nefarious nested newfound
minds gather in dim-lit bedroom
shining with love.
taking seconds from an
extended time frame.

what eludes to harm done
comes from adultration
of a vision - friendship.
it's been said, no loyalty with
dope fiend drugdrugsdrug addicts.

when under the greensmoke
light of a cracked window
and wheezing-- OH the wheezing--
of youth taking
extra time to become
tomorrow's electronic future.

it's gonna be different
than yester-year, dear.
20% of our feeble country
engages indulges
in this ancient sacredity

&as; for you, my dear ones,
sitting in the dark,
jeopardy, saw IV, daft's
harderbetterfasterstronger
--"i've never seen so many colours!"
my heart calls as yours does,
for a future we're waking up to.

we're not violent vicious vile
backstabbing cold-mongers.
if anything,
laughing at them.
quoting movies, queueing memories.
preparing for world dissolution.


i hate the bane too, kids, but we
know who we are.

a conscious translation of the ego into the id is only automated thinking; that’s the content of the id, pluralism of thinking, it’s all automation, the id is the ego although plural due to automation understood easier because the id is the unconscious ego thought about, hence the excess of psychological theorisation; the freudian stance simple says of the cartesian inquiry: it thinks. the limbo of lost identity! the queueing of card shuffles and the bigger fear other than death in man, the fear of crow and pigeon conformity to repeat inanimate exactness for the narcissus to embody himself; for consciously we say ‘i think,’ there’s identity in that, unconsciously we say ‘it thinks’ ending up a statement of technicality never realised. pluralism and automation is the order in a reckless dream of a charles manson given the neon and example to refer to or imitate. the gods don’t give oral ***, hence their pristine vocabulary that’s less vulture like less and less unlike man’s.*

i don’t have a lot to say, feeling wise? a lot,
hence i write more words than take photographs;
it’s the ultimate antidote to seeing tree, stone, pavement,
when i get to use r and e to write about yellowish sunsets.
because using letter on blanks nurtured me
to stress less of seeing contorting threes with
the face that gaped a silent shout teary eyed to craft chaos.
i was about to be shakespeare but
the my regina interrupted,
i was going to say things like:
animals and children like me,
i gave my pinky away to a toddler
on a bench before i put on sweet sixteen’s heart-shaped lenses
to allow the sun its 3pm in autumn,
i gave a toddler my pinky.
cats are content while dogs are just happy,
i gave my pinky away
like michelangelo painting the two indexes touching
in the ghetto crib of two ******* brawling hello for the revised modern.
toddler took it with an apple in the other hand.
i almost said that the best song of rage against the machine
wasn’t: born of a broken man.
i’m vietnam in the american vanity!
hollywood considered abduction and retirement
with my statement.
you’re a good man when animals and children like  you
but women dislike you,
but with christ the children loved him too much and he said so
touchy feely with the armageddon kids behind a priest’s collar
leashing *******;
the animals? the animals were too eager on the donkey to architecture golgotha.
i’m less irish and even less catholic it would seem,
but when i write and weep, articulate the satanic:
tell one lie and learn many truths -
i'm almost satisfied to join a pilgrimage like a moth
attracted to a lightbulb from the shadows of knees.

You never taught me how to love
Amongst the tangled laces
In between picking me up
You never told me how to feel
Lost in the laundry
Innocent and carefree
You never taught me how to be needed
Amongst the wandering souls of adulthood
In between falling apart
You never told me how to heal
Lost in the stations
Queueing without patience
You never taught me how to mend
Amongst the pieces of broken hearts
In between pretending to love
You never told me what it was
Lost in the clichés
Waiting for the right day

There's more if you want - an unending supply,
love, from the heart as big as the sky,
you're equipped to deal with stars and diamonds,
look too hard and you will find no reasons

My mother always wished for generous arms,
brothers and sisters queueing to take turns,
I did not wish because I already had -
my surroundings, my castle, my very own dad

There were outings, love and ice-cream,
an aura like nothing that you've ever seen;
now it's not enough - who is in denial?
perhaps after all we were only on trial

You can take over your soul if you dare,
where is it written that anything is fair?

The Brits are good at queueing
the Yanks are good at sueing
Italians are good at wooing
and I don't know what I'm doing  

If no one tells me while I'm waiting
time waits for no man only destiny
the French are good at rugby
enthusiastic, they might even hug me

The Australians are good at everything
didn't they used to be English - sickening
the Indians are very good at curry
but now we can get it in Surrey

Terrorists are no good to man nor beast
now just tell me what you like least.

Today is the first day of Spring,
a significant moment when we shift into
a different rhythm of sleep and wakefulness.
When the dark turns back on itself
like thick rind peeled from a fruit
to reveal its golden glow.

That warm feeling returns,
not just superficially - much deeper.
Time has chance to saunter - people do too.
They find a moment to talk with each other-
too hot to rush off to wherever it is they're going.

**

Queueing in the supermarket requires patience.
People casually chat at the checkout
exchanging snippets of gossip as though
they've not spoken to a soul all winter.

Patiently I wait in line at the rapid-serve
with my punnet of strawberries,
their tempting fragrance filling my nostrils.

For a moment I am elsewhere-
in a sunlit field, hovering over row on row
of undulating furrows, where shy fruit
hides under spread leaves-
the ones that got away you might say.

Abruptly, my distant view's obscured
by an unfamiliar voice:

You are English-yes?

I had been studying his back,
muffled in a woolly facade of Tweed.
For him, it was still Winter.

Ah - An English rose - yes!

He tells me how I resemble his wife
and how she adored strawberries.

(simultaneously he waves over his shoulder
to somewhere in the past)

He says he will never forget her,
that once you stop remembering,
eighty years of life becomes meaningless.

A warmness spreads between us
like the weight of a cello concerto.
A kind of sad happiness.

Later in the day, under the almond tree,
I **** on season's first fruit.
My tongue curls around a mouthful of
forgotten language.
I am not disappointed.
It is impossible to believe how good it tastes-
like life sometimes,
when strangers offer a few kind words,
filling the days with sweetness-
the Summer coming.

Humans have long trespassed and
destroyed animal territories.
Humans have poached
And selfishly encroached
upon animal habitats,
felling trees to build human habitations.
Now the tables were turned
Humans quarantined in house arrest,
while some lie sick in bedrest
So animals not usually seen had a fields day roaming upon roads, crossing the streets. Reclaiming the once jungle lands
turned into concrete urban jungles.

It's better that busy humans now become photoholic
than forever queueing in lines of heavy traffic.
Without human pollution, nature is all the more photogenic
Mother nature all a creation of God
has now had many of us grounded
as she gives us a hiding
while we go into hiding.
Extraordinary turn of events indeed!!
In several countries round the world:
Discos and casinos vacated
Pubs and nightclubs evacuated
Bars shutdown for lockdown
People are behind bars
instead of guzzling beer in bars
and instead of animals behind bars.

Humans compelled to hibernate
so animals busted their cell gate
Priorly animals were in an enclosure
Now they are getting free exposure
Self-centred humans cared mostly about themselves
but now the animal kingdom is the cynosure.
Animals were shut in cages
while now human activity is under similar closure.
Ah, this corona crisis!
Is all this mercenary stasis
for humans a roasting nemesis?
A heavy price to pay
for rapacious carelessness and arrogance
where humans acted like they are in control,
like they are controllers of this planet
and they could do anything they wish with it.
It's ignorance to think all this is mere coincidence.
Im relieved our Islamic prayers can be said any place, anywhere
to kneel and bow to the one true real sustainer of the universe.

We need to invoke and supplicate to the creator who is still in control...
as prayer can really truly prevent fear and anxiety in such scary times.

Here is the hotspot:

a meander of people --


queueing for a shot.

-------------------------------------------

The Welcome signposts

lead me deep into the maze --


At Shot I am out.

She's queueing up for a drink

Warm hands hug her from behind
Diagonally across her front
They feel safe
They feel like home

She grasps the arms
Turns her head
Ever
So
Slightly

Stares into his eyes
They smirk as they move
Closer till their breaths mix
And's light, smooth, nothing
Like she had ever imagined

Oh, it's so much better

i'm not even 30...
i can rewrite my
autobiography mind you,
to catch a sunday edition
of the newspaper
and the delayed capital investments
for all those journalists
cooing and queueing for more
statistic in leather of whipped obedience!