The doctrine lines,
The white brick walls,
Coffee creeps,
We still drink,
Our tastes have just changed,
Who took the last of the ******* sugar?
It's been empty for weeks,
But mainstays stay, mainly,
Another 24 hours,
Some look less,
Another victim of violence visitation,
Rattling sign, the wind makes it's appearance,
We made it,
Johnboy the ****** tells aboot,
His momentum,
Taking his mom oot to dinner,
He wore his tattoos on his face,
One cheek said sin, the other, ner,
Shakey Sam comes every meow and then,
Saying nothing has changed again,
Lights are flickering,
While Jesus Jane is on another rant,
You know, aboot Jesus and whatnot,
Atheist Jocoby just groans,
The coffee is a bit burnt,
So is my tongue,
New cats, alley cats,
Dogs and birds,
I couldn't tell you which one I am,
Emergency alarms a buzzing all around,
We just turn down the sound,
As it's another go round,
to speak,
I'm James and I'm an alcoholic,
Hi James,
Turn over turn on,
Hold hands with scumbags turned saints,
All because of the fire we got from a drink,
A smoke,
A burnt down life turned to building,
We hug once again,
And step ootside,
Open door policy,
And fire in the sky is there waiting,
Some run,
Some cry,
Shakey Sam wonders aloud,
Will his dealer deliver,
****** Johnboy calls his mom,
Jesus Jane prays,
And Atheist Jocoby drives away,
I put the sign back on the door,
And make a new ***,
I want to hear that story,
Of how that newcomer once got shot,
By a disgruntled **** in San Francisco bay,
At least I don't need a drink today.

I first met God when from me he bummed a cigarette,
I asked him how I can win this bet,
and to let go of her and be ok,
he asked which girl with a smile in a way,
I said all of them because I just want to hear all of them say,
you were alright,
he took a drag and said we had met before,
when I was again in Florida I was feeling this down and poor,
we had a drink,
you asked what this life was all about,
and with a smile with shades of a pout,
I told you that only you could figure that out,
his cigarette was done and so was mine,
I asked again if this was just a waiting line,
or just a road covered with dust,
he flicked it and said that I always will have my lust,
for the future,
for the present,
for the past,
and I may feel like in the line I am last,
but really there is no line or road,
and this isnt a secret code,
he said I was ok,
then asked for another cigarette.

Cauld-bluided, humphing ower the stark grey hills
Gowd een skinkle to an fro
Split tongue lappin at the wind-blown smells
Bog grass blackens whaur ye go
Smoke split shielings and the clammerin o bairns
Bone cracked mithers in yer wake
Heirt-scaud ruin fae the valleys tae the cairns
Driven by a drouth ye canny slake
Crib tale shapit unner creakin heather thatch
Howf born craitur o the nicht
Auld sangs spake aboot the maidens ye would ******
Fleggit bairns tae keep intil the licht
True? Naw, havers, juist the blaflum o wives
God nivver biggit ocht sae fell
But ae bairn crouchin in the ruins o its life
Can think o naethin else the tale tae tell
Blin, lost, forwandert fae the shattered faimly hame
Warslin wi fear tae unnerstan
White winds whistle as he gies the beast a name
And dragons whiles can take the form o man.

We walked in to darkness,
putting off what we both know what it will bring,
as sadness began to flare, and anxiety started to sing,
we both looked up to stars,
knowing it's one thing that has always healed our scars,
I began to cry a bit,
knowing it was going to be a while till we got to sit,
and talk aboot how many views we got that day,
I said I love where the middle star in Orion sits,
because the darkest spot in the night sky,
is a lie,
its a gateway to every thing that has ever come to pass,
and as our cigarettes came to an, I was praying the final drags would last,
we smiled at each other with a knowing,
that in the morning I would be going,
with a sigh I put the night to and end,
talking aboot the pictures each of us need to send,
we said good night, with a belly full of lead,
the conversation never ends, but the cigarette is dead,
and we say,
sleep well and see you in the morning,
looking at you with eyes full of sad, we say I'll talk to you later,
but in my heart I am saying,
I love you Dad.

I walked into the dark cafe,
or was it bar?
thick with smoke, blood and confidence,
you could only see so far,
but I could see angst looking at their glass,
and nostalgia was dazed,
stuck thinking aboot yesterdays,
forever searching through a maze,
with no exit,
sadness is sitting with anxiety,
in between silences they talk aboot society,
while happiness tells me to smile,
with a certain style,
I tell them I need a beer,
or was it a coffee?
I do smile.
Anger comes up and tries to start a fight,
but redemption feeling the need to do right,
breaks it up,
To much noise and a black eye,
I say with a smiling sigh,
Time to write.

Drunk on nostalgia,
and longing for the past,
looking at who is still my friend,
and the ones gone too fast,
I miss them all,
but I dont want any of them here,
but then again my courage out weighs my fear,
and I see it all so beautifully clear,
what I would do to hear that smile,
or see that laugh,
feel that giggle,
and dance during math,
to have stories of yet to comes,
and what dreams we have with the future suns,
friends of guys and girls,
sending my world into swirls,
and dancing with the flame,
the band maybe different, but the music is still the same,
we all just have a new name,
that is a representation of the yesterdays,
and I miss the the future and past figuring's of today's faze,
nostalgia is weighing the other half of my couch down,
as it is my friend, my smile and my frown,
I'd push them all away,
if I didnt know they were here to stay,
so I might as well enjoy the ride,
because life is just a rock skipping on a pond,
thrown by a bad hand,
I'll keep saying it along with you,
the next skip is new,
but its the skip behind that I'll think aboot in the next few

Hey, I'm not a lumberjack, or a fur trader there's only one pelt I'm interested in....
I don't live in an igloo or eat blubber, or own a dogsled Global warming has taken all the snow away....
and I don't know Jimmy, Sally or Suzy from Canada, i do know Partel, Kareem, Xi Chein and Steve
and they're really really nice.

I have a Prime Minister who is *******, not a president.
I speak English and a little French, not American though we like to mock southern accents...
And I pronounce it 'aboot, not about...

I can proudly sew my country's flag on my backpack along with with motorhead and misfits patches...
I believe in peace keeping, not policing unless you count the G20...
diversity, not assimilation, unless it's the borg...
and that the ****** is a truly proud and noble animal and a bald one is truely a wonder to behold...
A toque is a hat that douchbags wear all year round, a chesterfield is a couch that my dunken friends sleep on,
and it is pronounced 'zed' not 'zee', 'zed' unless its Zebra because Zedbra sounds stupid!!!

Canada is the second largest landmass that can be pilfered by multinational conglomerates!
The first nation of hockey!
and the best part of North America... except vegas!

My name is Josh!!
And I am Canadian!!!
EH?

I waited,
at times I debated,
feeling like a teenager aboot to go on their first date,
I had work the next day but didn't care if I had to stay up late,
it was going to be the first time I saw you,
and nothing was going to stop me,
it was an electricity that I couldn't put down ,
and my breath was gone as if there any need for air,
I saw you
and I couldn't help but stare,
the night was slow but gone to fast,
like trying to remember a face from your past,
I need you is all I could muster to say,
and I won't call tomorrow a day,
how could I when I won't be able to see your smile
brighter than the sun,
so I will keep tonight inside my heart but never oot of sight,
I'll say that I still have walls, but that is a lie,
Like headlines written in the night sky,
of my life,
you have become permanent.

Wee Angus on his wae frae work
would hit tha pub fa a perk
O' Tennents lager frae tha keg
whiles chatting up tha barmaid Meg
A pint or twa there wae friens
a' bleathering awa like scholars an Deans
Debators O Parlimentary views
Ministers preaching o'er tha pews
Wae drink in hand they'd laugh their fill
tha glory Mead upon their bill
Yelping like some bairney pups
catching breeths atween their sups.

(nae wiser a man than yin filled wae ale
Nae greater a time than while drinking frae tha Grail.)

In football games they A' would linger
or singing songs for all's a singer
Nae matter how bad tha voice
a' would request their favorite choice
Happy all wae drink in hand
while holding up the bar they stand
In rattled curses tae tha bumping airms
while viewing o'er some lassies chairms
Whispering oot all dreams an desires
that drink within them all inspires
An' Angus kens that soon or late
he tae hame must tak tha gate.

Kenning tae deep doun inside
his drunken breath he'd better hide
Saying fareweel tae friens and foes
leaing ahind tha pub's warm burning coals
Doun he stummels tae tha chippy
tha air ootside tis crisp an nippy
Making him drunker than afore
he side steps frae door tae door
Eating his fish supper, enjoying each bite
thinking aboot all that's happened tha night.
Till there he rouns tha corner street
His hame sae warmly it does greet,
Falling o'er tha step ootside his hame
Tha door it opens, Behold his sullen Dame
Trying tae act sober wae all his might
afore his wifie here tha night
But she's nae fool nor blind tae see
his daft antics, his blabbering plea.

In comes Angus wae words O' love
tae face tha thumping slap an shove
Her roaring voice would put fear intae tha Deil
Hear wee Angus weep an squeal.

(What type O' life drink it brings
that great at first yet later stings
What worth has man tae waste his life
wae drinks illusions an its strife.
Sooner or later as true as Hell
Yin cannie live save by its spell
getting worse an worse day by day
while friens an family turn away
An Angus wheither he kens or no
has drifted where tha drunkards go
An time shall tell what fate bestows
for tha Curse O Ale, nae man knows.)

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

This'll be the last one I write you,
As twilight turns blue,
And black again,
The sun rises eventually,
And the sunset was too beautiful
To miss,
A song on repeat,
That sounds like me,
And feels like you.
I smile at what we had,
You smile at what we became,
Regardless, at least we are smiling.
Deserved love, but undeserved lovers,
But a love nonetheless.
We doubled booked venues,
There isn't a show to steal anymore,
But you're solo act will knock them dead.
I'm proud of what you are,
I'm disappointed that I don't get to act out,
The rest of the scene,
At least it was beautiful while we were on stage.
So, put down the lines,
And turn the page,
This will be the last one that I write for you,
But I look forward to the one,
You write, for you.

He says good morning and sits alone,
She sits surrounded by people but feels alone,
He checks his phone,
And smiles,
She is thinking aboot the miles,
But they forget,
He has nothing set,
She has everything but still feels upset,
And they havnt even met,
He has regrets he can't forget,
She takes a drag of a cigarette
Another day is passing,
He feels everything massing,
She feels done,
But looks at her kids to feel the sun,
He's going down a dead end street,
She is cleaning to a beat,
And they are both going a hundred miles,
To the end of meanwhiles,
That should be real,
He looks with lonesome eyes at every meal,
She's trying to remember what it means to feel,
They will not meet,
But still they smile all the same,
This show will end lame,
But it started with an alright scene

More I write,
aboot her,
it might make her real.

Staring at empty screens and pages,
I must have read this ******* sentence through multiple ages,
but my mind drifts away,
they used to call me Holden,
I dont have half a head of grey hair I would say,
jumbled in my jaw,
and feeling bare and raw,
I need to do something aboot this,
but why cant I just attain a certain degree of bliss?
Is it because I want my life to be a sad poem,
at least that's what she said on the phone,
maybe she was right?
I'm in love with being a tragedy at the end of the night,
need a reason to be in my room,
to shake this feeling I might have till I am dead,
then I noticed,
I forgot to make my bed.

Dear the girl over there,
I dont mean to stare,
its hard not to,
I know I really dont know you,
and you havnt made the move,
but you havnt stopped smiling either,
maybe together we can make new believers,
to love in a place that seems to being loosing a lot,
So lets grab hands and go to a spot,
where we can sing loudly and whisper things no one cares aboot,
I'll get my suit,
you get your dress,
and we will destroy the all you can eat buffet and laugh at our mess,
So take my hand and we will go to the moon,
and make the lovers that swoon,
all jealous that we dont try so hard,
so consider me a tuneless bard,
with bad rhymes,
and fly by the seat of your pants
and take a chance,
it will be fun,
I promise.

Completely wrapped in the beauty of it all,
Felt the ugliness grow from my chest,
Somehow there was a throbbing burst,
Started in the feet and sank up,
Ended in the throat and the heart,
It was like a shiver,
Mind freezes,
It whirls and burns,
Fingers searching and filled with ants,
Everytime that I hear them,
I can feel a aboot sitting on my grave,
Though I am alive,
Happy and Carefree,
Down in out into those shaken moments,
Just once in a while,
But enough to mention,
Maybe there’s a shockwave from these moments,
A wing flap and right next to me someone feels it,
They don’t know what to make of it,
But maybe they’d stop and stare off for the first time,
Expanded and folded outwards,
Seeing and feeling what was once a personal quake,
Jostled from the run of the mill,
Totally mindless walking the earth,
By chance O if only,
Grateful to feel O so fearful,
O how wonderful it was.

It was aboot ten miles away from your fate,
when Taco bell and pigs decided to gang up,
and you didnt realize it till it was too late,
Oh, you knew what you had did,
trying to pour back what is already drank,
like winning the lottery, only to realize there is no money in the bank,
The Mormon Virginia City had struck again,
and took me down to a feeling of a non-man,
where the screaming, the anxiety and the screaming anxiety all met,
the moment you realized you lost the bet,
between you, the devil, the universe, that one friend, the boogy man, God, and the lady down at the farmers market,
you are an easy target,
with a tough bullseye,
and a sly,
liar's smiling lips,
it wasnt till that cold floor touched you,
and your mind's lack of institutional control,
had been realized,
life had surmised,
that the chances you had were faulty tests.

Big John had taken your car with vanity plates,
a joke you want to tell your mates,
but realize the build up is all wrong,
he was the picture of a folk song,
but withoot the music and any good lyrics,
a tow truck mentioned in poems you have never heard,
telling him to hold onto that paper you signatured,
"You're going to famous like everyone else when they go?"
"I wont, but  I'll be nice in the poem everyone will know"
He laughed and kicked you out.

A new song that has a ****** tune,
starts to sound nice soon,
and you will appreciate it by your life's noon,
rough memories turn into life lessons, that turn into rough memories,
but you dont know you are in an ocean till you passed some seas,
so you drive away from the  town that built the great ****,
with a face of weather, guilt, and an unknown nostalgia for the future.

There is nothing cleaner
than a freckled spotted hyena
drinking warm retsina
outside a Catholic church

There's nothing more obtuse
than an educated moose
running aboot the hoose
looking for a shoe

There is nothing more verbose
than a really exceptionally long line of prose that didn't quite rhyme at the end

far *** ye ben,
ma closest freen.
ah did nae see ye.

files ah forget fit ah maun act aroon ye.
ye aye despised meh ben fran.
an fit cwid ah iver blame ye.
affen ah feel the same aboot ma ain decrepit hert.
ah miss ye like the bairns in the bothy miss the affa fantoosh summer sunshine.

slowly ye gie me back ma smile,
ah anely wish tae thank ye,
sae meet me aat the loch's lowse an lets hum the tunes we danced tae,
as geets wi nae convictions.

Where have you been,
my closest friend.
I did not see you.

Sometimes i forget how i must act around you.
You always despised my stubbornness,
And how could i ever blame you.
I often feel the same about my own decrepit heart.
I miss you like the children in the bothy miss the great summer sunshine.

slowly you give me back my smile,
i only wish to thank you,
so meet me where the loch's work ends and lets hum the tunes we danced to.
as children with no convictions.

.

Dear my small world,
It's early and teenagers are walking to school,
the sun is warm and cool,
my eyes are closing as I pass them by going the other way,
my old friend creeps on me and reminds me of a spring mountain day,
being those kids walking slow,
not knowing the episode,
but enjoying the show,
their mountains are just a brighter green,
my old friend gets in my stomach and the top he tends to lean,
the smells of anxiety and the fear of uncompleted homework,
make me smile,
I pass by swings and see my world become night,
and two kids in Florida are in my sight,
talking aboot nonsense but still returning to smile and laugh,
it becomes funny and two drunk kids in Reno take their place,
I can tell who they were but I couldn't see a face,
my old friend creeps to my mouth and my past I can taste,
I suddenly am on the swings holding my hand in front,
staring at a star,
reaching out with one eye closed I feel like I can grab it,
my eyes open and I almost take oot some teenager,
something's die hard I say,
and they look the other way,
and say, "ok crazy",
the past maybe getting hazy,
but the feelings never die.

Woke up early,
Put on the work outfit
brushed my whites pearly,
Left my backpack at the stop,
Booked it back,
Found my pack,
Reached in my pocket to grab my pen,
Found it had exploded,
What then!?
Boss doesn't respond,
And I just need to be at a pond,
Not thinking about where I am going,
Not thinking about what I will sow,
A easy day would be nice,
To much to think, but does entice,
Just need to be at that lake,
Need to be at that parking garage,
But I am in traffic watching the clock,
What else can this day bring?
A ring on my phone and I'm not answerin,
Boss leaves a voicemail blarin,
Ignored it till I got there,
Walked in with a blank stare,
Wonderin' when life will be fair,
Changin' somethin,
Thinking aboot nothin',
Getting that carpal tunnel,
Then go to sleep,
Trying to shut my mind off to answers I know I can't seek,
Guess it's just another day in the week,
So I try to focus on the music and the beat,
****,
I don't know what else to say,
Cept that it's only ******* Monday.

All the classic adverts a lot of them are missed
Adverts that are made today the producers must be ******
They're nothing like the classic ads I'm afraid I must resist
There isn't any flare or finesse so please would you desist
The same adverts are always shown there's no surprise or twist
Adverts are not liked these days I hope you get the gist
Your all just sitting there with you ***** clutched in your fist
Messing up your nice pressed suits with a swift one of the wrist
New adverts bore you to tears but it's all that you enlist
Cos your making more backhanders it's why you still persist
Stop relying on the sponsors we know there **** is kissed
And take particular notice of the old ones on this list

A skeleton with video tapes told us how its gonna be
Re-record not fade away with Scotch's lifetime guarantee
Whiskers was the food of choice according to the stats
It was preferred by at least eight out of ten cats
Noodle Doodle twisted spaghetti into motor cars and houses
He twisted it into butterflies and eek noodle doodle mouse's
A hippo made a fruity drink way down in the Congo
He danced a dainty tango and a rhino called it Um Bongo
There was only one Tea that could make you go OO!
Sue Pollard and Frankie Howard found out with Typhoo
But those little Tetley Tea Folk know without a doubt
That 2000 perforations would let the flavour flood out
You knew what to do to put the freshness back
Every time you vacuumed and did the Shake and Vac
Don't wake up and go to town use the one all over smell
Insignia's shampoo and deodorant, aftershave and shower gel
Jeremy had a roaring toothache again he liked to many treats
he could have had a crocodile smile without eating sweets
She was the Right One she would skate to get it there
Nicollete Sheridan delivered Martini anytime anyplace anywhere
A second class ticket to Dottingham a misunderstanding caper
Tunes could make you breath more easily with its Menthol vapour
Milk in every half pound one chunk lead to another
With a glass and a half for every Dairy Milk lover
Muhammad Ali and Benny Hill knew their coming fate
They watched out with a Humphrey about, drinking Unigate

If your into protection with your Mate's or a Durex
You'd get that rubber feeling during penetrative ***
Unless your like Fred Brewster and Geronimo was there
A friend that was washable and like an inner tube to wear

A chocolate bar sang about everybody's case of the Fruit and Nut
David Rappaport could tell it was Tizer when his eyes where shut
Kia Ora's to orangey for crows, it was just for him and his dog
Spuds wanted to be Smiths Crisps and not an average Joe Blog
Bars Iron Brew from Girders the Scottish people like
A second thought at junctions think once think twice think bike
You Crossed your heart for a better figure with a Playtex Bra
The Renualt Clio had a certain flair for Nicole and Papa
Flowers delivered from Interflora making your day bright
It was a taste to make you shine ohhh ohhh Vitalite
Sainsbury's world war one solders shared and called a truce
Maynard's Wine Gums set the juice loose aboot the hoose
Why would you have cotton when Galaxy was silk?
It was cool for cats when you woke up to Milk
The man from Del Monte loved fresh fruit so he said Yes
Frosty's where Grrreat, Tony Tiger expected nothing less
But Esso was the only petrol with a tiger in the tank
A galloping black horse was the icon for Lloyds bank

Its your life with Tampax you jumped around and skated
Jack Dee had John Smiths, was his Widget overrated ?
Flowers where given on Impulse hoping the ladies dated
Mr Soft loved Trebor mints a strange world was created
Flake was the Crumbliest chocolate was that understated?
Marmite was the kind of spread you loved or even hated
Michelin Man was made of tyres he was rubber weighted
A family always had there diner, with Oxo it was plated

Castlemain Four X wouldn't give anything else, Australians would preach
Unless you where Paul Hogan and Fosters Amber Nectar he would teach
But Heineken would refresh the parts other beers could not reach
Strongbow was strong straight and true made from apple and not peach
Broad at the shoulders slim at the hips Big Bad Dom Domestos Bleach
The Jolly Green Giant loved Sweet corn with his ** ** ** speech

Please broadcast something good, instead of all your trash
There is No Cornetto's from Italy! none shown from this stash
Like Cadburys and Nestle or the robot men from Smash
You had a break with Kit Kat and convenient packet mash
No Dr Whites ***** Pads I don't mean to sound so brash
Where is Castrol GTX or Buzby there's not even a rehash
All Gambling and Insurance Ads tying to get our cash
No concern about the national debt or any loan backlash

Rolf Harris teaching kids to swim in the water they did love it
I bet if they where around today they'd tell old Rolf to shove it
I felt sorry for that poor Churchill dog I admired his endurance
To put up with Rolfs wobble board that isn't much insurance

Jimmy Saville talked of safety he clunked clicked every trip
But Jimmy's mind was somewhere else thinking who he'd like to strip
And British Rail where unaware when he was trying not to slip
With Jims intent with his Railcard to get you in his grip

You may think its controversial, you may think its the wrong call?
I Guarantee the companies thought they where on the ball
I bet these ads are a blot and drive them up the wall
If they'd have known about these guys they wouldn't feel so small
These companies would not have hired Jim or Rolf at all
It doesn't matter if they're the ones who are not standing tall

Why cant new adverts be like the old ones that we had?
What's happened to production why are they so bad?
They are all so boring and there really rather sad
None of them are out there that make you feel so glad
Why do you insist on showing ones that drive us mad
Your viewers are so ******* board more than just a tad
everyone is getting annoyed even our mum and dad
stop showing the new adverts stop ruining our pad

We don't want life insurance or sponsors for every show
We don't want Go Compare adverts, the Gtech can surely go
There are no Classic overtones they've lost that certain glow
Its boring seeing the same adverts shown in the same row
Phone commercials are not wanted it may be quite a blow
Loans and expensive Sky packages the people should say no
Please would you take some advice stop keeping these in tow
And bring back all the classic ads and stop going with the flow

I told her,
He'd,
Regret it,
That she holds the stars,
And he was too busy asking,
Why she held them,
So tightly,
Words come under
Snapshots of looks that
Have effects,
So long,
So deep,
It's a memory on our make-up,
I want to put a fist through his face and heal him
Back up,
Just to break it
Again,
I want to make poems
That make her famous,
So that people look to
Loved ones
And smile knowing
That they exist,
I want to remind her
How the ocean air feels
And tastes
When she feels at home,
I want to remind her,
That she makes me feel at
Home,
So that for one minute,
She would feel the
Freedom
She gives me freely,
But,
Realizing you are human
And
Knowing,
That on the other end of the silicon and circuits,
Lies a greater distance,
Than just the thousands
Of miles that make it up,
So,
I speak,
In shakey syllables,
Aboot distorted dreams
That come out as
"I'm sorry's" and
Weird eye twitches
In front of showers
Because I want to drown in
Thoughts and forgotten conversations
I should have held tighter,
I spoke with uneasy words,
Telling,
You,
That he'll regret it,
You spoke with broken typed words,
"I dont think
Think so."

We always do.

Because you hold the stars,
And I,
Kept asking,
Why you  held them,
So tightly.

Hey kid,
I remember you from a year ago, Not knowing where you're going to go, Watching the snow, Drift down from the loading docks, And staring counting down time on clocks, Im telling you to not rush, but that's all you want to do, And its not till you are on the edge staring at the blue, Drinking way more than one or two, You almost will die more times than you'd like, And you have dreams every night aboot you're faceless wife. Don't worry kid, its the worst year of you life, But you make it through, Like a champion, you stand gallantly with armor made of everything that tried to **** you, You'll realize you're parents deserve better, Even though they will still say, "you're the best thing that has happened to me son." in their letters. You're friends are the strongest crop you know, And all you'll want to do is show, Everything that they did was not all for nigh, So hold your head up high, Hey kid, I remember you from a year ago, And I want you to know, Everything will be fine.

Piggly Wiggly sleeps,
and snores,
behind,
closed doors,
while someone is cleaning a door,
jam,
others are questioning where they are,
a poet,
reads words in a bathroom stall,
someone down the hall,
whisper shouting in another,
stall,
asks, "What's the point to all this?"
rehab in winter,
rehab in fall,
a **** and a smile,
but a reminder,
you get in what you get out,
sixty one days sober,
breaking the record every day,
the poet flushes away,
is internal frown,
complaining companions move onto the windows,
piggly wiggly dreams aboot,
bacon and ****,
another record,
the poet asks his higher power,
please let it last,
one day at a time,
everyone stops,
sloppy joes & cigarettes,
for,
lunch.

the ethos of arbeit has overpowered the english speaking people, with a sarcastic notion of liebe, and made both work, and love, arbitrary, nay, nasally said: homophilic: too many phobias are spoken off, spiders in the guise of arachnophobia don't suddenly become islam! you see any gigantus aranea roaming the streets?! for the most part, i'm closer to see popes walk naked in a francis bacon sketch of the affairs... let's be honest, the holy ghost has become run over by the other spirit, the other phrase of sophia, the zeitgeist, not this church infested cockroach colony of the platzgeist with a few crimson cardinals numbed into mumbling their mea culpas ave marias... the senile old ******* just died, with: a few more thousand young men, born into a world without having to succumb to the "tender" female noir of a bambi (transgender times, live with it) harem ******* occupiers in the form of: zee heff! i'll be crying as much when, some other public personage dies... although i did grit my teeth when my great-grandmother died, managed to bite off a scalpel of tooth with my other tooth... funny, i can still tongue the canyon proof.

and it's the antithesis of the # (hashtag) generation,
namely? the súdokū...
   plus the english ******* explanation of
needing the hyphen, as a diacritical mark
to ease, sorry, forget the poncy ***** ******
talk of "proper": lubricate the dissection
of cutting a word open into alphabet street...
   it would otherwise look more like su-dough-coup
with the p in bracket form ( ), since the french
over the antithesis of dyslexia compared
to the english, they just add letters that do not,
require attendance / mention.
          but that's the case, every time i solve
this *** sushi riddle i can't but compare it to
the zeitgeist of the hashtag...
              so i perch on a windowsill like a
wake of vultures of a lion reaching gluttony scene,
and start thinking: hey, how about we pair up
and pecker off that sod of a robert plant?
give him the curly wurly momentum,
start to peck at his ***,
  and then give him a vulture's barber effect
of trichotillomania?
there's bound to be a lesson in that,
    what with ol' hef gone, we only 'ave to
worry aboot the hoff...
             ha ha... when hef met hoff,
           and the **** never stopped,
even leaving king solomon a tad bit jealous.

i sit on a pile of rubble, and call it a castle -
time ref. to counter the darwinist -
and yes, the saharan desert was once a
mountain range akin to the alpes - or the himalayas -
as any chemist would, side with the geologists
than than the biologists: mushy mushy doesn't
buy my effort, the biologists just expanded
history, we might as well make the *other
connection, between desert and mountain,
ergo: time,
       takes a lot of it,
          pretty much as much as space,
             apes have become debased genesis foci...
too many variations of it,
you'd have to start with eskimo and say:
  well: the orangutans seemed pleased with
a down syndrome replica...
                so just the chimps? no gorillas?
i still like my counter darwinism argument,
the counter biology, the lost mushy mushy
cushioning of certainty -
    like any chemist, i live for the hard stuff,
comes no harder than siding with geology,
saying: the epitome of times comes in
the form of the saharan mountain range,
that, given enough time (and we have a lot of
that now) - eroded into a sand-dial...
    irony, or divine intuition?
          and didn't the bible give off a whiff of:
and then a dinosaur went into eden:
   hey, be gods, try to, even,
  watch out, a ******* meteor might just come;
there's no fundamentalism contained
in a book that was written by an egyptian
prince...
    just a lack of poetic integrity in the interpretation...
i still don't see how poetry is slagged,
but the basic tenet of poetic writing is
taken, without a pinch of metaphor,
or counter-metaphor, in that it can be expanded
and be applied like a philosopher's stone,
to turn any known material into gold!

which brings me to another point, well, two,
how do you gain respect from the cats
you're petting?
             you sleep longer than they do.

point 2...

why has reading become such a "tedium" /
"accomplishment" -
   i'll tell you why, i don't like a language
of thinkers, i live a language realm of babblers...
the right to say blah is worth more than
the right to think oh...
                speaking has become too easy,
solidified by that fact that (if not even est.)
when someone writes a book, it becomes,
oh, the most glorious accomplishment!
     wow... these people really managed to
shut their gobs, and write a book?!
         wow... it's like seeing the fruition of
the event that didn't take place, that would have
been the out-doing of the hebrew architectural
tenure on the pyramids, that would have been
the hanging gardens of babylon,
that was, eventually, the poor nebuchadnezzar
crawling and snorting like a pig for seven years...
if you thought the pyramids were
a mad idea,  
    the jews finally solved the riddle exclaiming:
o.k., you know what, that's just
bonkers... you're about as mad as your hyena
grandfather, or father, or whatever he was
for asking to the seas to obey him by whipping
them (xerxes)...
  it's that unamazing to write a book these days...
or it really is, given that you have ghosts
writing them...
       ****, and they said the paranormal
didn't exist... really? ghost writers?
       maybe that's one of the reasons that when
don juan wrote his memoir,
  after bouts of not getting any, he invited
himself to a better pastime than jerking off...
well, might as well die a boring sod since
i'm not getting any, any more...
       me? i always thought of jerking off as
performing ****...
     i can't imagine the hand to be anyhow
different to the muscular ****...
    and for some reason,
i always end up thinking of the queen of england
waving: to add the seasoning of lacklustre
to the whole affair:
  like i'm there, but not really, there -
the roy orbison effort to make that:
strenuous effort at opera -
     and he was hardly the modern comparison
of a pop star with neck arteries protruding;
and he's still better than elvis.

word of wisdom:
  in the medium of poetry?
write by one technique, and one technique
alone...
          digression...
well, that's how i was taught english,
by a pict.

At ringend on june sixteenth nineteen hundred and four
                                                                     Molly opens her door
and Literate Leopold plonks his kosher black pudding into her hand
                                                                                        Isn't it grand
                                                                 to be remembered this way?
Walking the streets and ******* the teats of the sow that eats its children
Searching for meat on O'Connel streeet that has the tang of scented *****
The well known literate degenerates
long to have  their hot-dogs stroked by baaaaaaaaaarnacles
whilst sellin' knick-nack Paddywackery of dear old ***** dumpling
                     How do they walk with her sausages
                                  and inner organs  of beasts and fowls?
their shanks ****** dry of whuskey on Denny's big breakfast show
                Well **** your ****! With a flame-grilled
                                                                       samuel
                                                                                 becket burger
                                                                             and a side order
                                                                       of oscar wilde fries

"warmth showered gently over him, cowing his flesh. Flesh yeilded amid rumpled clothes.
Whites of eyes swooning up. His nostrils arched themselves for prey. Melting breast ointments.
Armpits oniony sweat .
Fishgluey slime.
Feel!
Press!
Crushed!
Sulphur dung of lions
Young!  Young!

                 In the petri-
                               Pish
                               Pish
                               Pish
                               Dish
spitoon culture
           the illiteraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaati
                                      hold a party
                  
                "I'm a tiny tiny thing
                     Ever flying in the spring
                       Round and round a ringaring
                                                  Long ago I was king
                                        Now I do this kind of thing
                                     On the wing, onnnnnnnn the wing!"
                                                    Bing!

Professor Latelate Lateshow Late review
Was talking to ME……..        about yew
What do yew think of that aesthetic crew?
                                  The opal hush poets?
                                   The master mystiks?
The wanz thit
       *** to me
          in the sma' oors
               o the mournin'
                    tae ask aboot
                       plains o consciousness?

They're all Barbers, says he, from the Black Country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses!

In Dublin's fine city
Where the wine bars are pretty
You can't find an ashtray
You must smoke alone.

                                                                                  Isn't it grand
                                                               To be remembered this way
Walking the streets and ******* the teats of the sow that eats its children?