I feel like a homebody,
I feel homesick, and my home is your body,
I can't find my way through your cracks, only feel alive when I feel scratches on my back, stuck in an empty lover's bed sheets, only feel lonely when I'm not laying next to a warm body, mind muddy, cloudy hellish sense of relevance only when I'm being kissed on the neck, now tell me, where can I find any ******* sense

In my head everywhere in every bed I lay in, I'm a misfit, just wanna be missed,
Happiness is fake and love is like the internet

Click, click, error 404, cannot find page, deep breath, refresh, error 404,
4:04pm, alone again, thinking about skipping dinner to think about you again,
4:04am, alone again, thinking about skipping sleep to watch the sunrise because heaven knows it's the only warmth this body still knows how to feel,
4:04 someone, somewhere,
404 empty bottles,
404 long car rides lighting up the highway with either a lighter or headlights,
I gotta ****** go,
I gotta run away as far as possible,
I don't know what I'm running from, but I'm running still

I have grown to actively avoid absolutely everything,
Don't look at me,
Don't talk to me,
The only words I know how to listen to are **** and hate,
I've given away everything, even the smile on my face,
Gifted pieces of my heart with ribbons and flowers and tried to cover the holes with duct tape,
I've tried everything besides personal space because I'm scared of being alone for too long and I don't wanna look at myself in the face

I feel homesick, and my home is your body,
I don't wanna do this anymore, I don't wanna do this anymore,
You're not my home anymore,
But I don't know how to run away from you

Click, click, error 404, cannot find page,
Deep breath, refresh, error, ****-

My homepage is always frozen

User cannot be found.
I suppose it's better that way.
User cannot be found.
So I wouldn't try to say "Hey"
User cannot be found.
A hole grows larger in my heart.
User cannot be found.
This is absolutely tearing me apart.
User cannot be found.
I'm sustained by the memories I keep.
User cannot be found.
And by the dreams that haunt me in my sleep.
User cannot be found.
I hope you're doing alright.
User cannot be found.
And that someone is appreciating you, holding you tight.
HTTP 404 Not Found Error

You don't limit your life to social media.
In reality, social media limits you to your life.
A selfie with this and a selfie with that.
Your life is race for comments and likes.
Instead of having a personality worth praising
You are now judged based on your social media profiles.

Status update: I wish I could visit Paris some day.
In Paris you're like, "Where can I get signals for wifi?"

Your achievements are unlocking new levels of Candy Crush
Is that the legacy you'll leave behind?
As if all these achievements will benefit you  
to unlock the doors of heaven when you'll die.
Your 940 friends won't be able to help you
by sending a booster or an extra life.

Relationship Status: Happily married.
Happy and married until the moment you both go offline.

You buy everything from behind the screen
Error 404: Cannot buy love and time.
It's a complicated maze that you won't accept
Even when they themselves call it a website.
You don't limit your life to social media.
In reality, social media limits you to your life.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                     “I’ll Be Away from My Desk for a Few Days”

                 “Look upon my absence, Ye mighty, and despair”

                                    -as Shelley did not say

Every once in an ego you’ll read on a site
“I’ll be away from my desk for a few days”
As if everyone must re-schedule his life
And wait forlornly for Mr. O’s return

Nothing else remains 404 Error 404 Error
404 Error 404 Error 404 Error 404 Error

So many years have passed since first you sought
the lands beyond the edges of the sky,
so many moons reflected in your eye,
(familiar newness, fear of leaving port),
since first you sought, and failed, and learned to fall,
(first hope, then cynicism, silent dread,
the countless stars, still counting overhead
the seconds to your final voyage of all...)
  and last, in glory gold and red around
  your greatest search, your final quest to know!
  yet... ashes drift, the embers cease to glow,
  and darkened life in frozen death is drowned;
and ashes on the swell are seen no more.
The silence surges. **Error 404.

No letters
Or words
Or phrases

No lines
Or stanzas
Or sections

No this is not a poem
Or a mindless rant
Error 404
Nothing here

these chandeliers were home to roses, now fallen petals on this abandoned courtyard
short handed late traced steps and short lived excitement, we are concentric beings
filled with the same steadfast frame of mind, brick by unnerving bricks tower over
burnt down villages, this love found in fairytales doesn't truly exist in real life
there's a hot wired circuit around my blighted mind, suffering from dementia,
or was the diagnosis faith in this fantasy world i created with vivid metaphors
and words i cannot pronounce, just to get across the fact that i believe in this type
of coping mechanism, that this silence is the most clearest my mind's ever been
at the lowest level of the food chain is where i sit, waiting to be swallowed
and spit out into a world with the core being torrid obsidian matching the
color of the asphalt where i once laid and the color of people's hearts
i've met over the years, serendipity is nonexistant just like chivalry
although i really wish there was such a thing as chivalry in real life

- kra

this is not a poem
          
          

                       *just a mere

image
consisting of

                                         straight lines
and curves

Connection incomplete

Make sure there is complete contact.
Fingers intertwined.
Skin touching skin.
Lips sealed together in the best kind of way.
Hearts in sync.
Souls melding.

Error Code 404**
Last two steps incomplete.

Error 404: Higher brain function not found
We are sorry to inform you,
But the thought machine is out of order
Please, step back and remove your quarter.
We are taking your thoughts Tough Mudding
They must now swim through wet cement to reach your consciousness,
But fear not
There are legions of them 'Worming their way through your soft tissues
In between apathy and emotional volatility.
What's that?
You say you're going crazy?
Oh, my darling,
Nothing but a case of spontaneous dyslexia
Words and numbers were made to be in motion,
Slipping through your grasp and changing location
Just a spot of fun
It hurts to think
To exist is to be locked in a dance of exhaustive hyperactive misery
There is something wrong with my thoughts
Please, I do not want to listen to myself think

July 24th 1997, and I still hate it

The thing that it left with me

A decaying piece of charred meat

That will never belong to me

Something I continue to abhor

I still can not accept as mine



The hatred should be at them

Because they took it away

Killed what was my life

Destroyed everything I knew

They ignited the flame

That devoured my flesh



Not knowing what happened

But the nightmare still remains

For three months I suffered

So much in this World

Seemed also to be happening

As I faced a hospital bed



Wet Wet Wet did a version of Yesterday

Princess Diana died that August

My partner rarely came to see me

I found myself using a wheelchair

Terrified by horrible dreams

Where they still came for me



Then came the time to go home

I feared about leaving the safety

Of a place full of caring nurses

But that day would arrive

Having to live with the shock

When I first saw what was done



Home, finding out she cheated

Slept with a family friend

Her reason was so simple

She didn't want to sleep

With the way I was disabled

Not able to accept the leg



So I drank, almost attempting suicide

Anything and everything I took

But it never blocked it out

Still she found other lovers

My children gave me reason

To keep on living each day



The writing became my therapy

Finding the release through words

Giving freedom to those feelings

Some I thought were forgotten

Still finding it harder to cope

It was not mine, take the leg away



So what did these years bring me?

Apart from refusing to want this scarred monster

That seems to be attached forever to my soul

A bitter memory etched in torment and pain

Each anniversary is a walk through Hell

Where everything was a ripple effect



If I had stayed home on that night

Then this would not be my fate

Part of me is in fear of that

For would this poet had been born?

Created from the flames of agony

To try to find himself in life



Partners have come and gone

Sanity was almost lost at times

where I dwelt in my own fantasy

Refusing to accept what was real

It cost me a treasured friendship

But I learnt the value of that lesson



For seven years I have not drank

But have suffered the edge of madness

I almost lost this woman, close to me now

She forgave the strangeness in my mind

Now she makes me stronger each day

But the Anniversary in Hell nevergoes away



copyright Chris Smith 2012 (Bearing a tortured soul)

Poetry
Self-interest
Entitlement
Title Fight
Fighting Rights
Dining light
And finger ******* away feelings.

I wanted to make that stuff that’d rhyme
Only to realize I’ve yet to mime
And find time
To reference the Power Rangers in a piece.

Nobody does that.
Why did I do that?
Whobody does what?
Whybody does who?

What the **** am I?
Who the **** are you?

Language, Mr. Clement, language.
Reign that tongue in before I stick it to a frozen pole

I ask do you care
error 404 (page not found)
I knew this before
You ruined me to the core

I lit a fire tonight
upon my grandfather's old typewriter.

I kindled it with all of his old pencils,
his favorite ballpoint pen,
his yellow-paged novels,
his newspaper cutouts of his past successes.

Hell, I even threw in the bookshelf.

And, just like that,
it was mortal history.
I did it for the **** of it.

I mean, if it was REALLY important,
it would be sprawled all over webpages.
Sprawled all over online searches and
digital databases.

Trust me, grandpa,
the future looks much better in High Definition.

I can't find the words
No matter how hard I look
It's not that I'm lazy
I just don't know how to express it
Seeing that pain
Through my mind's eye

Because I wasn't there
I couldn't help
I still can't
One day I hope I can

All I did was sit here
With a bitter taste in my mouth
For I ate of a twisted fruit
Called knowledge

Knowledge of your pain
And suffering
And how it broke you

The shards of your soul
Were the little razors
That sliced my heart strings
To bits.

Luckily I have you and that hasn't changed
So I'll use your smile as the needle
And your warm love as the theard
And I'll sew my patchwork heart
Together again.

Error 404 not found
I don’t know what went wrong
There is no explanation
For why crazy came along

I installed some new software
I thought that was a smart plan
Try to fix the situation
That’s how my downfall began

Press any key no that won’t work
I need a really fast escape
May be control alt delete
Will sort out this mistake

I haven’t got a back up
What you see is what you get
So deal with the disaster
There will be no update yet

Time to make another plan
Once I work out what’s afoot
My system isn’t working
It needs a complete reboot

Think I will ask the help desk
My head has started to spin
Quick hit the return key
Then recovery can begin

Where can I go?
Can I go across the road?
I am a chicken.

I watched her as she slept which kept me wide awake and for every breath she took which took my breath away,I wanted to wake her up and say,'how beautiful you look as you lay there fast asleep,but I count another breath and think myself to ten and when my heart begins to slow,I know I'll leave her to her sleep and my imagination screams to keep that picture in my mind.

when i type i'm afraid that allmywordsruntogetherandthatyou
will never
know
what i'm trying to tell you
that you'll never understand the words
flying off the merry-go-round in my head
i feel as if i'm flying off the handlebars of my bike
and i'm in that moment of ecstacy where
i suddenly realize i will hit the ground
hard
but until then i have this moment of freedom in the air
my biggest fear has always been that i will be misunderstood
that is why i take semester after semester
course after course
lecture after lecture
writing page after page of tiny spiny words
to make sure i learn every single way i can express myself
in case i forget one
because i do
and it terrifies me

i checked
under the bed
under the cushions
under the rug
under the vase i
gave you last christmas
i checked under
the nightstand
and even in the very
sheets we share
but i have yet to
find love
in this very place
we call
h o m e

I woke up this morning and realized that I had created LIFE!
A forgotten OJ container, standing in the corner of a seldom used kitchen,
Begat some fuzzy black spores.

You may say that that's gross, but it crosses my mind:
What if I left it there, on the counter, for say, a hundred billion years?
Would I end up with a monkey, a dolphin, or maybe a giraffe?!

And is this what God feels like, when she returns from her nap, her ****, or wherever she's been?
Does she glance at the rancid OJ container and say, like me,
"What the heck?? Did I leave that out all week?"
And then will she, like me, carelessly toss it into the garbage??

gender = input("male or female: ?")

def binary:
    if gender == "male" or "female":
        print("born with hex codes
        printed for all to see
        blue or red
        sticking to the binary
        hardwares dictate who you are
        produce more to strengthen security
        ignore black hat delusions
        DON'T reject this false unity
        01110011 01101111 01110011")
    if gender != "male" or "female":
        print("404 ERROR NOT FOUND")

The internet slows
Then stops
Before I can find
The answers.

I reload the page.
Watch the words disappear.

And with it,
Everything I was searching for.

i remember the meningitis scare:
   oh... it was very real...
i guess it was supposed to affect a niche
proportion of the population...

so much for the "scare":
they would vaccinate us in the schools:
since children were more prone
to succumb to: and inflammation of
the lining around your brain and spinal cord...

and all that: press a thumb against
a skin... and if the skin returns to its original
colouring: there's no blemish of applied
pressure... pressing glasses onto the skin too...

the aesthetics have changed so drastically:
what can **** you is so subtle these days...
it's hardly a case of leprosy...
or... eczema of the zombie plague:
or miniature lilal mushrooms growing
out from your armpits:
suddenly breaking into song:
  'steve told us to sing... so we have
sprouted: to sing!'
       no... celeriac sized warts... hell...
i haven't seen any pictures of covid-19...
as i never saw pictures of ebola...

            death has been given: an anonymity...
but what's still kept in reserve?
shingles...
     like: hyper-eczema...
                i'm having to consolidate myself
on the luck of being 30+ and still having...
a skin on my face that i can't peel:
but i'm sure that belzeebub took a dump on...

they're either dead maggots
or dead white blood-cells...
        i guess i have so many of the latter that...
my immune system is constantly
on a over-charge mode...
          
    where are the lilac mushrooms about to grow
out from out of my armpits:
when will death become visible again:
outside her womb:
without any anonymity to behold:
when will everything... "ev'fing"
  return to the obviousness of a guillotine...
a hangman...
      a... hanged, drawn and... quartered?

the improved aesthetics of the threat is hardly
be sitting in an armchair...
welcoming this: paranoia precursor...
there's no phosphorescent yellow-green phlegm
being shot through the air with a sneeze...

i'm quite disturbed about all this...
        "sterility"...
                      well thankfuly i know that
a schizophrenic can't beget a drone-replica:
dead'ed brain: "schizz"... zombie-cult-esque
   brain: riddled with parasites like...
a disciple of burrough's fever might provide:
subsequently... by...
   by caughing a splitting-headache that might:
somehow: "later": arrive at some variation
of bilingualism...
          but never will... perhaps it should...

because: right now: i want to wrong about everything...
i want to ****** with a hard-on of doubt...
and perhaps: tease negation a little...
or rub-rub-'er very much...
but i do: most honestly...
    want to be wrong about everything...
esp. when it comes to...
   the aesthetics of the "problem":
    it's a problem-solution: solution-problem
  quadratic...
           i mean: if it was truly cosmic... and original...
would it really care for much of aesthetics...
can viruses becomes stealth assassins?
   is a virus a misnomer of plague?
or is... a virus a former case of plague...
  that couldn't be: prior... weaponized?
   the rampant exfoliation of: the obliterated
concern for aesthetics...
   oh sure... it's clean cut...
           god knows what happened to those old
curiosities of medicine...

otherwise...

   what will 3 hours spent reading nothing but
Dickens do to you...
me? i "somehow" managed to miss / forget
about a sunset...
   came the night and... yeah: when meningitis
hit...
   and i guess after the mad-cow disease...
break-dancing limp feet cows...
drunk cows... morbidly drunk cows...

      there was always that postcard reference:
now?
you could obviously see the bubonic plague
from a mile away...
you could see eczema...
you can sure as **** see a shingles belt...
        would a virus even care...
to appease the aesthetic concerns of man?
how doesn't cancer do that...
well... i just start thinking about...
the botanical cancer... viscum...
hardly seen in western europe: tree-foundation
societies... etc.
   half an hour on the road outside of warsaw...
that's enough...

oh sure: because of covid-19:
who could, "somehow" forget about...
                  metastatic tumors!
oh the joys of... <cough cough> the carousel
or that ol' chestnut!
            come to think of it...
    would ingesting a tapeworm make thinks and things
more real?
what wouldn't be bad
about acquiring a symbiote these days?
     all: postulations of the mundane...
without yet within the science-fiction universe...
the facts will simply not stand the test
of time... or will... but will be shelved...
given to the bookworms and their placenta
worm-queen...

it's actually becoming a sieving tool for acquiring
nothing lost: of the old mundane...
the sterile aesthetics of the whole under-taking...
it's too: invisible: too pure...
to be... a freakish byproduct of nature...
sending us back in time...
as the original: single-cell organism
about to usurp the crown of creation...

    my list of conspiracy theories begins
with: catcher in the rye "coincidences" and...
that david copperfield sort of *******...
      because if it's not Pickwican...
it's certainly not an account of count
smorltork:
        peek - christian name
                weeks - surname; good, ver good...

otherwise these days:
the intellect has become a sponge...
and the supposed underlying:
because it is "supposed" and there's an
"underlying" aspect to all of this...
that there is a "dialectic" and...
otherwise: the bestest of the best kind
of...            soap...

is it a revival of an "empire"...
when at the height of its decline...
there was that motto:

     panem et circenses...

     what's underlying in Dickensian prose?
well... some of the words used...
i'd sit with a page and check the dictionary
3 times on average...
because there's still that underlying:
we, Britons, prior to the "english"...
the anglo-saxons... are the Afghanistan
oopsies of the ancient world...
there are so many words with direct
connection: etymologically "speaking"
with latin...

now: the bread is still "here"...
   of the 20th century... you could see a ****
coming way back in 1933...
and the communist... whenever that happened...
and you could subsequently trickle the "evil"
archetype into movies... into gaming...
and have people hooked on a bullseye of evil...

now? greyish blips and blobs of
Kantian bureaucracy...
    
o.k. panem et circenses...
looks to me...
like the circuses are long gone...
the bread is still here...
but... of all the seismic shifts this is...
hardly a ffffffffffff-ucking Pompeii!
riddle me this: riddle me that...
what can possibly become so... overly entertaining...
about eating a slice of bread?
why are the vermin: multiplying:
what's with all this: "huddling" at a distance?
need a cape with that: herr ubermensch?

last time i checked: rats do no operated
under herd scriptures...
there's not need for a shepherd...
there is: fire! scramble!
peep-squeak and more!
          
    an impeding confrontation with a pack of wolves...
a vegetarian lion convert...
                 the bubonic plague: lack of aesthetic...
and now this...
this supreme aesthetic of: when the ancient greeks
thirsted to conceive of the existence
of atoms...
          not that i require proof...
what so of circus: though...
      is, this?!

- yes folks... in the current climate of labyrinths...
the Minotaur isn't here...
and we're out of stock on smoke...
and... mirrors...

citations of a possible prediction to allign with
some variation of borrowed horrors:
to usurp the status quo and sentences us for:
there's no "third time lucky" therein...

all that's happened though:
mental people who would never allow
their minds to riddle them...
become claustrophobic by mere thought...
can you?
translate thinking into claustrophobia?
oh god... no... we haven't reached this nadir...
have we?
thought didn't imply θ(ought)!
that erotica of a would be pronoun:
the moral quest...
                  not because i did something bad
in the past...
but because:
i did what others didn't do prior to me...
i ride the wave of what a *******
said to me once:
after an ******:
this is only the second time it has happened
to me: hello ***** envy thrown out of the window!
hello sisters of mercy in some convent
in Limerick!
'allo! 'allo!

beside the moral conundrum of θ(ought): ought i?
this narrative of the ol' 'ed...
is... claustrophobic?
             spread this negation-of-ease further:
dear kin!
   dis- prefix that denotes negation...
ah... and -ease! the suffix that complete the circle:
no contemplation is necessary!

i'm still seeing bread, though...
oh mein gott! die zirkusse! die zirkusse!
what can be done about the circuses?!

people are coupling thinking with claustrophobia...
people are implored to read
for at least 3 hours a day!
a dickens! a tolstoy! a dumas!
and then relax from congesting paragraph strain
and explore the airy side of what was
written into prose and paragraph with
the aid of poetics: that non-exclusivity of rhyme:
always missing... best missing!

i too abhor this synonym:
poetry is what rhymes...
            a set list of: knock-knock jokes...
about as tasteful as...
               roast beef: done well done...
eating the bark of wood:
now that's an adventure!

            or what's... the adjective riddle / riddled...
of: now...
permanent - adjective... these days a host
of "calling scheitmeiser for all his worth"
and what not...      
                               now: the experimental
history of yesterday and "oops"
now: the cameo cinema of yesterday...
and god willing:
you have a "savings account"
of: memories that can...
suffocate the future: the imagining...
of and for the nought of nothing...
the "conundrum": of being...
such and such... and somehow...
retain: personhood...
rather than... a mere... citizentry "status"...
of the ebbing flow of cattle meat and dung:
itsy-bitsy spider teeth itching...
before the bone!
and... after the bones!

load of crock-**** Lombardy is not
Italy... mantra...
and those rites of rats from
the sinking ship that's Wenice...
much too... quasi-important...

      H - surd of a letter...
but the skeleton supposed to behind:
laughter...

the hibernian folk know it...
the english: eh... somewhat...
          bound to θ and bound to φ...
in t'ought... but not in: t'aught...
who needs the apostrophe?
no me: not "you"...
         third: or... θird:
or... ****... or τ(au) says: "herd"...
                             and what's "spezial"...
the surd worth of π (pi)
     in ψ...
                    or      'sychology...
              then there's "all that" with...
chrome: the χ that becomes a kappa (κ)...
but not... exactly the...
the...      ah!                   CHisel!
chasing dog's tails?

                            but a hardy: hibernian:
it's not an F... it's a T...
we have to expose the H-surd! primo
pronto!

    but ψ can afford...
          πσι in that...
                      either the π... or the π...
is treated as a surd..
cited: the whittle canyon of eta (Ηη)..
            ha: if it's a definite article in 'ebrew...
or ha: if... you need a consonant
skeleton... to breathe when laughing...

toes when marching: chin ching chatter...
otherwise "K / kappa" the matter...
taught to think it all but a massive:
****!
   or... a θurd... which is exfoliating in
the gaellic concept of: third...

i'm not from 'ere...
              mind you...
              this is all disneyland for m'eh et moi...
hello whittle atom me...
hello whittle atom you...
hello: hyvä aamu... susie 'ere...
       rakastaa... että ulvonta...
                 "unohti" haukkua:
fins... drawfs... and other whittle people...
eskimos of the "narrative":
   "kaikki alkaen apinamaa"!
    pωl pυt ***...
             and there's "3" of 'em!
exactly... what about the V'em...
             perhaps a F'ought...
      but: V'ere!
            V'em!
                            who the **** gets to
assure me: this language "ving" or "thin"...
sure hands... sure hands...
it's not all grafitti from chernobyll!

and what if... Joycean would 'ave to begin
its pilgrimage toward Dickensian?
this Ezra of ours: what of this...Ezra of
Fahrenheit of "ours"?

           my atom "versus" your... "atomized" man?
my spaghetti english
versus your... i'll sooner choke on ß...
or SuS...
         or SaS
                  SeS...          sayß...
h'american spaghetti english... *** riddled:
ghetto crown-tongue...


me and finding a juggling of chuckles
with: wit... hiding the ha ha...
when θ = τ...
hibernian...
poland the playground of god:
greek... the plaground of men...
esp. those as being cited:
with origin of the barbarian tinge...

  exatly! what of WH when TH are....
thought of "wen":
this grafitti phpneticism...
this barbarism...
no code of "conduct":
what should have:
and did "have": a happen to...
when it came to the ratio
of consonants to vowels...
  of the latter there was a supposed more...
or the latter a less...

    h.i.v. vampirism romances
would have to die...
  a death... most... closely associated with:
psychopaths: or...
the general pathology is: soul-quests...
all "things" considered...
there is no "grand-Σ"
        "past-participle":
of the unconscious-conscious liver...
does the part: actor... functions
of... i robot: you, not here...

the liver does what a liver does:
even if: i r woke...
and i r: sleepz...
               eyes only on when...
orientating myself around:
a failure of a distinct "individual":
moi foie premier...
   moi estomac premier...
and of "me" or... a me...
given that... there's no: "the me"...
            load of ******* and a chewing tube
of "worded"... "circumstances"...
as: "the alternative" to...
sorry... no other alternative...
was... or would ever... be given...
errror message 404 commences: as of: now!

- or... can you?
compensate a word like... draconian...
with a word... the periphery word...
akin to... byzantine?!
the kite's high up in the ******* air
my dear lad...
can you? "compensate" this...
marry of all other:
never-poppin' up 'ins?!

that's one way of minding:
a grey-ginger...
or an albino-masai...
for "good luck"... of all t'ings:
the lerprechaun 'ucking charm brigade!
that's just 'ucking necessary: that is!

as.... the people have already mentioned
their freedom: to cite and keep up to
the rigours of salutations...
they said and they said... and they:
sad but nonetheless: they sad-***-made-"truth"-of...
"it": 'ucking wombat
multiverse l.s.d.: me typing on an old... cranky...
soviet "qwerty" imitation...

the freedom prior to the plague:
i am yet to see...
the **** covid... and the leprechaun...
and the tarantula...
and the... leech...
   **** me: raining cats and dogs:
what a scenario!
     i was supposed to get...
               not leech: not *****...
those fidgeting terse quizzes...
          *****... no... leech... no...
leprechauns: double no...
             szarańcza... old mother-tongue:
ah yes... "these":
                                 locust!

the third of the lard off the herd of the most:
"likely"... nosense to me:
something for you:              up!
otherwise know as:
quiet a bollocking... wouldn't you,
somehow... please... stage:
an agreed to?
               ****'s sake...

  tyrd the triddle twiddle torn und
towing: dublin the sorry-eye: und sore...
you freckled maverick salt
burner you... and... it's a ginger:
stick-prone... keep y'er eager distance...

eh? that's true: is what's through...
**** paddy **** and a poor ******
walk into a bar...
and the bartender is... a kippah-don
of a rastafarian:
the jokes end...
and there was never a conversation
to begin with... ha ha!
now that's a joke... to wake up...
a frankenstein!

      ginger pleb: ginger poodle!
the new africa: the new eskimo...
or... the finnish gateway: etymologically speaking...
an alternative to... *** and...
              the leftover mongols
stranded by the waters
of the empire: receding...
          the...        no: not the croats...
the...
          a very much elongating concept
of pause....
              "d" or the "v" of: v'eh...: the...
the  immortal savages
of: crimea...
      ah yes!
                  those...            tar-tars!
like the tartare steak:
or what was forever available as
the alibi for: sushi!

        because tokyo is just one of those...
forever huan: new... beijing chicken shacks...
and "tokyo"...
or some other anime typo *******...

irish catholic intellectuals...
and... the none existence of whatever
would have required a magna carta:
believe it or... eat **** sort of
mentality...
            the russian doctors
are already abiding to be hunted
if not huddling in churches...
because: co-vex said: co-vid...
co-vid: sharing blockbuster intrusion
pokes was: that last resort to
mortality: and oh...

          this should have happened a long...
a long long time ago...
  transparency tourism...
where you going?
nowhere...
  and "where" is "going"... "nowhere"...
a bit like france... and the eiffel tower...
and there's no speaking french to have
to be resolved...
because like: "**** it" and what?

the ginger-ninja... the ginger-ninja...
the ginger-ninja and...
when the reality of *****...
reaches... an escalation "reality"
of: synonym with... oh god! beards!
ugh!           vot                          ven?!

yep... and the irish were always:
the horse-breeders..
they always were...
always the catholic-intellect juggernauts...
because the hey'talians and
the spoon-innards...
and... mon deu: zee: fwench!
forget the ****** cathos-pathos...
*******-of-os...

and in me:
the gravitas for a disconcerting ambivalence...
almost a compound:
misnomer... but no...
i like the spaghetti though...
yeah: it looks nice on paper...
and off paper...
and anything to cite: the godfather with...
because: boo is a ghost story
that a solo would sell... and ******* like
that...                   yup...
which is a word: to replace the ideal trajectory of:
would be: ghost limb...
james bond...
                          roulette...
you the actors "faking it": no of course...
dylan thomas bob dylan...
"faking it" i.e. stunt actors!
what's "bob": when there's a ******* roulette:
and a devil's dozen of rich, russian...
oligarchal chick... pretending plastic is not...
new world... ******: comb-over...
creaking chair... stlye-on... style-off...
plastico-supermanoh... dynamo-oh-oh...
those "soz" and "whatsevers"...
works well...
the times column...
when your parents are... conscripted...

             mammoth playdough oh oh oh...
irish is cheap...
catholic is cheap-oh...
******...
ha ha... let's not go there...
becauße that's like...
   goldberg variations: the bwv 988 aria...
   yeah: "soz"... but... i'll ******* eat you:
if i have to: for the purpose assigned
to a hard-on... most associated with...
sparrows...
and... the pirates of the confines...
the magpies...
          
             in every period of congregational
"sanity" there's that interlude into:
madness...
howl how! oh dear world of:
that lost appetite of surprise!
        you begin to wither... and die off:
by the slow culmination of hours...
like... a picture to entomb the perfecting
affair of a decaying pear... or apple...
               and...

            and....                 and...
trickling of sentiments...
and sounds...

                           and there are commentaries...
and there are... catholic bishops...
and protestant cardinals...
and ****** popes!             ah ha!
am i to.. truly... die... from laughter?!

What is this happiness?
Am I to seek out, yearn for, grasp up mere moments?
-or is it a perpetuated state of being?
One for only the rarest and most deserving?

Am I the saboteur of my own making?
Am I the weak-willed wallower
Who falls further faster farther under
Behind and beyond the rarified
Deified reality of some form of happy?

Who CARES?  Jesus, who cares!?
What is all this for anyway?!

We ****.  We fight.  We feast.  We famine.
We rage and ruin the peak of our creations
-we, in harmony, benefit from mass assimilations
While singularly sink in to oblivion.

as the wound deepens
vision gets clearer
that the future of us
is nonexistent

i think my pillows
sigh with relief
when i finally get off them
for the day

i think my pillows
(neck-deep in tears)
ask my blankets
for inflatable floaties

i wonder if while i’m gone
my pillows talk
to my books and posters
about how tired and frail
my body has become

because on the day you left
i think my broken heart
took the key to my happiness
and threw it in the open ocean
for only the fish to find

i sure as hell
can’t find it these days