title: hoops
body:
&
epithets. /?/    (a 502 bad gateway bypass puzzle-box of words)

shy, tender doe - she first meets me at work
and starts lying...
the lie comes into the open...
the entire work-group is against her
while i'm the only one to her defence:
the person she slandered
for being drunk at work...

           i need to pull her closer to me,
ever more closer, tender her up...
she's not getting away, no ******* way...
i have a wooden pike in my heart...
i've gotten the butterflies, the stomach aches,
cramps...
i'm now getting a hot-flush of pink bruises
and hues on my face...
she's going... no... where...
   i'm going to have to go all out crazy with
this *****...

but unlike an abstract psychosis...
at least this madness has a focus...
she... Jeminah... little dove...
but unlike that ancient ****** proverb:
better a sparrow in your hand
than a dove on your roof...
            it's only a little dove... so it might
as well be a sparrow...

in the next few hours i'm looking to three
things... four...
writing my father's invoice while he's over
relaxing in Jamaica...
taking out the garbage: massive fetish for recycling...
cleaning the refrigerator...
and... again: beggars can't be choosers,
i can't help falling in love with someone...
i went out in the rain: thank god,
the bouquet will last...
  
   i bought a Valentine's card and a bouquet...
no... not roses...
**** knows what flowers...
i was looking at the small print in
the Sunday Times trying to find a sigh...
i was most certainly exasperated...
where am i? oh... right... in a shop...
when was the last time i bought someone
a Valentine's card and flowers?
oh, right... like never... never...

it's like a Bon Jovi song... your love is bad medicine...
i could stomach cancer right about now...
i would wed death with philosophy
or something along those lines...
my head isn't right... its ******* on
but it isn't oiled on, properly...
it's this dog-whistle screeching banshee of
an ego that's keeping me disorientated...

if this is what love feels like?
**** me...
             outright... **** me...
too many red flags but like an idiot i'm still
heading into the eye of the storm...
too many butterflies...
the stake in the heart...
the hot flushes... ruining my already ruined
complexion... like i already said countless times...
acne, dead white blood cells building up
on your face? at 35? you have to be kidding me!
well then... Beelzebub took a **** on
my face... i'm squirting maggot juice...

oh, but this doe isn't going anywhere,
lucky night, the 13th... i'll write the invoice,
i'll take out the garbage, i'll clean the refrigerator...
i'll drink a little... perhaps i'll write some more...
come 1am i'll cycle to her house
and leave the bouquet of flowers outside
her door while slipping the card through her
door...

what did i write? ****... what did i write...

how do you write an adequate onomatopoeia
for a sigh?
   i don't think you can...
anyway: i hate roses, unless they're pink;
i think that one in the bouquet is a fuchsia (pink).

your, not so anonymous Valentine
    
   Mmmmmmmm

       (the signing was done in a szlaczek...
a scribbling doodle ****** children
get accustomed to before they start writing
proper)...

and here i am, getting all excited about dropping
flowers and a Valentine's card outside a woman's
house, a single mum that slandered me at
work...
she dated alcoholics and i know from experience
what women living with alcoholics are like...
you wear a little cologne: paranoid *****
starts thinking you've been drinking:
because her previous boyfriends have tried
to bash her head in...

i drink... heavily... but the first person who's going
to get a beating from anyone is:
I vs. I...
think about... massive attack ft. mos def:
i against i...
   you'll get the picture... i'll start "pretending"
to be wrestling my shadow...
if she's this mad ***** she thinks she is...
she hasn't come across a madman that hasn't
been admitted to hospital...
or a mental institution... no... no...
the psychiatrists scrutinised me and figured out:
let him run riot...
partaking in the undercurrents of society
circa 2007... seems to be going well...
now... 2007... what year are we in?
2022... 3... 10... 2... 15 years later i'm figuring out
love again... i'm in love...

what love isn't delusional...
run rabbit, run rabbit... i'll catch you rabbit...

and i mean: i used to be the guy who'd cycle
at night to a brothel to get all the fleshy
parts sorted out in bourbon soaked walls
and dim lights...
sometimes i'd hit the mark by giving her
an ****** and she would look all shook up,
surprised... oh... almost in agony:
as if she purposively wanted herself to not feel
pleasured...
other times there would be no chemistry
no hard-on... we'd exchange words...
etymological roots, i'd kiss her lips, her eyelids,
her ears, her hands... stroke her legs...
drown in her hair...
other times i'd just get off, not give a ****...
those times were the best:
that's when the roles fitted the circumstances...
i was the pundit and she was the *******...
but now? ****'s sake...
we're talking about the matters of the heart...

i'm getting excited about leaving a doodle
in a card, dropping it through a mailbox
while also leaving a bouquet of flowers at her door...
i don't like roses... unless they're pink...
oh, by the way... this one is a fuchsia pink...
there's no good onomatopoeia for a sigh...

                                  i'm going to use an acronym
and if i could, a hieroglyph-emoji: w.t.f.?!

no emoji...            ?!           will just have to do...

i swear to god, impossible, hopeless love makes
you silly as ****, i don't know whether that's
the comedian in me that comes out, but...
look at me... a grown man stalked by mush...
i love it! i, so, so... so... love it!
i missed this feeling... this insecurity,
this vulnerability!

point being... i don't think she's expecting
flowers... run little rabbit, rabbit...
now that my nose is twitching like it might be
Samantha's in Bewitched...
not until what i get...
i'm not having my heart burdened by
this iron maiden of tortures... from this coy doe...

i try to sober up...
how could Michael Myers love?
               i guess... only like this...
                   with a head-dive...
Kamikaze... カミカゼ
                       i don't think i can love any other way...
forget about dates... i'll do the cooking...
we can stay inside...
i'm not going to parade you...
we'll raise this kid, the two of us...

oh... how splendid will the crash be...
when i get rejected... but... for the time being...
it's much cheaper to drop a Valentine's card
and a bouquet of flowers at night at her door
than going to the brothel...

run little rabbit, run...