reading a rupi kaur poem is
probably the most heart-breaking
"thing" in the morning -
on the play store bestseller list:
because afterwards
a sylvia plath poem:
somehow isn't -

                       somehow she managed
to pluck at a geisha garden
and has become all porcelain all
             crystalline ivory & frailty...
but that's not about my reading
habits in the morning...            
   it's more... more about...
how "we" could get away with
writing all our onomatopoeias in
katakana:

                        unless of course
there's the "problem" of C, L, U, Q / CK...
that's hooves on cobweb streets
trotting...                                        
     ­                  nonetheless:
                        i give you
          マンナ              ダンナ
    (manna                    ­      danna)
            i guess: imitation
                          games of a madonna
in a brothel -
which is not a brothel...
and everyone's favourite
             Berlusconi's take on
                         castanets & maracas i.e.
                  ぼんご                 ボンゴ

otherwise a narrative in three parts:
a. my grandfather died
b. i stopped drinking
c1. and i started walking marathons
   c2. from 118kg
                down to 106.5kg
                  circa 2 months...

otherwise a further narrative of:
not because i'll gladly go into
the necropolis with a bouquet
of fake carnations / chamomiles...
  although "in manus tuas" i could
sit crow esque pensive,
hunched: a shadow for a globe of
atlas (etc.)
            and **** that fickle
creature that's memory in vain...
thereby making love
sound like a breaking
                           of an accordion...

or i could like i already have
"play a game" of       ここ / そこ
                                               ソコ / ココオ
no necropolis...
    just the remains of a forest...
bedfords park...
            a healthy stick for the purpose
of knocking on trees...
an dry-white skull-yellow-morbid
obelisk - i.e. a dead tree...
homage - three times:
           thunck-plonk-pluckpug
no echo...
      thung-plong-plugpuck...
a minute of silence...
                evidently...
                      in searching of meaning:
beyond in havering county park
horses grazing -
        "once upon a time"
they'd be work horses on the till
  of the land...
            now sometimes saddled...
not even bothered to gallop...
          while we're still...
                   under the tyranny of
the thumb...
                 or thereby some "relief"...

perhaps just walking through
east london toward st. paul's
seeing so many pilgrims (i.e.
that's what i'd call lunatics)
                        talking to pigeons
                                      at stratford in
                    the morning...
one might do what i do
teasing augury -
       notably because of the crows,
notably because of swallows;
at least for the former -
when hades stirs -
                 and a yawn breaks
rank from the pits of crunch &
                        harrowing tooth domino...
there's me procrastinating
before the altar of a name, date(s)
but no epitaph...
    or there's me making said
pilgrimage to a dead tree obelisk
  with a healthy stick in hand...
knocking three times...
            perhaps to let the forest know
i'm there, i.e. "here"...
alas... exasperation is not:
a need for "haiku"... it's also not
some snobbery when...
you're actually not given much to
"work" with e.g. -cemetery

       better a fascination with
                                  japanese text...
e.g. 緑 (green)
                         ミドリ
      / hiragana is probably a misnomer
                 みどり
  / why wouldn't green be in kanji?
               but how midori:
                       either squiggly or squint-
                                       -ting          
                                         squin'
                                                          ­T'ing
is not in either katana / hiragana
set up the following primer, braille:

                                    ⠛⠗⠑⠑⠝
       ⠍⠊
       ⠙⠕
       ⠗⠊   (hangeul esque)
                          
is probably the only latin equivalent
i'd ever make a comparison with;

   p.s. ⠝ braille's N
          ל - a hebrew L"ament"...

at least it's more than a bothersome
post-colonial rhyming ****** & scheme
or a wannabe haiku /
                        writing toward hiatus;
or a ******* ron padgett prose poem
                     about drinking coffee...
for that matter: any poem about
drinking coffee;
                                          sober *****
morning gits,
            insufferable loved up 'toons.