing is an extension
of thinking...

    outside of the comment
section...
freedom of speech: retracted...
i must prefer the patience
of a spider...

the circus is over:
time to eat enough matter
to have one's teeth agitated:
to watch the toothpicks march
on mensa!

         come now... come...
the clowns are crying in the street...
it's just no fun...
to have no alternative narrative
to work with...

              a thing onto itself...
the advent of all these workaholic
slogans...
i will: as i have...
spend 2 hours pretending to sleep
on the floor...
trying vanity...
and how claustrophobia works...
when...

          the sunset has become
suffocating... the sunrise has no horizon...
and the old fable...
  of the moon's litany of lies...
seeking a skull about to melt
into... a lake of mercury...

          i want to shut up...
i want all my fingers to be broken...
i want to read braille with my elbows
and the tip of my nose...

         but i don't want that...
when... poetryfoundation.org...
has nothing new to post...
beside... an open letter of commitment
to our community...
well... the **** is way past
stinking... it's drying up...
it's becoming brick adequate...
one could confuse it with
a horse-**** shoe...

                   i hear a gallop of four horses...
but no... i want that to be the sound
of a train 5 miles away...
but "something" is sinking...
and what i hear is...
     the rattling nuance...
of a million rats fusing into several
centipedes...
scuttling... burning bridges as they
come... and go...

there are no details of my involvement
in any of this...
there simply isn't a question
to pose...

         not out of cowardice...
for once it would be good to know...
what all this hullaboo pertains to:
being asked...
when - the exhausted pronoun >?<
    wanders onto the stage...

       and there really isn't a worth
of question to be asked...

    i.e. ? walks before the mirror...
strips ****-naked...
             ? |  !         yes...
and an exclamation mark is all
that's arrived at...

the clown-world meme isn't funny
anymore... no one is juggling
reverse-psychology tactics...
i.e. laughing = crying
       and crying = laughing...

i forgot to put... the preservastion
of nuance as: what's to primarily
survive this... **** of self-righteous
gloating...
                
two names come to mind...
                  muammar al-gadaffi...
and... who ever said...
that... saddam hussein would
be... anything but...
that saudi king on his magic
carpet ride over yemen...
                  
   ill-fitting glove...
never the ill-fitted hand...
                                 always the...
prenup - juggling words...
prenup: hullabaloo...
               thai squid loot of the depths...
that ottoman slave trader
of the janissary corp...
    
i once had a soul...
i once had a mind...
          i probably still have...
the verb antics of the exclusivity of
a body...
it's not like the mind had
telekinetic capacities...
     schizoid telepathy... good riddle
for the metaphor junction:
ausfahrt...
                       mr. n'gogo...
                 and some mistress of:
m'lakak'eh-goopt'ah...
               for the first time...
i started to imagine speaking
without the use of their nasal cavity...

past-oral:
              vs. "pastral"
                         i guess there's a big O "missing"...
concerning... it's written pastoral...
it is said: pastral...
       "apparently"
                  equal to... the choir...
and... that one "idiot" attempting
to not sing...

               one junction i know of...
esp. with weißbier: franцiskaner: weißbier...
beer... liquid bread...
and ol' michael schumacher...
"living" as a cucumber since...
2013...
                 that's of worthy note...
   "living" as a cucumber...
ever since... slam-dunking head-first
like a lucifer / icarus while skiing...
                         against sisyphus' stone...

any limbo-land beside this...
mad-max fury road and let's...
keep the cufflings...
give me the sober rules...
and i'll just work my way around
them drunk: as any sanity prone
clown might...

  not this... but... apparently...
all this... and necessarily: now...
the cat never borrows the moon
for a smile...
but indeed... death...
will borrow the sickle.... and when
the sickle isn't enough:
the scythe...
             reworking of the flag...
the hammer and the nail...
who's to be the hammer...
and who's to be the nail?

                       petitions open: now -
our new "flag":
whatever we arrived at...
when burning it... some time ago...
1970s Tehran best.