at any point in history:
a suicide could come dressed in
a geisha - a madame butterfly:
such that the personal anguish
was so great that...
   life was a languishing veneer...

not that now a toothache is
anything but irksome -
for such a small thing of concerns...
when it could be...
a pain in my back...
    
       here's to a lost of "missing" libido...
enough people
or the least amount of people
no wonder, no lust...
cutting back corners...
    the banality of work the menu
of the menial...

      after all... it wasn't so bad to begin
with... to secure a bowing out...
come the rot and snooze...
  still working magic on a pixel page...
it's not like
there was any fun with paper
in schoolroom aeroplanes or
origami...

                 that the 20th century had
all the worst... and all the best...
it's desirably believable that
my zenith of reality can be at best
a toothache...
          
and how painkillers are not:
what i rather prescribe myself...
a toothpick upon which a nugget of
cotton is dipped into
whiskey and then smeared in
some powdered cloves...
that of course... before the clove oil
arrives...

before the pristine genetic programme...
the rest of us:
to the cauldron of moloch's embracing
womb - not to the ***** of abraham... "we"...
it would have been better
to be aborted...

by snails' pace: two steps forward
three steps back...
thankfully this world is anything
that can overpower my ultimate
will:
           the world around me
is not worth living in -
yet i'm still here for at least one
spectacular!
i will not allow queen elizabeth II
to outlive me...

it can't be anything but odd but...
seeing new money minted
with a new figurehead...
that would be... something...

popes come and go...
i started to become critical of my beard
today: came the scissors
and two mirrors...
and subsequently a blocked plumber's
job... spectacular...
no more "Engels"...
just a more refined version
of a ruffian...

       for anyone who can believe in
self-
        (automaton prefix complex)...
-love...
              how much can this world
bribe me with libido...
or... well... there's not even that...

when will the concentration
camps reopen?
                     coolly - sly - slumbering -
but without the necessary
consumer flock: masses...
         i too could hope for a shirt
that has a label that reads:
stitched in ireland...

                something genius is waiting...
so genius that nothing
good or evil can be given clarity
with a constriction
with: a red, amber or green
of a traffic codex coming up
to a junction...

               'but wouldn't it just happen to
arrive at a best so...'
for a work of power
that leaves no derepency of will:
even beside that once nuanced
starter-pack...

   to reach this global glut of expansion:
introducing a new world
where there's no immediately reached
for "alternative"...

whispers of talking about
schwobb: or rather... herr klaus schwab...
pierdolony SZWAB...
     shvab... a new era post saxon...
cost-efficiency (has to be) nuanced....
by anything other that: nuance per se...

even i know the first base adventure
of technology -
what was 1998... and... the elders
were happily brimming with sleep...
i remember this one vaccine...
and we were in on it...
the scare surrounding meningitis
among the population of the youth

i was exposed to chickenpox...
there was no necessary vaccination:
i was assured the antibodies...
blah blah...

it's not impossible to jump to conclusions...
it's just: the grass is green
on this side of... this already ashen
world of former groceries...
beside the world of lust
and broken limbs...
how the plumbers had limbs...
when there was a need for...
a butcher shop...

but don't you need... consumers?!
don't you need a lullaby worth load
of people?
     coming to the streches of
imagination:
  i want to pretend to schmile...
then i don't want to...
but i do...
but i don't...
  
                              same old german
thirst purpose and a man
strapped to a chicken-shack of borrow...
i might ever want to die
from something as *******
as a toothache...

           and... for that reason:
hell is mesmerising: it's actually glistening
with... rubies and auburn shades....
there are some acorns.
to "investigate"...
there's the baltic gem...
like... stone esque caramel...

               i heave this imperfection
of language because:
i want no chance
for me to become a.i. replica...
b'aah b'aah gwammar
  some velsh, perhaps cornish...
always disguised with
probing punctuation...

                   truly, though...
a toothache is the last resort of authenticity...
a cat taking to snuggling against
your thigh when watching t.v.:
wishing...
there was a dozen of us...
and we were hunting mammoths
in estonia...
and the fire comforted us...
we fell asleep by talking
and throwing banter about...
words like pancakes...
and we pretended a night
was zenith and the day nadir...

         but... perhaps i alone "forgot"
to dream?
perhaps i was the last man
to have "forgotten" to dream...
each night i drink a whiskey
and hope to rekindle my affair
with an architectural projects
that's all jokes and bubblegum
spaghetti tangling of towers...

                 dreams have become devoid
of: their original deviances
from grammar and instruction...
i dream a vacant...
burning blackness:
with nibbles of mirror and smoke
being thrown out
to encompass a replica
of insurgence - like some great borrowing...

in a formerly geocentric world...
that became the heliocentric world...
that is now a gynocentric...
my towers my supposed *******
protests against mountains...
they are no good...
down in the trough in the burrows
and the trenches...

this is all i have demanded...
and it's enough to...
allow a shyness of space...
become consecrated with
the zeal of time...
       i have to keep my sorrows
on a leash...
with only one question
having to bother me...
can i allow myself to die...
having lived this most
mediocre of lives
and pretend... that is could have been...
something... spectacular;

vainglory:
fortunes of whim.