Harambe the inquisitive Self
Harambe the mangy dog
Harambe the broken Spirit
Harambe whose bones are my altar, scepter
Harambe who in his jailhouse did rock
Harambe whose name is communal labor
Harambe who stared into clear blank eyes and intuited the nature of the Soul
Harambe because Blake
Harambe because Hattie Carroll
Harambe because Truth in unintelligible letters, bleak
Harambe because ******* bullets pointed your way
Harambe because Et tu, Brute?

Harambe who constructed mental labyrinths out of paradise
Harambe who was half divine
Harambe who was half Man
Harambe who was full Anima Mundi
Harambe who was aped by the lollygagging necks and stiff roboticism of the masses
Harambe who was memed within an inch of his exhumed life
Harambe who was politicized
Harambe who was poeticized, needlessly

Harambe who stared down a Cincinnati sunrise just once upon arrival
Harambe who could not take it
Harambe who stayed inside all day
Harambe who was struck by the immensity of small broken objects (especially children)
Harambe who could not fathom my poetry, but wrote it all the same
Harambe who did not die in vain
Harambe whose voice will never taste his country
Harambe who no amount of ***** held out will return his stagnant soul to his body again

harambe salami
king of the apes
with some credible japes
oh how i miss your sweet smile
you could slam dunk a crocodile
but there was nothing they could do
to stop you from turning that kid into poo
so they shot you through the heart
and you're to blame
you give love
a bad name

you don't come around these parts asking
for gender "neutral" pronouns,
you want a grammatical theory?!
you want misnomer antics,
and "tautology"?
     i already said it!  
moon (księżyc) is a masculine noun,
while the sun (słońce) is a feminine
noun!
   the english, language, does, not have,
these type of distinction!
currently? what you're selling me
is rotten fruit, by god and grammar alike
are!
    how can you make this
false grammatical category falsehood real,
solely upon reading the nag hammadi
library texts?!
        oh, i have a grammatical "theory"
for you, you don't transgress certain
restrictions,
     i hate repeating myself:
then again: air-drumming comes with both
its perks, and its shortfalls.
    there is no "gender" neutrality
in the pronoun category,
the architecture of the english language
already allows a gender "neutrality",
but you picked the wrong category
of words:
    you achieve "gender neutrality"
by exploring the nouns,
which are gender-fused with ***
orientation (compliments) -
   english, oddly enough,
doesn't have this linguistic component...
oops, sorry...
      you cannot have "gender"
neutrality in the grammatical category
of pronouns...
but as all over european languages
show: you can call a moon a he,
and the sun a she...
            hence why islam is so
phallicentric...
       and christianity so gynocentric:
oh look, a copernican moment;
english doesn't have the capacity for
genuine gender "roles" for inanimate things
being ascribed genders
as other languages (other than english,
lingua politico, lingua franca) possess...
pronouns cannot be doubled-down on,
with "respect" to gender ascriptive measures
of revision...
      no!
               as i once suggested:
isn't english a language, peppered with
overt pronoun use?
     english uses too many pronouns,
+ given the deutsche schrapnell ref. -
what would you expect?
       there are laws of grammar,
that can overpower "laws" of man in
the current age...
        i end up in court with an i.q.
of a down syndrome person...
                nope, don't understand you,
oops... bugga bugga mongolian harmonica.
english already has gender neutrality,
but it's in the "wrong" category...
  it's, in, the ******* noun category of words!
nouns can be gender inclusive
  in other european languages,
as they can be gender exclusive in english...
pronouns?
    can i please, waste my time
walking through a gallery of the surrealists?
i feel like being an optic-parasite of
their work: honing in,
humming, and then saying:
             let's grab coffee & a postcard!
i simply do not have either respect,
or patience, for modern "laws"
that do not respect grammatical foundations...
if you do not respect grammar,
the foundational layer of language,
and you enforce this desolation:
   i don't mind, this is my
harambe... revision of the american constitutio...
  ah! cognitive dictionary search...
  this is my harambe amendment...
no, this is not where you make me say:
ooh ooh pikachu...
     this is there i grunt, punch,
     and then ask the question: huh?
like the motto of the american police
force:
       shoot first, ask questions later -
neco primo, quarero postmortem;
   oh ****... sorry.. postmodum... forgot:
             dead people can't speak, ha ha!

When I opened my eyes I sat in this body.
The wind ran through thick black hair.
Grass surrendered under my heels.
I didn't hate myself then, or yet, or ever.

Even now, when I part the clouds and look down down,
squinting into the tops of trees that were in my yard.
In the last home I knew, gentle hands fed me food.
We joked and my eyes smoldered for their pictures.
Why did they always take so many pictures?

You probably think I'm angry I had to leave like this.
That with one terrified bullet from two firmly planted hands,
my might and power and God given beauty did not move.
I remember that moment. The air was swept from my lungs,
through my lips, and two angels descended on my animal form.
My soul wound around one of their slender gray fingers,
while the other angel folded up my skin into a cavernous pocket.
We ascended into lush tropical rich radiant paradise--who knew?
Animals are allowed here.

Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I could have morphed into human form in the right moment.
When I became human, they became animal.
You see, an animal is that which is unpredictable and wild;
terribly aggressive.

But people were scared. Now they have more reason to lock up
their kids behind bright little screens as they push them in secure strollers.
"Look at this game. Isn't it fun? Mommy's here. You're in a belt. You are
safe."

I just heard a sob from below. As I think these thoughts, I can sense
she is crying and missing me, missing a creature she never knew.
She sees God in me. She sees God in everything around her.

To shoot me was to shoot her spirit in the chest, to watch the blood
form in pools while people watched and put away their cell phones
and pushed their strollers to the next set of bars. On to more eyes that hide their secrets from the humans.

[in memory of Harambe the Gorilla]

Fingers type aggressively into the night as I stare at the screen of my phone.
A group debate about whether or not applying deodorant to your ****** will stop the chronic itching is being played out
We all smile and laugh.
For the record, it totally will.
The discussion of memes enthrals my mind as I relax into the cotton comforter.
The feeling of satisfaction travels through my veins as I embrace the friendship I have and the light, playful conversation taking place.

Anxiety and paranoia settle in and take their well worn places in my mind.
Like icy blue dragons, they curl around my thoughts, just waiting for these people who will soon be irrelevant to leave me.
The words they type about Harambe have no meaning
But the words they think about what I say in return imprison me.


Fear of abandonment creeps in as I swirl the aspects of my personality into a hue that will convince them not to drop me in a ditch.
I know, not because I’m afraid, but because I’ve seen it happen, that my trust in them will be burned to ashes eventually and I’ll be yet
Another traitor to the fragile glass of friendships that we all hold together.
Just waiting for them to use my insecurities against me like a time bomb ticking

Ticking

Ticking in my ear.

And I can’t see the timer.

But I laugh along.
And send a relevant emoji.
They laugh at my jokes and I can’t stop thinking about how soon enough they’ll be laughing at
Me.

well... there's pindar...
    a great biographic entry,
when alexander the great sacked
thebes, pindar's was the only
home standing...
          that's great... but where's
the evidence that he, actually wrote
anything?
      that's a bit like stating that
descartes: really wanted to prove
he existed...
              no he didn't...
                  he didn't care to allow
thought to precipitate into being...
he already started working
on it being elevated to a god...
   but come on... running a poetry
website and withholding
   pindar's poems?
               i have a grand "metaphor"
to counter with that...
         it really was a day of constipation,
   i had to drink about half a litre of *****,
and a warm bottle of beer (ugh...
   that's doubly worse than the way
they drink ***** in england... warm... shots...
i find that warm beer is doubly carbonated)
and then finish the day off with some bourbon...
i did say i was constipated, didn't i?
    there are usually three tiers to the affair...
first one, fair enough, it's a whale or a squid
   about to plop into the pipeline...
the third phase is a bit like: not yet! not yet!
    tier two and three are shy *******...
   you have to wriggle a little bit to get them talking...
it almost seems like some army interrogation tactic,
but i'm not dealing with some taliban fighter...
i'm dealing with my own ***...
                      it's only past midnight that i get
the whole bulge out...
        like i'm some baker that a maine **** cat
makes fetish of, joining me in the toilet
and lying on the windowsill...
       cat ****? that's three times as rank,
human **** seems chocolate to animals...
                        but i am trying to take poetry
seriously...
               i just sat through half-an-hour of
grueling efforts to extract that remnant of last night's
egg-fried rice (yes, with scallion)...
                  but as it feels... i could have
just dashed a tablespoon of chilli powder into my ****...
     i'd rather chop a hundred onions and regard that
as tears forced by sitting with a girl watching
a rom-com than feel this dash of chilli powder up
my a-hole; because that's what it exactly feels like...
   it almost feels like the harambe injustice...
   last time i checked gorillas were vegans...
         unless it wasn't going to be a tarzan story...
no? it wasn't? oh well... there goes the dream!
yet they still have pindar listed on the poetryfoundation.org
website... and there are no poems enclosed!
            it could be great to have read
a snippet of his curriculum vitae...
           the curriculum mortis belongs to too many people,
and the essence gets lost in the tornado of history...
               then again... i know the difference between
    a .jpeg        and a .pdf
        but what's the real difference between
                        a .net     a      .org          and a .com?
           tiers? just tiers? like the national agenda of a .pl
and a .co.uk?
                                 well, there is the sunday times
newspaper... 15 year olds on sugar daddy websites...
           and how sergeant blackman was
  convicted of warcrimes... when he was a trained
killer... some said that people akin to moses couldn't
fit into our modern society...
                           neither could albert camus...
               it might still be considered an existentialist
movement... but it's definetly moved beyond absurdism.

who said that poetry is solely about emotion? why is it never considered an auxiliary to thinking? huh?! who the **** said i need to feel and contain it with words? this?! this is an auxiliary expressing the bombast and barrage that's thinking! do i ******* look like a woman, that i need to stress fee-fee-feeling?! if you want a soppy story, take that story to the soap factory, and tell that world war two joke while you're at it; oh y'ah but i'm no quentin t. to get away with it, am i? question: but if i'm off my nuts, numb-skulled by some ***** and talking the necessary drunk jargon? well... ain't it always: in vino veritas?! ****... tis noot ween! romans lacked sense of *****... ah! fire! water! apache guru sacred fox chief **** in the wind, said: in ignisaqua, veritas, duplex veritas! that time when you start seeing double... ha ha! ******, am i underwater or is this just a very, very, very very... very, bad choke... joke?
          oh yeah, that   ...    is actually a hiccup.

i don't know about you,
but i find that
these western "genuises"
have incorporated
claustrophobia
   into the realm of cartesian
orientation (let alone
investigation) -
i don't know how this "meme"
managed to incline itself
into a spiderweb
as a cannibalistic spider -
but, **** me!
it has...
       i used to love thinking -
it was a bit like the love
of drinking a pint of milk
after school...
  these days?
        let's just say i feel
like wearing a 32 inch waist
pair of jeans, and i have
a 36 inch waist...
  and what happens, when
that sort of situation arises?
well...
     there's only one way to
combat cognitive "claustrophobia":
you spew...
   you branch out,
you write little notices that
don't rhyme and have no
orthodox semblance to speak of
to be denoted as: "poetry"...
how can people just not use
such a medium to beat this
******* up?!
what i've learned i've learned good:
but these western propagandists
and the already insinuated
"geniuses" really have their
***** in a toaster and their *****
in the fridge...
               looking for hot *****
of fertility, and a cool hard-on...
i'm not joking...
   i'm going cuckoo up my ***
thinking:
  might as well act as a cave
          so i might hear an echo...
they already destroyed the poetics
of a sea-shell with their
******* science-this, science-that...
next thing you know we'll be
talking to mountains to crumble
into deserts...
   mind you... don't you think
that the sahara was once akin
to the himilayan mountain
range? well... we've got enough time
to ponder that one...
       i think so...
i think that what is not sahara
used to be a grand mountain range...
and you know:
   thinking that...
    my so-called cognitive
   "claustrophobia"? it becomes a stress
free zone, while thinking
    about getting *harambe drunk;
for some reason i always wanted
to see a drunk monkey...
   a cat on l.s.d.? that's just plain
sadistic... but a drunk monkey?
i always wanted to see a drunk
monkey.

picture this...
       (i really have a ****** idea of what's imagination,
hence, it's mostly autobiographical):
   a little blonde colt walks into a bear encosure...
mama bear is there,
        but so is the young bear,
                            about the same size as the colt
                                                       human...
                           they play around for a while...
then the bear nibbles at the boy's sweater...
           and bites off one of the buttons...
                                     the same boy fudges his
foot in an ant-hill in a forest, rather than agreeing
with his mother, to look at a mole creating an
earthenware of **** from inside-out...
                       but a kid in a bear enclosure?
how the ****, did i find myself in such a space?
         it's a bit like asking harambe, you gonna
                                      kentucky fry that little ****?
no? you're just saving it? good on you.
                 bam!               harambe no more...
or as the offspring might have put it: ixnay on the hombre.
    that translates as 9-nays           (9 no... what's the plural?
      no's...    that's possessive...        nos?
                              and you might as well
  add the letters        k   and    e... better sniff
that **** out... ah... the aesthetic of a silent / surd
            letter.... knife....  wife...       nigh     f....
    where did the vowel disappear to?!)
                            toy... at most, at least,
  at the best of all possible outcomes...
                 philosophers have their "thought" experiments...
poets?     thank **** they have word play...
               at least language can be a rekindling of
the schoolyard...           we          play...
                          there's no need for "experiments"...
by now thinking is already made redundant...
   why would it, to begin with? given this modern interest
   in a.i. (artificial tech.)?
                   ****... this *** is really getting to my head,
i had a dream... for some reason i dream a lot about teeth...
and i pulling my K9s out with a pair of
                              pliers...
        but that memory of walking into a bear enclosure
in the danzig zoo... and the baby bear biting off a button
off my sweater... and then running back to mummy
crying, saying: he bit off a button off my grandad sweater!
       that ****'s true...    
  **** me... dreams are so dreary... in their instance,
for one, and second? in their insistence to actually exist...
       i want to remember! i want a life that has been lived!
it would seem that memory is very much a faculty of
   psi (ψ), akin to dreaming...
    you could call memory "day-dreaming"...
      but what is the need to remember the agitation of
         plants by light, absorbed by chlorophyll?
i count memory, or the so-called instance of "day-dreaming"
as more necessary, than dreaming per se;
             it could probably mean: i lived a moral life;
i lived a just, life!   when you devolve the necessity
  for dreams?      your memory sharpens...
   you actually begin to see, that your memory streches
  far far back... the greek myth of the "siamese" twins:
  thanatos (death) and hypnos (sleep) should be changed,
it should really be about unerio & mnimi -
                                                 (dream & memory);
the potency for the basis of a "need" to dream, derives
it's presence from the freudian desire to interpret dreams...
ergo? dreams have no significance,
   they are as much subjectively biased, as they are
objectively untrue.

A 2 year old boy was killed by an alligator
"I don't care he was white"
"The parents are neglectful"as these people mourn their baby that
they created, birthed and raised for just a short time.

The gorilla was shot simply to save a child
" justice for harambe" " they should of killed the kid"

50 people have been shot dead in a gay nightclub by a man who pledged to isis. "Islam is a religion of peace" "hug a Muslim" so the LBGT  community no longer matters? You'd rather defend a religion that isis branched  off  of?

A man gets arrested for ****** a girl and gets 3 months in prison which is completely unfair and he doesn't need to be in society. All you say is " it's white male privilege" do you people care about that traumatized girl? Who has the deal with this humiliation for the rest of her life.

Take time to realize the suffering and embarrassment the victims and the ones who personally know the victims are going through instead of defending perpetrators and bring outside stories into the case.