don't cry/you're almost home
I ******* LOVE FRENCH TOAST
almost. almost. almost. home. don'tdon'tdon't cry
stop. crying.
don'tcryyou'realmosthome
IloveyoulikeIlovefrenchtoastwit­hmaplesyrupinthemorning
but I don't know how to make french toast
you just crack some eggs and mix them with milk, you idiot.
Stop crying. You're almost home. French toast is at home.
No it's not. There's no cinnamon. I need cinnamon. I only like my french toast with cinnamon and vanilla.
that's a lie. You love french toast. Any kind of french toast.
You love it because it's french. I love french kissing.
No that's a lie, I love hard kissing.
No you don't.
I love you
Stop. You don't. You love french toast in the morning with maple syrup.
I love my french toast with cherry peppers
That's disgusting. Cherry peppers don't go on french toast. They taste disgusting.
You like french toast more than insecure cherry peppers
No. yesyesyes. NO. YEEESSSS.
Don't cry you're almost home.

No. Yes. Maybe.
A little.

YesyesYes...been in love with you since kindergarten,
When you asked to keep my pencil,
Offering me marriage in return.

Thot it was time you knew.

Some memories make you seem more foolish as times goes on,
The smile, wider, deeper, and the regret...harder and harder


6:50am

August 24th 2013

hello, i am a
writer, i am happy.
look at me smile.
look at me,
look at me—

no it’s not, you
dumb **** shut up,
you’re worthless,
you’re worthless,
you think you can be happy—

i am sad sometimes.
all the time—
half the time—
my lifetime—
where is the lie?

i am.
i am.
okay, i’ll be fine,
it’s fine,
okay, okay?
okay. yes, yes,
yesyesyes

look at me, i am
worthless stupid
******* amazing
shut up and look,
look at me don’t,

i don’t care i
don’t care i don’t
love you yes i do
i don’t care of course
it’s all i think about

stop stop stop,
don’t look at me,
i am too great,
too great, look,
look, i am on top,
the world is mine—

only in my head
only in my head
only in my head
shut up, shut up,
be quiet, i am tired!

leave me alone.
i don’t want to be alone.
help me be alone,
go away,
please.

please.
please.
please.

[…I don’t know what you mean.]

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing.”

*where is the lie?

we were tense as matchsticks-
                  my love and I,
                  tucked into the beat-up, secondhand sofa,
                  I whispered, "I want to distract you,"
                  and with each slow syllable her desperate grip
                  cut deeper into my thigh.
the sitcoms and the summer friends-
           well, they all tease
           the aching head rushes
                            and
           the itchy fingertips,
           "could I get you something to drink?"
           yesyesyes, 5-parts *****/one part tonic water/a pinch of lime.
the party died down-
    grabbed my hand rushed me to the bedroom,
    struck your body against
    hungry mine, and
                                       we were lit.
what was it Spencer said?
something like:
all fires must burn alive, to live.
it's safe to say,
he was right.

i will bottle the sound of rain
and fold it
deeply
into the quietest recesses
of that muscle
just below your breastbone,
and make it beat chartreuse
soft taps slithering wet yesyesyes's

"Do you ever feel like you can't get a full breath in?"
yes
yesyesyes
sometimes it feels like I'm drowning
or sometimes like these sweet words I want to tell you are stuck in my throat
waves and waves of words I'll never say
crashing against my grinding teeth

...and god opened up her legs
and said, "come, o come to me"
and yes, the believers flocked
like so many birds clinging
to a rock, faith a casualty
of a wave, of dumb luck
they said yes, yesyesyes
please and what the ****?
and god opened up her knees
and she let in all of the birds
and the flutter of so many
wings, yes they did they
pleased her and o my
and boy o boy and o ****
don't this feel nice and
god finally came
and the birds and the bees
and so many people just
like you and maybe me
they waited for more
because there's always
more and they waited
for god to breathe one
one last gasp, the unrolling
the tight fist unfolding,
the final gasp and
all things natural
and all things
unnatural, well,
they  continued to wait,
with little else do
to hear the final word
and
god let loose pretty much
each and every bird and
the way and the will
and the ungrasping
of all things let loose
on the world primed
for the final **** storm
yes!
and the world was covered
the world was smothered
in so much ****
yes!
and that was the way
and the will and so much
swill, goodnight and forever
******* (and you and you
and you) and that was pretty
much it, the world covered
in so much ****, get used
to it

superficial overtones...
the Kaiser bites the *****: turns it sour
from all that saliva-glue...
and the French want to rekindle
the glory days of Charlemagne
go down with Napoleon's
overstretched ambitions into
overstepping into Russia...

but at least i tend to my conversational
overtones...
i don't like superficiality of
this love yet to be tasted:
yet so yawn: ah so tender...
give me three proper glugs
of southern comfort on ice
after roughly 4 hours
coming back to havering-atte-bower
doing a lap of hyde park...

and i'll tell you how weird
is feels cycling into central Loon'don
when once upon a time i'd take
the bus... the tube...
and use up some of my legs
in the labyrinth of Bank station...

honestly? cycling through London...
i thought it was much bigger...
the tube enlarges what's made
available...
what is 20+ miles to and back...
the flat serendipity of London
that's almost like the joys of tulips
and the Benelux...
you can cycle for miles...
of note: from Aldgate toward Stratford...
from Stratford to Ilford...
from Ilford to Chadwell Heath:

demon speeding, no other...
i almost wish to own a horse by now...
but then the symbiosis associate
with four legs trotting two legs
lagging, hanging down on the sides
of a torso...

it's unlike heading toward Southend on Sea
or into the nitty-gritty: rolling hills
of Essex via Epping...
plus the thrill of cycling through traffic...
cycling with objects that might torpedo me
to a death...
the thrill of the roundabout...
it's such a cerebral fatty-hard-on
to peddle...

           after all... 29" wheels and i cause
a stampede... of flutes torturing
carl Orff's O fortune: on wheels...
but of no concern...
"they" didn't leave their abode with
a Yiddish...
like they left-off burger-burning
and burning bridges of etymology like
they did in: Hamburg...
did they...

Russian didn't leave many words
for original maneuvering /
    manoeuvring (too many vowels)...
god no god: but the words are available...
those vowel siamese twins
of AE & OE.... one can understand SH
coming together for a crown (Š): caron...
to hide the lesser "goik"...

                /məˈnuːvə/ vs.
[muh-noo-ver]:
hands down... the british linguists heave more
rock of letters than their
h'american counterparts...
if... linguistic reiterations are to be minded...

all these 'postrophes and 'urds
and almost cockney shortenings are
to come to any fruition...
all these Scotch accents with not diacritical
marks all that but not Gaelic...
fine fine clause...
so... why do the Velsh still retain their
Çymru?

to hell with "getting to know" these
natives: sometimes...
ask a rock to move with telekinesis as probe!
blow up Mars... grief a life until retirement in
a swamp you could retract to eat
with it: by a magic wand...
turn into a stew!

yes yes... i heard "correctly"...
  
/təˈmɑːtəʊ/ vs. [tuh-mey-toh, -mah-]
vs. well yeah... katakana:
            トマト
            ポタト

don't get me started on the grand: Toe & Camel...
tow-may-toe...
yes... i get the choke "joke"...

- yore! the burger buns are: burning...
i'm halfway reciting my bob dilly-dan-dan
adventures and i've lacklustre sensations
concerning old age...
i shun it... on the shores
of the Faroe Isles i cling to a mythological
possession of a pebble...

to fathom a a cloud like an
apparition of a swan...
i will detail the youth we shared,
together...
over something akin to a Loch Lomond...
Glasgow begged us to yawn...

no "toe" in a katakana to:
no... "toy"...
it's either a: t'oh (ト)...
or a t'eh (テ)...

and this is what laughter looks
like in ol' ***'
(unlike a spanish giggle
of a german saying yesyesyes
quickly):
                  ハ ハ
                         ア ハ ハ
                                               ハ
                                                    ハ
i expected much more from
the natives: that they might known
their own tongue and its
"shortcomings"...
i truly did...

given they govern a "diaspora"
that's so well connected
and it's sunny in England
but raining toads
in the Vermont of the U.S. of A.
love for acronyms falls short...
no?

Marble Arch looks aplenty weird
when you can fathom the entire stretch of miles
without there being anything implicit of
of "automation"...
of junction...
it's not like me a Beckett with a tail
for a bicycle...
i'd like to see Paris, again...
on a bicycle...
it must feed such a shortening of
a... lessened inquest of interest...

        of course... came the conquest of idea:
enough clones are the a plenty...
of Islam... but there will always be this bothersome one
that will "think" and think it's otherwise...
there's always one and one is
enough to balance out a plethora of equations...

to conquer England is to have a Miami smile concerning
this fickle... bothersome: and "weather"...
to conquer England is to have a
mosque erected in Bradford... Luton...
their cuisine is superior, don' you think?
oh, wait... they are the blue 'indus:
the last mother superior 'inds...

         in the zunge of the natiff...
i too would think "otherwise":
they did have an arsenal of spices
greater than the nuke arsenal of
either the soviets or the h'americans..
we will be glad to be educated concerning
the use of cumin, coriander...
black cardamom bombs of pseudo-whiskey...

toe-may-***!
        tow-m'ah... tease!
                    a clarity of the syllable junctions...
like giving birth to time...
like collapsing into atom
for the purpose of spacing &
coordinating...
like the time Albert Fish stuck needles
into his pelvis before
being electrocuted...

and this might have been an event
to equal the raising of
the Eiffel Tower...
but then again...
if it wasn't the Eiffel...
and there was Albert Fish...
i'd probably remember the *******
fish-wed-lock
rather than...
the congregations of moi-mort-dans-haler...

giggle: at most: through the congregation
of the most, left, available....
these walking add-on abortions...
thee ***-less truant plays of
"lost harem" sods....
my eager ****** lust....
           last >  tréma oh:
   parabolique glisser....

           non! ici, je m'eh tie(n)(s):     (où)
          nein... hier:
ist