of tearful air
the sky is on this very day
of tearful air
drops being shed in an unhappy fair
the saddest mood there to display
as if nature had turned gray
of tearful air

a wonderful poetess friend
I did happen upon
she has a welcoming heart
ever to don

twas fated that we became
the very best of sisterly mates
there's such a genuine nature
in her soul's sates

I speak
of a true
confidante
one who
I implicitly
trust
I speak
of a true
treasure
with qualities
that are a
must

dear Winn is an awesome
kind of gal
and I'm so thrilled having her
as my American pal

(a)

feeding my neighbour's dog
  frankfurters
                 & swiss cheese...

(b)

reading body language in
  a supermarket...
   a bottle of amber bitter in my
hand, a bottle of ***,
  reaching for a bottle of ms. pepsi...
   a woman looking bewildered
or rather scared...
     sort of insinuating
   someone tall enough
  to reach the top shelf
    and pick a pepsi max bottle for
her...
       the conversation went along
the lines of:
- just one?
- yes.
                 done...
      the simpler the deed, the greater
the pleasure,
             and it's the sort of pleasure
that's self-righteous, pompous,
            and greedy in
combating dips into depression
  that so many people seem to experience
these days...
       that's it... i was just taller,
and all i did was take a bottle of pepsi
from the top shelf,
    i might as well have saved
a drowning child,
         or a man trapped on rails
        of the underground...
                       but... since the gesture
was so obsolete, i didn't have
to bother myself with expecting
the other to notice me,
   while performing a "heroic" /
                        selfless act...
  **** me...
         little gestures,
  or in general: tact...
                 can always overpower
                      those grander gestures;
and ****, you can gloat in
            being so full-of-yourself
    that, nothing really correlates
     more pleasurably,
in any form of a "guilty" pleasure
    being minded as a "guilt" / pleasure.
                or a "pleasure" / guilt
as thus divulged;
       when talking to me, please bury
the crucifix, and resurrect
        the tetragrammaton
or at least make the
                 compass acronym
  north east west south
         remotely interesting
                      on the local stratum.

moth
              /
                    ćma!  
of all, only the little
     joys matter, surprise surprise,
apart from catching mice
which later commit suicide...
nothing's more joyous than
catching moths (ćmy)
   with your bare hands...
ever so gently squeezing
a moth into submission,
  without ever actually
squashing it... and then...
  releasing it, into the night's
abundant air of perfume;
you'll only find gentler hands
on *polyphemus...
        who's eye sees all but day,
   and his hands, see all but night.