i'm not                                           a deer hunter;

but i'd love to
ascribe from Cyrillic
to this;
nonetheless;

if one were to boast...
but one never gratifies
boasting...
the rare chance
of being a deer-runner...

because the stag is in concrete...
road-****...
and one only has but one
chance of playing
santa... being the deer-runner...

which not one will actually believe
as one being...

but at least the pronoun debacle
is allowed... a royal
presence of excuses with:
one should...
we also think so...

it was always under the crown's
decree to give this grief some time
to air... before... it was folded
like a poker bluff...
before the altar of:
pronoun exhibit (a): one...
pronoun exhibit (b): we...

we should hope of one's
happiness to be exacted without
the worry for either pauper I
or a they that throng...
prior to the stress that's: we...
that's prior to I...
in that we refer to I as in no way...
allowing a res extensa
of a: they...

i am liberally... classical...
this is english, after all...
i must decline to use these modern...
trangender, canadian, pronoun,
compelled speech derivtives...
pseudo-soviet satellites of grammar...
of the royal pronouns we must
discuss... "proper" or any usage...
for that matter...

the crown hovers above the head
the head that can be decapitated but
still waggle a tongue...
the royal not the transgender pronouns...
rex civilis...
one should hope so...
that we might state the following...
a pronoun! without any faking
a *******, entourage!

classy peoples of this worls and typo Ds
(missing) and...
i only heard the term vegan once...
i subsequently heard:
no eggs... no cheese...

i then heard... *******!
what's breakfast with no cheese...
no eggs?!
how about...
vegan = haemophilia anemic?!
ok booker = soy boy bonanza...
how's that?
what about the steak tartar,
ms. rude carrot root *** whiff
of a ******?

i could be saved...
and how i wish to work
in a slaughterhouse...
it would cure me of...
curating to the alpha-male
museum of sounds via
the ash-tray array
of ****** sound-bitten-bites...
compensating for...
i too wonder...

there's all this music...
but to replenish this diet...
there's that crude onomatopoeia of...
vowels that attempt
to attain consonant status
when a woman *******...
but never does: attain the consonant
status of her vowel elevated pressure
breaths...

because it's the big O...
and no big sigh
that invites the better half
of the vowel-catcher
that's the tetragrammaton in...

i need to know whether
this is venom-bitten
with bitterness...
or whether it's still:
cheap slap-stick comedy -
en route the common ritual of...
a cameo audience being responsive...
a very cult-esque response...
a delmore schwartz escapade via
that hill billy of the velvet underground...
demure of a consitent craving
for preserving a self-deprecating...
not always allowed...

esp. not in europe where...
these days... everyone tells a joke
like a german...
but also has to hear it like an englishman....
a bad,
a very bad... ******* combination...
and yes...
****- and -ing is to be treated
as a grammatical conjunction...
equivalent to AND...

it's not to be given iconoclast status
for the bow and bread
of the dyslexia stranded
when "bigger" words appear...
and they have this...
niqab of a word ****
appear akin to an email
password's worth
of ••••

you're not saving the planet...
if a chimpanzee was able
to juggle oranges a priori...
then a chimpanzee will be
able to juggle oranges
a posteriori...
and if the elephant snorting and whatever
an elephant is able to do with its trunk,
brings it to a closer
relation to a miles davis trumpet?
then an elephant did and will do so!

problem being: the better part of this
hypothetical conversation i could only
have with myself...
since no woman could ever be as
impractical as to have it...
without an ulterior motive...

if it doesn't exist within the kantian
quarantine of the noumenon
(res per se)...
if it doesn't exist within a viral status
of the:
phenomenon -
if it's not phenomenological -
non replica inductive / industrial
in replication?
ha! and there i was... being fed...
the romance novelty of a stendhal!

ask a man to wage a war...
he will...
but he will never wage one...
from the perspective of hiding the notion
that he might fake being
a mantis or a black widow arachnophobia
prior!
why pray on being so sly
and slighted?
why not wait... breed a bonsai tiger...
and then play a game of tripping him up...
when waging war on...
that is not my woman...
and i actually romanced her -
but then... her petting strategy...
unless it was a Nefertiti -

buckle up... here comes a levelling...
a mr. smith is about to marry a ms. jones...
oh no... there's no née to mrs. jones...
mr. smith married a ms. jones...
benevolent coincidence...
i'm still for dogs and bonsai tigers...
i still imagine a heaven as...
72 rottweilers that i can clash teeth with
and bite and wrestle with...
where this islamic solomon complex comes
from with the 72 virgins...
it's hardly going to matter...

thank god... she was into...
spiders... and snakes...
i was more into... well she was scared of heights...
and graveyards... and i was like: yes! go!
me first!
feeding mosquitos to the bonsai...
and gutting a rainbow trout
giving them the eyes to "pleb" on...

she's still a fond memory of a girlfriend...
i was so close to being branded by her
with a tattoo and some "cultural appropriation"
about to don some caribb dreads...
she is a fond memory...
simply because she was a great ****...
and maybe because
she somehow introduced me to in extremo
and... bulgakov...

maybe... and as all great ***** go...
it's hard to forget them...
even if you're aiming at solo or even...
happily married...
the best **** and... what was it...
cognac with a slice of lemon was an imitation
of... the drawing rooms of Peterhof?

even a street-sweeper remembers
the best **** he ever had...
which involved a trip to the U.S.A....
a hotel room, some LSD and enough time
to watch one sun and two moons
pass for a measure of a day...

once this once happens...
the rest remains to be relegated for
a cameo fodder...
no war, no bastion...
no troops no cannons...
cameo fodder...
up to and including the zenith
of life... bound to the teenager years
culminating at age 21...
and then the descent...
into the everyday grey shade of
a pulp song about...
lost? lost what?
oh... the once upon time magic
everyone is about to... amnesia place -
as somehow to be... "recovered"?!