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vircapio gale Aug 2012
boasting of the god of love's attentions,
this magicweaver lures her prey--
conjures forth her whim
seeking quench of fickle thirst within
attempting avenues of guile
numerously failed, and baits another heart
to suit her object's mate,
whose favors hail from Shiva
unto dominion everywhere,
  except at forest hut where Rama--
with Sita --honeymoons in exile
having snapped the cosmic dancer's massive bow
to win her for his wife, yet bound
by family word to wilderness
  in elder-shade of mystic eagle
guarded by their builder,
brother Lakshmana, in whose absence Kamavalli comes
to woo the godlike archer for her own.

little bells on anklets ring--
from creeper snagged
as if in venery yearning,
urgent vines would find their way to rest on skin
and squeeze in verdant rooting underform
prancing by, playfully demure
to enter subdued greenery
of Panchvati's gated yard
to catch the stoic Rama's eye
in invitation flashing for his gaze:
a sculptured form of flawless grace
nubile teeth shining from the forest dark,
a smile unassuming of callipygean sway
beneath the flitting lashes of her iris' swell

baffled there he stirs to praise her openly
as perfect--
despite his inner-goddess-for-a-wife he keeps inside--
with tripping words
welcomes and blesses this new girl,
exalting her with blushing queries,
sylvan surging rush to know
interrogate her mystery,
rapt in wide-eyed wonder verging beatific breath--
but learning of her lineage...
begins to plot their deaths.

banter light,
flirtations with a hidden, cosmic weight to pun against,
his praise asserts its hold
pretending bachelorhood;
his kindly, transauthentic voice resists
and in a sympathetic, skillful tone, promulgates
a drama to entice her eager mind--
ironic fancies of domestic bliss
flow from Rama, subtle jests
become her plight obsessing
into darkness embered with her lust
to truly claim him as her love,
her grandiosity defused in simple
entertainment quipping of their castes
and then with sudden burst entranced in luminescent rays of stunning rustic glow
from cottage comes his wife to claim her presence known.

the blow is dealt: Manmatha lays Kamavalli's fate: to self-disintegrate

jealousy to deafen gods, in cave retreat
to nurse her spite, surrounded in a dance
of serpent flails to sate her woe,
and only feed in ouroboros knotslip pulse
a lump-filled throat of gulping incite forward zest salacious
pungent flare of earth identity of fang and blood
the cry to shudder down a wolfine howl
in blast of animal, from screaming womanhood
the swoon precipitate-- vast height, abysmal fall
on being spurned by one who led her on
into delusion wrapped in sham an alter self
she met in bed a thousand cravings razing sanity
into a hate for moon, for elements themselves,
railing at Manmatha's haze infernal globe within and out
projecting Rama's face transfixing her inept
in wracking convulse whine of every cell,
her being sweating out imagined arms,
palms of his to cup her, lift from hellish pit of stifled longing never known 'til volcanically regrown--
in new love's throws an innocence of honest
selfhood found in him, bizarrely enemied in Lila's
killing spree of ego-dolls of lotus costume tracing all
searching through his fresh phantasm for her quelling salve
his diamond ******* targets for her soul
his broadness engirthing her to moan until her last in ecstasy
unknown asura-brew untold invented only now forever lost,
the moment fondled vastly gone,
his chest but gossamer instead of flesh
the emerald shoulder glimmer fake
the boundless confidence exuded in his
tender skin's encapsulated sinew strength
merely thought on causing pelvic quake
repeating there an apparition for her nearly endless letting out
he comes for her a demon double of her making
demi-god creator-demon vision for her writhing,
abandoned to the ambrosia torment he provides
wailing at the cavern sky her prison boudoir den
enscaled with slither pile coat of snakes, masturbatory wake of swooning still again

through to dawn..
in which psychotic break decides:
Soorpanaka births herself anew--
possession of her goal, or suicide.
the dewy spectra shines reflection of the choice;
rave committal forms its mould--
exhaustion hatches colorspray of plots,
braving mutilation to abduct,
lies and bribes surmounting each before
in ****** propositions to her ever widened bed,
else demonic armies loosed,
infatuate Ravana's heart
with illusory snare of golden Sita's rumored wares
to get her man alone and hew derision
with her desperate charm, by cantrip or war
spawned from deeper lairs of a broken,
fallacious heart, toward matrimony
or destruction bent













.
David Aug 2014
Despite impending loneliness threatening to suffocate me, one optimistic thought came my way as I strolled wearily homeward today from my work at the library.
Some compensations for isolation might prove as written in the following list.

1) I am not required to retire to bed or awaken at any given hour.
2) I possess the rare ability of being allowed the choice of my own meals and also the given time at which I prefer to eat, whether it be meager or hearty portion of vittles. Perhaps I may fast from breakfast altogether, and then again may feast upon indigestible dainties such as doughnuts or fruitcake upon retiring, accompanied by a novel of my given choice.
3) I am free to write poetry or from such to refrain according to my mood.
4) If I spill my tea or bread and butter falls onto the floor, who cares?
5) Nobody can demand me to clean the house even if it looks quite untidy.
6) If I sing or hum out of tune, there is no risk of anyone laughing at me.
7) If I fall into a trance of reverie and am out of touch with reality, who can upbraid me?

The list could go on and on interminably, but to sum the matter up, in short, I can most thoroughly indulge in all my whims be they ever so eccentric in tranquil solitude with no threat of a wife to nag or henpeck me. I am free to cry, laugh, sing, daydream, talk to myself, and every other foolish or wise thing a healthy man might crave to accomplish.
Thus musing upon these blessings, I strolled homeward with a lighter heart despite life's insurmountable obstacles.
copyright David upon August 11, 2014
Jude kyrie Jul 2018
This Prince was handsome to the extreme.
He had definite movie star looks
That is if movies had been invented
back all those centuries ago.

She was the most beautiful princess
in all the kingdom.
He could not think of anything other
but to make her his bride.
So he set forth on his quest of the heart.

But when he rode up to her castle
though the haunted forest of whispers.
across the river of doom
and the desert of the dragons.
he arrived at her door
and proposed marriage to her

she said
No way!
Apparently, she hated men
and in fact, had a strong
penchant for girls herself.

Not one to dwell on the mysteries
of a woman's heart,
the prince said to himself
fucketh her.

And he turned to a life of bachelorhood.
Never ever to marry.
He bought a Harley Chopper
Dated pretty cheerleaders
and slim models with full bosoms.

And he never once caught his wife
in bed with some guy like his married friends did.
when he got home unexpectldy all was as it should be,

He took up hunting and fishing with his buddies.
raced sports cars at high speed.
spending lonely nights at ***** bars
drinking double malt whiskey
and the finest flagons of ale.

he never heard of *******
or a ******* honey-do list.
Nor did he ever get hit for
child support or alimony.
He kept his castle
and his beloved gun collection
And was as rich as blazes.

HE lived on a diet of fried food
bacon and eggs with sausages and beans
Hot chicken wings and tacos.
snacking on potato chips and gassy pop.
a diet that caused him to
blow enormous loud farts
which made him a revered legend
amongst his cronies.
who all thought he was as cool as hell.

He had loads of money in the bank
And not once in his life
did he ever put the toilet seat down.

And he lived
happily ever after
The End

Goodnight Children
all go. To sleep
Sweet dreams.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
bachelorhoodwinked
by michael r. burch

u
are
charming
& disarming,
but mostly ALARMING
since all my resolve
dissolved!

u
are
chic
as a sheikh's
harem girl in the sheets
but my castle’s no longer my own
and my kingdom is overthrown!

Originally published by Brief Poems. Keywords/Tags: bachelorhood, bachelor, engagement, marriage, resolve, dissolved, hoodwinked, helpless, vulnerable, smitten, bewitched, charm, charmed, spellbound, love potion
Michael R Burch  Mar 2020
Once
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Once
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

Once when her kisses were fire incarnate
and left in their imprint bright lipstick, and flame,
when her breath rose and fell over smoldering dunes,
leaving me listlessly sighing her name . . .

Once when her ******* were as pale, as beguiling,
as wan rivers of sand shedding heat like a mist,
when her words would at times softly, mildly rebuke me
all the while as her lips did more wildly insist . . .

Once when the thought of her echoed and whispered
through vast wastelands of need like a Bedouin chant,
I ached for the touch of her lips with such longing
that I vowed all my former vows to recant . . .

Once, only once, something bloomed, of a desiccate seed—
this implausible blossom her wild rains of kisses decreed.

Published by The Lyric, Writer’s Journal, Grassroots Poetry, Tucumcari Literary Journal, Unlikely Stories, Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: kisses, fire, incarnate, lipstick, dunes, *******, heat, lips, breath, sighs, passion, desire, lust, ***, bachelorhood, recanted
Jude kyrie Dec 2017
The Single Prince------  a fairy tale for adults ---By Jude Kyrie

He was handsome to the extreme.
Definite movie star looks
if movies had been invented
back all those centuries ago.

She was the most beautiful princess
in all the kingdom.
He could not think of anything
but to make her his bride.
So he set forth on his quest of the heart.

But when he rode up to her castle
through the haunted forest of whispers.
across the river of doom
and the desert of the dragons.
he arrived at her door
and proposed marriage to her

she said
No way!Apparently, she hated men
and in fact, had a strong penchant
for girls herself.

Not one to dwell on the mysteries
of a woman's heart, the prince said
fucketh her.
And turned to a life of bachelorhood.
He bought a Harley Chopper
Dated pretty cheerleaders
and slim models with full bosoms.

and never once caught his wife
in bed with  some guy
when he got home unexpectedly

He took up hunting and fishing with his buddies.
raced sports cars at high speed.
spending lonely nights at ***** bars
drinking double malt whiskey
and the finest flagons of ale.

he never heard of *******
or a ******* honey-do list.
Nor did he ever get hit for
child support or alimony.
He kept his castle
and his beloved gun collection

and lived on a diet of fried food
bacon and eggs with sausages and beans
snacking on potato chips.
a diet that caused him to
blow enormous loud farts
which made him a legend
amongst his cronies.
who all thought he was as cool as hell.

He had loads of money in the bank
And not once in his life
did he ever put the toilet seat down.

And he lived
happily ever after
The End
Happy New Year
Goodnight Children
sleep sweetly
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Disconcerted
by Michael R. Burch

Meg, my sweet,
fresh as a daisy,
when I’m with you
my heart beats like crazy
& my future gets hazy ...

Keywords/Tags: Meg, love, lover, fresh, daisy, heart, heartbeat, crazy, pounding, future, hazy, bachelorhood, engagement, marriage
Àŧùl Dec 2012
Dedicated to the Mirage,
Of a golden future,
With a silver person,
Usually referred to as Marriage.

In a Marriage,
Two souls seem to meet.
It is not so easy,
For two souls to meet.

I've seen a Marriage,
Which survives only due to the child.
That child grows up pledging,
Bachelorhood all his life.
And that child here, could have been me.
P.S.: 19/5/18 Decision changed long ago. Funny how true love changes mindsets.
smitten with a forsaken long lost love
     *** plus years ago,
aye since didst roam'n o'er hill and dale
     as one heart broken beau

twas being cow warring utter oxymoron,
     whereby thy perfect match I do
frankly admit foolishly out sourcing
     of (good NOT FAKE nor bad) grief emo

shun hull distress disgraceful,
     which hide de lee recognize coveted prime mate,
     (who shared love of playing scrabble,
     and born same January 13th birthdate,

     yet six orbits thy senior)  
     mine golden opportunity to lose,
     viz ma mish mashed aggravating huff flew
vee yam this then

     young asinine buck unwittingly  
     inflicted long forgot 'til
     ear layer t'day thee spouse
     showed me an photograph,

     when suddenly this lix spittle
     curmudgeonly bard
     unexpectedly experienced
     abysmal love stricken agony
  
     (that despite pro missing to pledge -
     while taking a knee -
     troth Abby Robin - hoo
became thy lawful legal wife - of Jew

whoosh heritage juiced like me, and knew
instantaneously upon
     setting eyes this then boyish lad -
     hood bid tootle loo

at bachelorhood, when she eyed thyself
     (wedded now deux plucks decades),
     though no moo
nee tomb aye name,

     thus har courtship rocky, hen new
idea how tubby affectionate,
     hence early married life  
     pitched 'tween Scylla and Charybdis

fondness (albeit ex post facto) hike queue
this poetic beat (fashionably late love note)
ye, whose Capricorn astrological sign
     didst bid eternal happiness
    now delayed repercussions I rue!
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
so I says to the moth sleeping
on a kitchen curtain:
allow my hand curled
to be as soft as a laced
napkin, and you'll fly out
from my chamber prior
to the sunrise scything
the morning dew...
        ****!
     and as I lit a candle and
gently uncurled my hand
into a proud lotus
with a sitting Buddha:
the moth disappeared
    with what felt like...
a kingfisher diving into
the stillness of a narcissus pupil,
near figment,
replacement of
a woman's authenticity
of belief, subsequent
gangrene, akin to the one
success story bound
to the rigours of Walt...
****! thin air...
   a moth in this kingdom
of night, is lover
to the kingdom of day...
a fern replaces a laurel...
immobile drench
of autumnal perfumery
of sly, snail *** oyster
gluttony of excess saliva...
no cannon riddle salute...
deafening the living,
bewildering the dead...
my adversary is not worth
the impetus and subsequent
ordeal of gained
responsibility of Cain...
vain vagabond...
truant lavishness of
lavender...
     silence reveals...
what word is best said yet
best unworn...
   hardly woken...
like a child asked for buttocks
before a jab counter Odra...
counter Ospa...
            mid-dream...
           meningitis hepitatis
worn A, B, C, all through to
D?
         I see nothing short
of the clamour of the living
turned, dead,
   and no drunk statue...
only rigid, copper frames...
best seek the concept
of a cube in a cage...
             than a god in a man
in a man in a universe
with whatever strings attached
no more than chance, contra will,
in this circus of stars...
   however the elaborate
expansions of space,
reiterated by the whimsical
musings of time...
there's the bound man,
the rubric standard,
    the reiteration and
sense expanding cull: contract
  reiteration of medium...
the plateau man:
the safety net inferno...
10 generations apart,
and still: without a Dante...
and thank ****
Bukowski didn't mention Dante!
eerie now, my reading of
the "Bolognese" tirade,
and the monopoly
          of "earned" bachelorhood
of... the ma than becomes the gran
and the hopeful bride who...
can't make a broth...
as well as you...
           but of course...
rasta best explains:
     I is responsible for all...
     pardonable am... 100 years later,
and, apparently,
it didn't originate in Zurich...
  
      papa dont preach,  
I'm emeritus...
      Etc. Etc. in nomine
gratia plena...

words have become
quasi iconoclastic
within the confines of keeping
up with the rigour
of crafting logo...
coca cola, CoCa CoLa...
the ******* black madonna of
Częstochowa...

     genuflex of the abstracted
tetragrammaton...
   Y 'ere,
    
    W over d'er

                        HH: rugby.

FeO: iron oxide...
  BBC4 (radio):
      the Ushers...
    Churchill's θ...
    id est:
   not cheesy...
   w'ah'ver:
   w'eh'wee w'eh'wee
      veering on vague:
V(e) 'ucking, 'uck of e
     pringle.

very discrete,
that definite article...
scissor atheist thought,
either an indefinite
article of A...
    or the rubric of lost
items on the tube...
   with a genesis of
  a-;
    oddly enough...
no lost umbrellas in this one...

because god forbid a language
should ever incline to be
shackled to a mind only
safe in confining itself
to running a school, yard,
and brick cascade of
***** counter excavations
of equal numbering,
to avoid the heretical waste...
doon d' 'oobe...
    
    how else to translate
"******", shittz painting?
      poetry is...
the lost art of counter rhetoric...
a poem ought to shut
someone up...
suffocate them...
          rather than be,
what it currently is...
impedium of
replica...

     **** me...
even I had to check the dictionary
to convince myself
of the stature of but three words...

impedium of replica...
at least plagiarising painting
has a thrill of
plagiarism behind it,
a mischevious
         ploy on employing
subsequent experts...

               my tongue, mostly
completes itself,
on how best it confiscates
the flame of a burning out candle,
and less...
on how a slug might burp
in the Royal Albert Hall.
A B Faniki Jun 2019
You never wanted anyone for
Yourself, so you jumped from
One relationship to another
like Asian carp in a lake.
You never bothered about who was
In your bed, provided you had
Pleasure, with no strings attached.
You never thought love and
Companionship; their concomitant is the
Killer of spinsterhood and bachelorhood.
You fought hard against love
And pleasure but you knew
You were fighting a lost cause
just like a sailor fighting
the weather at sea.
The heart wants him,
And is fond of him,
And is set on matrimony.
The heart wants what the
Heart wants; it won’t rest
Till it wins.
This poem remind me of the time when Love hurt  and the person hurt find it hard to love agaig; yet to love comes again .
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
i've always been tempted with the monastery... ever since visiting the Taizé community... then again: always concerning somewhere prior... the monastery where mummified remains of monks who died from cholera were exhibited... revising my romance with the Teutonic knights... the northern crusades... oh that the world has so much to offer... but i'm a terrible actor... and... if you're a terrible actor... and more... the worst imaginable liar... drama and life... don't exactly... mingle well... let the people have their sway and their freedom(s)... let them become... gluttonous with their desires and their thirst for the "lived experience"... let them abandon all manner of thought with purpose of transcending the ought-i-ought-i-not narratives... please let them... scramble for memory when it suddenly evaporates and there's that escapist tactic focusing on imaginings... don't let me use a language teasing moral overtones... let people... this... glistening prospect of... the ******* riddle with a fiddle... but... let these same people allow me to return to my abode of placebo solipsism... of where i put my finger for prospect of accountability... lavo manibus meum (vide cor meum)... but sure as ****... no mea culpa...

while doing some household chores...
a thought: one after another...
all deviation from ought-i
     ought-i-not(?)

            do i despise my own fellow countrymen?
the question posed by
those on the right regarding the politics
of the left...
um manibus
among the English and the Irish of
beyond merely the east end of London:
past the A406... once upon a time...
a space occupied by... mostly Irish
and 'ebrews...

3 years among the Scots...
but always, somehow... withdrawing from
contact with fellow Polacks...
out of spite?
or completely willing to integrate
to the point of "incognito"...
nothing good ever happened when
Polacks congregated on foreign soil...
let alone in Poland itself...
well... once upon a time...

     always among foreigners...
                   one Somali two Ethiopian
three a party with a Pakistani...
citizen of the world...
it's not even an original take on...
ancient Greek cosmopolitanism...
or the city-state...
beyond which: feral creatures roam...
****** jokes...

but i've been living in this cauldron for so
long that... upon returning to...
via commuting through Warsaw...
a great... nausea... a feeling of debilitating unease
of being thrown back into
a homogenous blob of sinew and sweat...
as if given marching orders...

that i speak more of the native than write it...
well... if i had a keyboard
that allowed me to shortcut all the relevant
diacritical marks...
e.g. miód & miot...

    honey...        litter: i.e. what a ***** gives
birth to... puppies...
of course the D & T can be sometimes
conflated depending on how they're / how they're
not stressed...

citing oath words like a cobbler...
****'s sake with Charlie Dickens and his
"orthography"...
what "orthography" in the English zung(é)?
there are no diacritical markers...
two options: "too many" vowels...
or... just an extra consonant...

litter... bitter... bite down on something: lite...
then again... third option...
plenty of surds...      light... no?
those are the three most poignant
characteristics of the tongue...

onomatopoeia: not an english word...
could.... would... gargantuan...
"too many" vowels... sometimes the odd extra
consonant in the vein of:
litter: literally... a manner of distinction
between: manna and mana (maori mana)...

and what appears to be... beyond a mere surd...
that vowel catcher that's H
that's half of the 'ebrew deity's name...
or a rugby post...

say AH... a request in dentistry...
or cite the alphabet: A: aye... A: aye...
    E:                eh?!
                    shotgun language shrapnel...
but to call anything orthographic in English...
or just plain: mistake...

e.g. miód "vs." miud...
                 hell... let's stretch it: mjud...
or even further... since... mjɵd...
no... this is not me attempting: smarter than you...
it's a ******* headache, while we're at it...
i'm thinking about this
because no one is thinking about this
and like hell these 26 pearls and a slug
of a tongue will ever manage to decipher, proper(ly)
the sound of a croaking crow...
at best... an approximation...

               where language goes to die...
in the beak of birds...
when in England: always the romance with
crows...
in Poland? it's either the romance with storks
or sparrows...

oh god... taking to grooming cats...
cutting the nails... brushing their hind...
one male one female maine ****...
i'm not into many fetishes apart from...
attempting to speak english grammar: german...
shoot me... before i speak a word of russia...

harasho?

         grooming a female cat and she's all
geared up... raising her hind legs...
*****... i'm here to comb you and cut your nails...
a ******* ugly scene: pinning her down...

then of course making the most sublime
tomato soup...
obviously adding parsley root...
a carrot... some leak, some celery...
if a celeriac was available...
two stock cubes... one chicken... the other vegetable...
approx. 250g of butter...
two cans of plum tomatoes...
a drizzle of ketchup... tomato purée...
a squeeze of sriracha... a whittle red chilli...
blitzed up and most certainly pushed
through a sieve...
served with some sour cream and...
as with any decent soup... that's not...
******* creamy-thick-splodge-custard-goo...
just eager for some croutons...
some vermicelli...

       but that... surprise of... some brandy
and zero sugar dr. pepper...
now i'm paying... bloated...
i drank two bottles of beer
puked one out...
ol' jack had to save my indigestion...
it's always a bad idea to eat and drink...
or drink prior to eating...
fine if you're drinking afterwards...
excesses of drinking and eating don't mix...

hardly a perverted stance...
but when a she-cat is gearing herself up to
you about to **** her...
while combing her and cutting her nails...
oh sure... on a regular Sunday
i **** headless chickens
with that pencil-**** of mine...
point of hilarity...

     and all "they" have is... egoism... attached to
an oversized phallus...
i'm guessing the sort that women use to
ready themselves for childbirth...
piston pump kicks...
once a tool: always a tool...
even the ancient Greeks minded the thought:
a large phallus is a sign of barbarism...
here you have... attempts at ennobling
savagery... while at the same time...
savaging  the citizenry...

    perfect combination, n'est c'est pas?
what could possibly be wrong with undertaking
the cesarean section?
if i were to **** out a head of a hippo...
and someone suggested... we might have to...
give your ****... some "exfoliation" revision, ahem..
details...
oh **** me: sign me up for that constipation
carousel! of... i'm guessing...
sexually gratified imps...

base topic... and you know this cat is gearing up
for *******...
well... i'd love to own a dog...
but then again: i wouldn't want to own
a muzzle or a leash...
the depictions of Hades and Cerberus...
no muzzle... no leash...
which is why i prefer cats...
that i was raised in an environment of dog ownership...
ah... Bella... that half-breed of an Alsatian...
Axel the dobberman...

no siblings...
     but to "own", sorry... to be with a woman?
and... all that... headache...
the game of jealousy...
i don't want to play it! sooner you find me
knitting socks as evidence that i have
**** instead of a protruding chimney
someone else started calling: whittle Wichard...
Ar Ar Arable land of lost phrases...

a dog's love is unconditional...
hence my revision of that celestial harem
promised to the invigorators of Islam...
give me 72 rottweilers...
i swear to god and no god...
we're dealing with fantasy land "details"...
or if you're going to stretch that fantasy
furthest... 72 of the most inexperienced... Lo...
    Lo               - but that's supposedly
the original promise... and you wonder why...
a ******* with only one woman
feels pointless...
why? well... there's that one unused crux
of a potential event...

      if i conjured up these parameters of belief...
guilty as charged...
but given that i'm only regurgitating these
pillars of: what amounted to the will of the idea...

- and if we still going to continue a discussion
on English... just recently... about 20 minutes ago...
FAUCI...
one commentator cited that spelling as...
FAU-SHE...
that's another thing that English does...
almost like it's... borrowing Fwench rules
of see-one-speak-another...
gobble up some suffixes... blah blah...
at worst: FOWL-KEY...
or... Cincinnati...

       oi oi: ms. cedilla!

mein gott: "they" were brought over,
probably sold by their chieftains for
(probably) being the biggest, most docile...
agreeable Nimrods of their tribe...
or weren't exactly puncture proof or quick...
oh! oh the lament of picking cotton...
so... not coalmining then?
- and for their invention of jazz...
to do away with the stiffness of Mahler...
etc. and forever celebrated for their
athleticism... although:
not their swimming...
well... you'd hardly find the 'ebrew celebrated
for this intellect... although: he probably
must be:
then again... the 'ebrew diaspora
and the Israeli... two different kettles
of about to be poached herring...

any herring that's not raw... Baltic-sushi is...
inedible... period!
so "they" weren't coalminers, yes?
no?
big ******* deal... i'm beetroot raw in
the face with blood being drained from
my tongue and fingertips!
i feel like doing some stomach crunches...
push-ups...
and it's... 20 minutes past... midnight!

misnomer-phraseology:
"hurt emotions"... completely misunderstood...
if you'd like to conceive the following argument:
i've jsut had my emotion stirred...
i have just woken up from apathy:
once i had the maxim:
apathy breeds no pathology...
it's great to feel...
to be woken up from the slumber of
objectivity and scientific rigidity... safety...
i like this... it's almost adrenaline inducing...

******-Goliath... i look at him now
like some sacred cow and think...
these petty gingerbread men managed to tame
these celebrated specimens...
and now... they have to... forget they gave us
jazz, the blues?

cuckoldry of the white girls teasing...
a few Bulgarian ****** tried the same...
telling me that black boy'os have the foetus sized
***** that might satisfy an elephant's ****...
while i have... to the dissatisfaction
of karma sutra coupling:
rabbit **** plucking petals from
a mare's ****...
because: the phallus is... important akin
to... to have ice requires freezing...
a temp. of below zero?

funny... that... looks like an ego boots from
where i'm perched...
this one *****'s surprise...
****** her and she moaned and she finished it off
with an ****** and the words:
the word... awe: but it was more of an ouch...
'it's only the second time it has happened to me'...
to my surprise...
i wasn't expecting to be a metaphor
of a Trojan cohort, either...
me and my supposedly pencil-**** with not
praise-songs...
of... readily-available: readily-pleasing...
i guess bulging on points of character...
with this other one...
kissing her eyelids...
suckling at her tears...
teasing the elbow... the knee...
the grooves of the collarbone...
her knuckles...

it's perfect... so serene when i'm paying for salt...
it's so pristinely primed to pay
for clearly-founded boundaries of:
me towing woman...

- i too have my boundaries... shifting like
tectonic pancakes...
the glorified amorality of women...
once every four years...
that's enough...
i don't need insect-esque gratifications...
there's plenty...

- which is why i adore advertisements more than
journalism per se...
let's pair them together:
advertisers and journalists...
expand... journalists are not historians...
nor... myth-crafters...
perhaps... if one might be amnesia prone...
but i love advertisers for the simple reason that:
i, don't. have... the... money... to... spend...
on... their... worthwhile...
it is worthwhile... *******...

       if you don't have the money to spend...
cue some advertisement slogan:
it's unbelievably encouraging to
continue: however the hopelessness
of bachelorhood is deemed by...
well... if a woman masturbates with the use
of a *****...
i imitate a **** with a boney hand...
and probably perform one genocide after another...

it's not like i hate Polacks...
fellow people...
i don't live among you...
and i'm not going to satisfy a diaspora "get together"...
either...
i'll take the romance of history...
some variation of journalism...
some Cornish clotted cream...
                 it's not like i had some relevancy that
might translate a point of...
because one might be from Warsaw...

and under the Nazis and the overtly ambitious
Bolsheviks...
as a ******... you think i can't brush this
Vestern... voke... brigading: "anti-fascist" *****...
ahem... aside?
you need to come full-swinging...
******* hammer & sickle...
you know... it took two superpowers,
longer... to conquer Lachistan...
than it took herr H to overpower... France...

the worst that might happen... mob rule...
i become cancelled... 2nd, 3rd... 4th time i'm so tired
of this same-old *******-riddling a **** that
i might as well attempt to rub my genitalia in
sand or... shattered glass...
no matter... no one to beg the "difference"...

the Sarmatians... no wonder i would base...
favouritism for the Shiah branch of Islam...
Iran and Islam would never pair up, proper...
after all... what excuse has a proud Iranian to do with...
a bunch of camel-jockeys?!
true religion... i'm so abounding in thanks
for seeing how early a schism took place...
thank you...

bad grammar: i'm so abounding in thanks for how early
a schism took place... see / sought what?!

i don't hate my fellow... ethnic... countrymen...
i just live among them...
and not living among them makes my
thinking: dissonant: dissociative...
i'd allow the union jack get tattooed on my ***
if i were guaranteed a *******
by some english ****...

just saying... *** isn't pwetty...
pour me a proper glug of bourbon and let's forget
the "matter" even existed...

oh i'll find: hounding reasons to keep this
language is some variation of a check...
the clarity of pronunciation....
beside the letters as surds...
and those... no entirely... used?

to love a people most foreig...
it's not like England was expected to declare war
just because... "my" country was invaded by...
two superpowers...
it's not like Brussels mud...
Polish "aviators" in dog fights over Dover...
but no... English soldier on... ****** soil...
so... so?
journalism kills of history:
day by day... each day...
give 'em enough murk and muck
enough smoke... enough mirrors...
and some bread to tow... stale...
hell... reinvent the point of the coliseum!

the modern Italians aren't the ancient Romans...
why?
the orthodox liberal: implied: satisfaction
with the word...
and the men were such grand... surrogates...
the women were allowed to be children throughout...
unaccountable...
***** bank-loads...
           avenues-for-future...
but the ancient roman men were so...
libertine...
in their take on being, the aliases of...
surrogate fathers...
when all other ancient peoples demanded...
pyramids and authentic lineages...
these people came along and...
gay giraffes...
******* gay giraffes...
o.k. gay giraffes...
                  
ancient Rome never achieved clausure
of "my" people...
we weren't.. Afghani... lingering GREAT
Britannia...
the supposed arguments only came after...
beside Philip Augustus...
who, who else?
          
by the passing of waters...
the trivial feud of the tides...
and the counting of grains of sand...
the viking celebration of poetry...
and the current conundrum of...
all that's a misgiving of aimed at... practicing...

Ecgberht!
     Ecgberht!
                             Ecgberht!

now let me enjoy a drinking-repose...
i've said enough:
in that... i've said too little or nothing at all...
time will teach...
space will pulverise with newly established
standards of science...
time will teach...
      break the Runes apart...
open a grieving momentum for...
reading Glagolitic...

                   revive: Eck-bert for me...
i have some cringe question.s.. to ask...
mein: brecht... Xa Xa... not Aguera's Ja...
Greek... although spoken Greek does sound
a bit too much like Spinning-the Leotard...

bit-the-knuckle...
               baited-the-nail;
hammers' for some: schpoons!

— The End —