Zoe was always a nymphic
creature
              God gifted prodigy  
When she was three
she already knew that
                                       above her ecliptics
                         jade eyes were shaped
  as a gift to see within her strange
Zephyr's soul
                  there were      
worlds unreachable
to mortals
                      indulging

unconscious dance moves
           she was performing
     a play  
finding her way through
piercing sounds of animality and natural wilderness

                            solely within her mind's eyes

           then    shut
deliberately
just to prove to the thick jungle
          to highly flowering sunflowers
that her head locomotions are fully perceptive

      her tiny hands touched the ground
glistening streams of her hair had been long(ing) to touch
her tiny bare heels in pace with every
bonvivant
little step forth
                     she had been taken
                                   O, Zoe you knew at three
                              
  That Zenith is the chosen point
                                           to open up
                                                     top portals
                                                                ­of deepest insight

                                                       Zoe - there is a moving star
                                                                ­      lit to praise
                                                        returning to innoccence
                                 Olympic 
            ­          sensible
               smiling
sweetheart

         intuitive little one

You could hear cracks and tremblings of every limb to limb
                                                   clashed
with dark humid soil and stones and crumbs on every ant trail
every black beetle's step there every futuristic peregreen wizzy wings
  
    Zing(ed)

Zzzzz
Zzzzz

               -Zzzzz
               Zzzzz

Zz...
(???)
Zoe?

               -Zzzzz
               Zzzzz

Zoe??

               -Zzzzz
               Zzzzz

ZOE!!!

               -Zz...!
               Zane?

'Za,
Zucchini,
Zinfandel?

               -Zzzzz

Zoe!

               -Zz...
               Zane?!

'Za,
Zucchini,
Zinfandel?

               -Zaxby's
               Zalad

Zaxby's
Zalad?

               -Zzzzz
               Zzzzz

ZOE!

               -Zz...!
               Zane?!

Zaxby's
Zalad???

               (???)

Zoe,
Zaxby's
Zalad?

               -'Za,
               Zucchini,
               Zinfandel

Zzzzz
Zzzzz

               -Zane?


© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

Against the groaning mast I stand,
  The Atlantic surges swell,
To bear me from my native land
  And Zoe's wild farewell.

From billow upon billow hurl'd
  I can yet hear her say,
'And is there nothing in the world
  Worth one short hour's delay?'

'Alas, my Zoe! were it thus,
  I should not sail alone,
Nor seas nor fates had parted us,
  But are you all my own?'

Thus were it, never would burst forth
  My sighs, Heaven knows how true!
But, though to me of little worth,
  The world is much to you.

'Yes,' you shall say, when once the dream
  (So hard to break!) is o'er,
'My love was very dear to him,
  My fame and peace were more.'

Man’s best friend,
Her years came to end.
Born in winter,
Passed in summer.
Small but fast,
Refusing to come in last.
Dog shows here and there,
Running away to give me a scare.
Playful and full of energy,
From nothing she would flee.
Picked out from brother and sister,
Only one to play with me from the litter.
My dog was a great Siberian Husky,
My dog was named Zoe.
Her eyes were blue,
Her spirit was true.
White, gray and black fur,
Fetch was not for her.
Summer she relaxed in her pool,
Winter she ran around like a fool.
Old and sick she became,
Only time to blame.
Childhood companion to teenage friend,
To the vet I had to send.
My dog was a great Siberian Husky
My dog was named Zoe.

9th month

September2013:
blue skys
warm air
at night it would go cold
the autumn leaves slowly started to fall
still rained from the summer
and the cold wind
started to chill us to the bone

On the first week
i walked to my friends house
with Zoe and her french exchange student Elise on my side,
we waked into Zoes house and sat in the kitchen
Elise had an apple with peanut butter
Me and Zoe  Had Soup
We walked after to a little River bank,
Elise sat on the rocks
i skipped flat rocks like Amelie Poulain
Zoe took picutres of the river.
We found a ripped dollar bill with a phone number written on it
Zoe texted it, no answer
it rained later that evening
i reasted on my bed and thought about the day
with a smile

i Biked to my favorite field
one evening...
recited a poem i made up in my head
the one line that i repeted was
" Will the love of Fall and Winter choose me this year?"
a week later a girl named Kirsten walked into my life
with a smile and wave, i wanted to meet her
we talked one day and planned to go to my favorite field
on a Friday..Friday the 13th..not so unlucky
though i cut myself shaving
i went to go meet her that friday
i walked down the stairs
there she was at the bottom of the stair case
"What will become of us?"i thought
She facing the other way,
i wondered if we would become friends
I tapped her on the shoulder
turned around with a surpised look
then she gave me a warm smile
We went to the field
sat in a childrens park
Then sat in the grass that melted in the sun
i showed her a leaf that looked like a heart
..i kept it under my hat...
i walked her home, she lived close by
i gave her a hug and left with a smile on my face
Got home and put the heart leaf on my wall

We became friends
Talked everyday
i would walk her home
and meet her in the field
as i came in riding my bike
She kissed me before i left...

I started to fancy  her
she to started fancy me
I asked if she would be mine
she told me wait
i said " i will!"

Nights came
when we walked around looking the stars and  looking at the city lights
laying the grass and runnning around
we were happy
The night was ours
She kissed me goodnight
i went home
fell upon my flower my bed
and dreamed of her...

it had started to rain on the night that she first decided
to make her way onto a graveyard scene for it was none other but Halloween
a black cat pranced passed her view she didn't know what to do
so like a fool she took a risk going into a nearby crypt
features were in her eyes as if a fake disguise
wearing a black dress as if gothic apparel
while inside she wept forgetting the things she missed
suddely a knock came at the door lest it was a bore
a hand was extended toward her back almost giving her a heart attack
for it was the beloved care taker inspecting the situation
before he left Zoe had confessed she needed to be alone in her solace
for their she remained an an hour had passed
this time a figure came toward her with piercing eyes and teeth
grabbing her by the neck and soon she would forget
after making a feast of the fare lady Zoe the figure had left
blood masquerade every where she was no more
police in the early morning were summoned to sort out the great mess
left as if road **** her remains brought none the thrill

all the authories saw was a lone black cat walking back and forth
nothing short of a homicide her fate was sealed
grizzly allegations of a murderer for hire even blamed it on the care taker
but many years latter we all read in the paper
the creature in question was at it again with long hanging fangs that bite
this time it wasn't in the night to fright but in the day
a farmer went out to barrel some hay
the creature went straight for his neck but the farmer said, "What the heck"?
put his pitch fork through the vain beings eyes and to his surprise the creature just died.
Scientists inspected the evidence of the carcus and realized it wasn't from this world
Zoe didn't die in vain she was just out living her life game

Zoe hangs back,

My home-time mayhem
with half a head of hair,
pink neon flashing up her cherry studded arms.

My cufflinks snag and shake,
trying to make her see,
trying to make her see something.

.chris rea: god's great banana skin...

/ such random thoughts are a blessing, esp. after you've been walking for over 2 miles, in the cold and in the rain, with the setting sun... continually impressed by the nature of polyester clothing, how you feel the cold, but aren't cold at all, how you go back home and: you're dripping with sweat... /

the random thought?
about a saying, here's the schematic

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

which statement is true?
within the questioning parameters?
i think it's a trick question...
how else would you be able to
teach these statements and make
replica understandings of
said, statements?

(****... quickfire shots of syrupy
*****... **** me... give me the sweats,
and i'm not even constipated,
it must be the ***** doing
the magic... yeah... sober me?
doesn't like thinking...
but oddly enough, the drunk me?
pulls out philosophy,
no, not as some pretentious
high-brow interest...
   i just looked at philosophy as
a genre in literature,
nothing more)...

numbers, like letters...
or in the case of Roman numerals
(letters are numbers)...
i'm unsure whether you can arrive
at crafting them into existence
by analytical parameters,
i don't actually think
that you can conjure up numbers
from analyzing a priori,
given the ad continuum:
but... there was a point in time,
when / where: numbers weren't used...

Kant was a theist,
sorry...
  he says it plainly at the end
of his critique of pure reason...
in the transcendental methodology...
sure... he takes a "schizophrenic"
moment to write a thesis
and an antithesis on subjects like
cosmology...
but he's inclined, as i am,
counter to an atheist...
yes... god is probably a monster...
but a ******* gorgeous monster...
kinda like a femme fatale...
so what's not to like?

    but this thought didn't arrive
randomly,
and my consciousness
didn't hone in on it...
i didn't vector this thought
to an immediate conclusion...
the thought arrived,
and then: i had to make shrapnel
out of it...
the original thought was complex,
i had to make shrapnel out of it,
in order to put it back together,
so that a cognitive 3 seconds
could be rewritten in under 30 minutes
explaining, why the thought arose...

you know... when thinking
is detached from the moral (θ)-ought
you get to experience these "things"...
here's another schematic...

I + Φ (you put a key into a lock),
   Θ (you turn the key), O (the door opens),
hey presto... a free radical iota...
detached from both phi and theta...

i am free from making
a moral ought (i) or the immoral: ought (i) not?
i'm free, hence my concern for...
abstract questions...

back to the original schematic...

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

this actually has a theological
dimension,
supposing i am god...

   if i propose an analytical a priori
with a synthetic a posteriori...
well then...
             i can't change anything,
i can't actually make changes to...
with my omnipotence,
omniscience etc.
i already analyzed, a priori
the Kantian elevation to theology
comes, via me, stating...
if i analyzed the entirety of
creation...
            a priori ex nihil
(from the prior out of nothing)
how can i make a synthesis
in the a posteriori domain,
of the already existing things,
which didn't exist a priori,
since there was nothing,
and i already analyzed the potential
of nothing, and this potential
was realized as everything i would
know to exist... and i went along
with it anyway?

i'm starting to think that
the realm of analytical a priori
doesn't exist for mortals...
the gods can muse this ****-show
of a dimension over and over again...
we're more (being mortals)
synthetic a posteriori...
oh don't get me wrong,
i believe we have the capacity
to comprehend analytical a priori
but it's an analytical a- priori...
we've reached the limits
of the microscope, the telescope,
and the hadron collider...
or on our way to exhaust that...
still being left with an intact mesh of...
the orbits... summer, winter, autumn, spring...
but this thing with this schematic:

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

how can i conjure an understanding
of IV + VI = X...
analytically a priori...
when... i have no hindsight /
prior to understanding of said rubric?
well... with Roman you could say:
analytical a priori,
given the Ancient Romans already
had the letters I, V, X...
but... if you didn't have the concept
of measurements prior,
of arithmetic...
how can you analyze something...
that doesn't exist?
so... you had to synthesize a priori,
working from the letters I, V, X...
to conjure up "numbers"...
  numerals... you had to create these
numbers by a synthetic a posteriori
method...
and the 4 + 6 = 10...
        well... you analyzed the a posteriori
synthesis, and threw I, V, X out...
and began the second wave of mathematics...
and this is where, authentically...
analytical a priori comes from...
based on I (1), V (5), X (10)...
                    came IV (4), came VI (6)...
don't mathematicians treat their language
as that of or equivalent to the gods?

now... for the cultural exchange program
that i promised...

on the great British isles...
you have a variety of languages
& dialects,
i'm so sorry that the Scottish
"forgot theirs"...

but when you have something
akin to

English: red
Cymru: coch

or right... they have their Pict
Gael?

Pict Gaelic: dearg
Irish: dearg
Cornish: rudh

we'll require a second word...
what word, what words..
life!

English: life,
Cymru: bywyd
Pict Gaelic: beatha
Irish: saol
Cornish: bewnans...

back, "home"...
we also have sub-groups
in terms of linguistics...

there are the Kashubians...
and there are the Silesians,
and, there are...
the Kurpie...
akin the Welsh, the Pict,
the Ire,

and their language looks like so...
again, borrowing from
red and life...

Polak: czerń
Kashubian: czôrny...
  but that can be disputed...
why?
     czerwień is not actually
a noun, but an adjective...
a quality of being associated with red...
czerwony? that's a male
adjective...
   and the female adjective
is czerwona...
                ****...
a color has to be something...
the noun adjective that's blood...
Polak: krwawy (czerwony)
Kashubian: czerwiony
Silesian: čerwůny
ah...
   Kurpian... high polish?
Masovian?
harder to find the words...
have to use alternatives...

Kurpian: caban
Polak: tępak
Kashubian: osoł
  Silesian: yjzel...
(idiot, imbecile)

you know how hard hard it is
to find a Kurpian to Polak
translator?
i can't find one to boil down
to the examples or either
red or life,
i'm reduced to choosing other
words...
like...

   Kurpian: chwat...
Polak: chłopak
Silesian: bajtel
Kashubian: knôp...
(boy)

Kurpian: jédło
Polak: jedzenie...
Kashubian: jedzenié
alternative to Silesian:
  jadło, i.e.: it ate...
past-participle in
the verb...
let's see what the Silesians
call it...
Silesians: well.. a variation..
chlyb
godka
mietła
masa... all things you can eat...
(edible food)

only a word, like the Kurpian
word akin to kotnå
reveals that Vikings passed via "us"...
kotnå?
  an impregnated sheep...
with young...

Kurpian: łańï truń!
Polak: nie mów!
Kashubian: ni gôdac!
Silesian: ńy godka!
(don't speak!)

mind you... Kurpian translation
is hard to find...
and you almost wonder...
at the British isles...
you think, us, Polaks...
do not have sub-linguistic groups
in our ranks,
like your Welsh, your Pict,
your Irish?!
guess again...
you had them all along...
and you thought...
the Polaks were
a homogenous culture...
all this time...
primarily because our culture
wasn't multicultural...
oh but it was... but on the subtle side
of history...
mind you...
defenders of the galaxy?
i knew gamora wasn't white...
but... **** me...
even if black or hispanic...
she looked so **** attired in green...
i was thinking:
absinthe cherub, absinthe cherub...
and forgot about glorifying
Zoe Saldana in all that choc...
what?
   a green skinned chic?
                    if i can forget about
the existence of chocolate...
i'll just anything that moves...
but i knew she wasn't white...
i hate chocolate...
          give me an absinthe girl any
day of the week...
       yeah...
only the English have complex
ethnicity encompassing
a single language...
only the English...
                 like **** they are...
at least my linguistic variation
is suited to a bundle of words...
Welsh?! Gaelic?!
  completely different languages...
at least in my part of the world
all that is deviating
is a choice of variant nouns!
but then again, the English
speaking world....
        how's the new pronoun
dictum coming along?
you keeping up with...
   appeasing the new crazies?
oh... you are?!
    well... kudos and applause!

p.s. guess what happens with appeasing
the new crazies... guess...
i'll tell you...
you **** around with grammar,
some grammatical pedant will raise
his head up from the crowd and say
something like:
               what?!
and then the old crazies rise up...
and... your, ahem, little discussion
about changing the rules of grammar
to "ensure" that the language is
kept, "intact"?
      see... mm... hmm... the old crazies?
the old crazies have their own
methods...
they're of the obligation:
let my gun do the talking...
  and then...
  you get pol *** arithmetic,
of skulls...
           being counted in an abacus
of heaping up, "debris"...
         see... these new crazies
are bugging me...
  they're bugging me...
because the old crazies didn't
attack grammar,
and whatever delusion they had...
i couldn't see it...
the new crazies?
they're attacking grammar,
and the delusion they have...
is... associated with something
i can see as being self-evidently untrue...

the new crazies...
******* spinners... fakers...
    i prefer the old crazies...
at least their delusions had ambitions
to deceive in the realm of
the unseen...
       the unproved, and never to be
proven...
these new crazies...
i am supposed to speak asylum talk?!
so... society is the new asylum
with the past asylums being
abolished?!
who gave caffeine to these news
crazies?!
******* sane people's naive pandering...
while the depressed man?
hey boy... hey, hey, hey boy...
noose!
i've lost all sympathy for
the victims of a psychotic
version of a repressed P.T.S.D. example...
the mad have hijacked language,
disorientated grammar...
and... b'a'ah, b'a'ah...
                 no...
                              i'm with the old
crazies...
                    at least they're the ones
that can inflict genuine grievance...
rather this policing of restricting
     the orthodoxy of the use of language.

p.s.
i found only two paradoxes in this
world...
    schadenfreude: feeding a pleasure
from the misery of others...
as...
  finding wisdom in others' own
forsake of an antithesis of
universal application...
  mainly that, associated:
            to a self-gratifying benefit...
the joke ends within the confines
of schadenfreude...
as does passable "wisdom" attached
to instragram novelty of the "maxim"
by your wisened sages
of the selfie...
  
                  i've been among the russians,
i know what the true uber looks like...
you hitchhike...
hitchhiking? forget that?
ponzie scheme albatross thingy
of a worth of a british mensch?
    funny... a people can so easily
forget the practice of hitchhiking...
so easily: entertaining individual rights...
and: innocent until proven
guilty until some next
               teddy bundy comes along...
and then it's all: ooh! ah! woo'ah!

   you know, i don't like the cartesian
chiral dynamic,
the whole: nietzsche take...
sum ergo cogito...
          i don't like the:

innocentes quoadusque (qua esse)
                           reus....    inversion...

an innocent man might hang...
well... if you have the death penalty:
too late to regurgitate the
original statements...

but? where's the element of redemption
for the innocent man?
why are so many people captivated
by the shawshank redemption?
there's a redemption story...
   in the inverted game?
a jimmy saville walks off scot-free...

the continental model doesn't make
sense with a death penalty...
but without one?
redemption... the atlas "paradox"...
one man usually burdens the fate
of a reciprocate of the unit of one...
but not the many...

me getting laid or not getting laid
is as important to me as:
whether i know about last year's
snowfall...
*** *** ***... all that sort of
******* in the western minds...
*** *** but no children!
recreational procreation without...
any procreation... to begin with...

         i'll admit...
english humour is funny...
but schadenfreude is a borrowed term...
hence the lost in translation
element...
           the english are terrible at
appreciating if not simply applying
the original zeppelin bomb...
after a while: the english just became
annoying toy-whips
of ***** replicas...
       the english knew elevated slap-stick...
with monty python...
with fawlty towers...
          they borrowed a term like
schadenfreude and completely lost the plot...
they once, upon a time,
chanced to play a game of linguistic
comedy...
            
                 i'm pretty ******* sure
the germans relate to schadenfreude in a different
way... i'm guessing:
the deutsche are not prone to ridicule as
the english are...
               the aunglisch are prone
to ridicule out of a sentiment of spite
than out of a repose for giggles...
        
          i don't understand the german sense
of humour,
     but understanding the english attempting
to "understand" the german sense of humour
is an enigma in an enigma in a per se...

such integrated back into
the ol' continental ways...
                       kudos to the brits...
bringing back the commonwealth to stereotype
us europeans with a negative "circumstance"...
now them: ******* up to "correct"
their integration policies... for the commonwealth
peoples of the united wordly wealth of
made in china plastic toys!

     a **** among the brits has
the audacity to tell a german he's not
supposed to feel at home on these isles...
sure... and i will never feel quiet at home
in Islamabad either!
               so? equal count of hubris!
that's the only thing that ****** me about
these isles... god i love this language...
but... when you get your afghani hounds
on me to do your ***** work?!

      even though i'm not: deutsche?!
i'll ******* pretend to be deutsche!
           i'm not here to mop up your failed
integration policies...
i settled on keeping my language...
they settled on keeping their sharia,
their **** pajamas and curry...
while adamantly rejecting their language...
in order to implement their desired changes
by subverting your language...
and you gave your language on a *******
platter...
    
    by subverting your language
to accept their cultural tattoos...
  let me tell you: if a people don't respect
their own culture,
by way of god, by way of language...
and they are "integrating": without speaking
their native mutterzunge?
they're not respecting either culture...
mongrels ahoy!
   what happened to the african-h'americans
not speaking a word of african?

what will they do, ascribe themselves
to ******* scots,
left with no gaelic and more a finnegans' wake
accent gymnastics of some irvine welsh?
nae for no: some glaswegian smart-***
excess of nouns?
      
hell... they would have never built
a colliseum if they saw:
1 + 4 + 6 + 9 = 20
   i.e. I + IV + VI + IX = **
            imagine... a society where letters
worked perfectly as sounds
and as arithmetic concepts of measure.

lucky for me the roman empire never
conquered
the lands i come from...
always with the brits being...
oh so so proud having been conquered
by the romans...
what's the prize... archeological sites?!

much respect as great britain...
but... *****... please...
don't pucnh below the waist...
importing your commonwealth dogs
to mark you out among all the other
europeans like some prized asset with
an inkling into h'american affairs...
thanks to you: i'm bored of looking up
the telescope of h'american ****
with their waning cultural export
of a worthwhile entertainment of appreciating
their music.