how beautiful the world: ought: and was to be:
but now the serpent and apple
is no more
there's only the tongue like a worm
wrapping itself in parasitic form
around a heart of stone:
my heart:
i implore: i do give kindly...

             it's the way this beggar woman approached
me speaking at an angle 10m apart:
which is a far enough gesture to get
my attention:

all i had was the fear...
the one fear i fear most...
listen to the prologue of the Beauty and the Beast
to get to know me: better...
i am prince chamring fearful of the Enchantress...

she asked for shelter... from the storm:
currently the methodology of hieroglyphs,
cunneiform and Ethopian molasses...
what a strange dream i had:

so she asked for shelter:
40 buckles or pounds of Shylock's testimonies
came through
via a messanger attired in flaming eyes
and Ku Klux **** ghostly voodoo:
not the end of Octoberm, yet...

i flew over... all over America: H'america:
and i dropped ***** juice across
Greenland... a whiteness of the whiteest source:
insomniac suns and belly full moons
these ******* satellites!

orbits that make moods and tides
of the seas...
from what i know the Atlantic was
a dangerous crossing:
esp. from Liverpool back to homeland
Ire...

so the Polans were the people who swayed
with feld like the mongol tribes
driving horse blood and playing
arithmetic with Baghdad skulls:
i don't care the sacrelige is already there:
the Israeli barbararism of Lebanon:
only when Liban and Lebon
become invaded by these: scrupules...
then i invite the thought:

and the Vatican stranglehold over England
with the Cathedral of St. Paul's...
there's so much more
but then i don't think you have serious...
interest...
i need to book a month off from the bare
minimum of work...
i want to get hitched to an American
Girl: oh so Tom Petty...

i gave her 20 squid: a quid to squander:
i admit i do hate the English ambition:
Elgar was a terrificly terrible musician
but what a wonderful life:
orchestra in the lunatic asylum...
the life more interesting than the music:
i'll stick to Slayer...
the grandiosity of birth of Bertha...
and the generosity with it:
like...
           dyslexia is on part of the conundrum
before start to plagiarise and utilise AI
to make church bells sing like uvulas
and the reign: curators of the art of silence:

but there is a storm a happening
and Bob Dyland is out for baseball
or whatever the lackey former icon
feels like right now...

                   two check calls: coming:
none: coming...
ridicule my passiveness...
but it was so heart-warming to try to fall asleep:
i ended up with a dream
of eating out a **** of a blonde
with the perfect tash...
she raised horses on a ranch...
in the middle of a Pacific nowhere...
as i was eating out her ****
by ******: of her intimidation:
i noticed...
i was eating a **** of an angel:
lacerated on the chest:
having both wings, formerly...
and a pair of ****...
cancerous growth made this dream-*****
of mine a survivor of breast cancer...
i didn't see a pair of *******
like i might see the eyes
and nose and mouth for *****...
so the dream is distortion...

then i think...
but no: now: i doubt...
if i doubt i therefore must be in double-think
mode...
i listened to the wind
and how superior
came crashing... the concept of caves:
rather than morph the tree:
the comfort of a tiny wooden hut...
heat it up real quick and cool it down...
the wind: agape...
started to sway then talk to the pines
and other trees...

it creaked and smackered a revelation
so clear..
but i'd hate to feel like the idiot
of simply giving a woman £20: buckles...
squid...
   but she said it was her birthday
and she was an intellectual mirage...
and i'll come investing so much
   trajectory Hawaii...
i do...
            i'd rather... i will...
live under a volcano... a graft of gods tectonic...
revealing the tectonic shifts with
the births of volcanos like
the dead stone of mountains: not...

Poland is far away: like a quote
from Neville Chamberlain about the foundation
of Czechoslovakia... capitulating:
like Milan Kundera making his:
mind... right up...
Poland is far away
and somewhere in between
the history of the people of Germany
and the people of Russia...

but i'd rather...
to before God...          than the Eiffel Tower...
i'd rather be in the shadow of a mountain:
who names me her gift: his gift...
i... i must have performed oral ***
on an angel that had
wings but decided to chop off
its Sphinx suckle on them ****...
            
Gryps... the language: vernacular: slang:
of Polish prison inmates:
i'm starting to question... questions...
answers... quakes and accusations...
        
                                      there's a language
to behold: uttermost, absolutely free...
           then there's the language of the Morph...
like spice was
now dust is:
   i feel the need to feed off the dead in
ceremony...
                judgements judgements
such petty hyperbolic suggestions: to qualm:
pacify: gesticulate with sordid
ambition...

                           i am in prison planet mode:
once upon the time the world was so unknown
while everyone was seemingly known...
now that the world is known
and beyond the world the moon and stars...
so much hush-hush psy-pacifism
of the modern scrutiny of the least
modern hybrid: the chimera...

                        feast: fishing in the agony
of the mirror for the fish of ego:
but with such currents of the collective cognition:
no thought belongs to anyone:
god simply ***** thoughts and oughts
out having established the taboos...
clinging to thinking as if it were our own:
our own: there is:
how we managed to sample the cognitive stream...
the Holy Draft, formerly known as: Spiritus:
is this stream of thought:
like the Jungian collective unconscious...
parody: almost...
this living stream of thinking that
God simply deviates from...

         i doubt: therefore i must think twice:
i must think that i think...
and i have to also... alleviate myself
with seeking nothing... god apparent...
we attach ourselves to this freeflow of thinking:
no origins of coincidences and originality
will, ever, arise!

thinking arose from the ****-est-godly-manna...
in man: conjured by the ego:
ooh! that's me! perhaps... maybe...
or just: ha...  ha...                  ha...
next time you give 20qids to a beggar woman
seeking shelter:
just ask yourself...
   am i being made into a fool?
if she's honest... i made a gesture worth salvaging
to prompt memory to overcome itself
and counter with imagination the flow
of thinking like that's the only proof of god's existence:
that we simply think for our own...
what?

last time i heard thinking was squandered on
daydreaming, on logic...
on puzzles...
which shows the proving of shining:
the unstoppable agony of thought
the moral compass
when only the basic were given
and the basics, were: enough!

                        a thought is a unit of moral ought:
not law: i won't be so harsh:
because at the end of the day
there's the schizophrenic confusion
of how the hierarchy works in those sentenced:
like a ******* is the lowest of the low
and will be beyond the innocent man
falsly incarcerated...
or the murderer and the thief...

     thinking is not mine: just...
how that wind spoke to those trees...
and how the earth trebbled: in troubling and trembling...
before the wind was talking to trees
to creak and lasso lisps...
there was talk of the wind with the seas
and how there must be a siege of England!