Another bowl of chili!
Another!
Hit me!
Oh.

Tongue burnin' belly shriekin'!
Don't stop now.
Hit me.
Oh.

........what happened, doll face? Chili?
I fainted?
Spicy?
Oh.

Rest in peace to the legend.*
You'll be *always remembered Professor Severus Snape. Rest In Peace.

After all this time?

Always.

Hans Gruber the character
Played by Alan Rickman in a film
A German terrorist who instills fear
Shoots hostages at a whim
Whistles tunes for others to hear
Suited booted combed hair and slim
The first feature of his career
Voted greatest cinematic villain
Getting under the skin
Psychotic killer with impeccable behavior
Essayed the role
That required him to be
Not proficient in English
A tall order indeed
For a scholar from RADA
Who could recite
Shakespeare by heart
Spoke the language
So realistically wrong
Right actor was chosen for
The right part
No actor before or after to challenge his crown
Audience in frenzy every time he appears
Decades of performing in theater
Anti hero had coronated its new king
A lesson for every aspiring actor
Heartfelt celebration of acting
Film shot in a claustrophobic atmosphere
Performances key to hold the viewers within
Bruce Willis found in him a, great counter
Helped Achieve gargantuan super stardom
Die hard the film feature
Earned fans worldwide with halls filling
Performance a painting to a connoisseur
He has left us but his memory fills us to the brim
Played memorable characters to remember
Attained immortality in our hearts and minds
Never born never died
Acted on stage and screen
In the time in between
He visited planet earth

You starred in Die Hard and also in Galaxy Quest.
And you starred in Dark Harbor and The Winter Guest.
You starred in some Harry Potter movies and in A Little Chaos.
People are saddened by your demise because it's a big loss.
In 1989 and 1990 you starred in Quigley Down Under and The January Man.
In 1991 you starred in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and also in Closet Land.
I'll tell you something that is certainly true.
You were a great actor and people will remember you.

two days of constipation
and i'm like...

      never have i made
so much pornographic sounds
in my life:
attempting
to ease out a ****...

like any good german would:
i stand up
peer into the "wishing well"
of the toilet -
yes, trousers pulled down,
socks and slippers intact
on my feet...

          and i was immediately
reminded...
   you know that german
toilets have this...
      curve,
  where a **** is sort of presented
on a plate for inspection,
before it is lost: out of sight
in the english variety...
of: da boamb iz zee dropped...
shelf...

i would never think
of ****** jesus
to be an ukranian band...
i was thinking: hell...
american mid-west...
gran torino -esque...
because everything that
clint eastwood says
is cool,
    like the lego batman...
and i will not look
up the name of the voice-actor
and i will not side
with michael buffer...

       anthony hopkins...
or... alan rickman...
**** me... jeremy irons...
or j. e. jones...

anyway, back on the topic of
               scheiß...
and last time i checked
the worth of a book
was best appreciated
on the toilet: by many a man...
might as well fathom
the toilet in written form...

michael palin!
that's the guy... who did a pseudo
martin portillo
       when touring the danube...
so yeah: no trains...
but german toilets...
very much of what
Poland's culture also gives
is... the shelf...
so you can inspect your
****...

ah: but this isn't
a tabloid newspaper,
after all...
      why wouldn't i compensate
for the intricacies
of homosexual poetics
with an ode to:
the pleasures of taking
a ****...

rightly so: i can't imagine
a pleasure from anything
going into that hole -
due to all the pleasure
of something coming out of it...

2 days worth of constipation...
and i'm "thinking"
like a peter griffin:
i did eat something...
so something must come out...

no good...
3rd day in and nothing is
coming out,
and i'm getting worried...
headaches....
hot sweats...
       so i had to resort
to asking my mother for
some laxatives...
oh... she's a listed
pharmacy library...

   bad back,
          surgery,
and i just listen
to what being pregnant
did to her...
   how i am to blame
for her bad back...

but i get the laxatives...
30ml of a sickly sweet
liquid...
  and i play the waiting
game...
2 hours later...
blitzkireg!

     but **** me,
i never expected what
came after...
namely 3 hours worth
of an orchestra
from a stamped on
trumpet's worth of my ***...

it's felt like:
inflating the *******
hindenburg
or... competing with a dairy farm!

whatever people get off
on...
   i love simple pleasures...
redneck blatancy...
that ****'s just pure:
                               necessary;

sure, i could think of
"low-eve"
   and all that... posturing
designed for psychopaths...
  i'm one brick short
from finishing off the labyrinth
of thought
where my ego is
the minotaur...
  i.e. closing myself in...

i did lie...
   yes... i only wanted to read
a marquis de sade
        novel, in physical
copy, on the London tube...
when doing some roofing
  for a housing project
   at... Colindale...
so i'd be inspected by
a group of teenage girls
giggling at the cover
with a ****...
                 hoping some smart
*** would say
to the girls...
   juliette is not exactly
*****...
   (******?
         his best work)...
   wanted...
   whatever the hell that means...
how i managed
to get an *******
from reading the words...

what is still most memorable
comes from
the biography of the man...
books to be read
with one hand -
    with regards to
the private library of his uncle...

but i'll take my pleasures
elsewhere...
   who would have thought...
but there's a first time for
everything...
   came zee scheiße
  (scheiß, i.e. missing e implies
****, not ****,
started watching das boot...
those germans...
they talk so quickly!)
  but i didn't expect for
the orchestra of farts...
    constipated...
yes... but also very much bloated...
almost 3 days of
dis-ease (i once said that,
beer, old man in tow:
yes, the negation of ease...
astounded wide-eyed
            old man in tow)...

by now i just figured:
does it even matter?
            i can't do an honest
album review...
too many adjectives...
film reviews?
   i prefer to stash that
**** in secret...
           book reviews?
       does that even matter,
should it?
          i spent a decent
month on Sienkiewicz's
3 volume potop...
yes, and i have seen
the film...
            not that i'm
a slow reader...
   but...
        review it?
     how about...
   it's a cognitive tattoo
imprinted on me...
          like certain dates...
1986...
or cities: Chernobyl, disaster,
effects were seen
in Poland...
   strips of:
         radioactive winds
that passed...
level:
    10 metres of burnt
autumnal looking trees
in summer...
   10 metres of summer
         trees: green as envy...

whatever this is...
is what it is...
    as much a case of clenching
fists and attempting
to bark into a punching-bag...
as bashing
finger-tips into
a keyboard...

     because...
   i can never exhaust the reel
of the persistent,
constant blank
waiting at the tip
of the just below
when i figured:

   poetry?
       sure...
                i sometimes end up
myopic
      when having to strain
myself for a literary
paragraph...

                i'll do it...
    but i hate to invest in reading
to also make my feel
as if i have coincided with
doing something meaningful...

poetry: airy-fairy... whatever...
serious literature
and the cluster-****
of the paragraph.

waking up on a Wednesday—
    a Day stranger to live than spell
iced tea doesn't make enough sense.

blue shoes glued with Shoe Goo
    makes old shoes more new
but not much more or less than Crap.

i've got Things to-day to do—
    paint the walls, save the World,
and dream of Alan Rickman.

abundant extraterrestrial water
her father a priest, she his daughter

do you think she will remember
what my little letter taught her?