cocktail heels
sharp as tacks
watch your feet
every step the green mile
you could hear a pin drop
(or was that a pearl earring?)
the lipstick on her teeth smiles at you.

skin so creamy
it’d feel right at home in a cup o’ joe
free that poor hair from *******
so the red sea comes tumbling down her shoulders
just ignore the diamond on her finger—
it’s merely a suggestion.

that dress
smooth black and form-fitting
follow the zipper towards the small of her back
now emerging from the chrysalis
madame butterfly
nice clothing like hers looks better on the carpet.

I cannot be gay, say  
I cannot be gay, just say
I cannot be gay, gays
Think I'm pretty ugly oddly.
No guy crush can change my mind,
Say this outloud over one thousand times.
Given his kiss didn't beg for it,
That kind of affection could confuse a Pope or priest;
Could make any insecure boy think into it too deep.

Rugby, Warwickshire
16/10/2015

Unholy streets of G-d, liquid tobacco,
gentle froth and steam
from the coffee estuary, split beneath the clock tower
on the idle hour; more pigeons than people,
more buildigs than choices
on this small-town, charity shop parade.

The women are still beautiful, still unattainable,
still on the brink of a breakdown
in the most confident dress.
Street-pastors carry the drunks home,
the street-cleaners appear by the afterparty,
clear out the old bottles
before the commuter picks up cigarettes
from the newsagents that never rests.

Tattoo parlours, barber shops,
Christmas on the radio come Hallowe'en-
this is the town that crazy built:
war-time poetry, jet propulsion,
chief inventor of sport,
of mild alcohol addiciton.

There's hundreds of places to get drunk in this town,
hundreds of places to hide away;
a foreign face in a sea of family and friends.
Landlocked, gridlocked,
centrally located but left out on a limb;
this town clings to the tracks,
it's avenues of escape
the only margin to keep the residents
out of mind and in their place.

But this is where I grew up,
always more car-park than parkland,
my first steps on Campbell Street,
on Armstrong Close,
first time I broke the law on Bridget Street,
on Selborne Road.
I'd push my bike all around this town,
no stopping off for a smoke,
for to get my fix-
I'd push on and on past graveyards and open bars
without a second gance.

Now, it's all shooters and soul-singers
and happenstance;
chicken wings on a late-night binge,
a box of wine, a night of sin,
wake up in shame,
life's a guessing game
and guess what, you'll never win.

Chewing gum, patches,
vapour that scratches the back of my throat,
nicotine in my blood,
you know, I'm trying my best to get clean.
Blister packs of vitamins, bowls of fruit,
buying coconut water over the counter-
green tea by the rising moon,
incense sticks and vegetables in the garden,
yet by the time night rolls on by
the locus of my eyes, they darken;
I'll be back on the beer,
I'll be smoking a carton.

This is the town that crazy built,
even the flowers by the roadside wilt,
cement factory, hum-drum poverty,
post-code belonging to Coventry,
kept out of the war
by a matter of minutes,
kept from the future
by corporate interest.

Hospital lights, supermarket glow,
I can't remember the last time
I wasn't loaded with chemicals
every time I get home,
every time I sign out
and put my head on the pillow,
I see familiar streets, familiar signs,
the job centre, the floodlights,
the 12% lager, the twist of lime.
I struggle with rhyme,
I struggle most days to get out of the house,
but at night, I know, that sea of doubt
is a river of light, to ruin my liver,
to spike my fever, to calm me down.

There's hundreds of places to get drunk in this town,
and this world it don't spin,
it just throws me around.

You know what I've been fantasizing about around my projectory...besides some stimulating evening entertainment...I like the art of BellyDance. It's sensuous and extreme mastery of smooth kundalini up and around the body.
Yeah, right...I know.
No, but seriously, imagine man, our own Island. Yeah, our Own Island. The Crew would celebrate the SkyClad Moon around a wood fire, the tribal drum patterns interlacing trading Ecstasies of rhythm beat into our hearts coherent waves generating yes by us, through us, into the night's Enchanted Moon. 
Oh she and her seductive powers moving tidal waves into the hours splash crash and receding just to come back for more. You Know What this is about you know what it stands for
yeah, and if we want to bring it into our human sexuality, mating powers, let's trade energies why not talk our bodies into majesty
~ see what happens• usually magic from my memory I like magic I like cosmic kinds of bliss in exchange for a mystical talk with God~ Lets work it out. Of man & ladies ...you know, all the crazies, no end to the amount of this kind of party. let's make the magic happen this doesn't have to stay imagination I know how it manifest and if you have questions come see we will figure out the rest ...
imagine

Erratic squirrels
Irresponsibly consume
Fermenting pumpkins.

Confetti settles in the crease of the carpet.
I wake up with pints of honey buzzing
in the center of my chest. My eyelashes cast shadows
like tick marks on my cheeks. No chaos.
The backs of my legs are tender
from crawling through the window to the roof.

We watched a paper mache moon from the roof
the night before. Small towns are boring liked threads from the carpet
but the people have hearts that are tender
like living peaches, always buzzing.
Just one picture of us, five sorry teens with internal chaos
dancing through string lights and breathing shadows.

Harris has a fascination with those shadows.
Her membership would be awarded with a dive from the roof.
She always loves the smell of checklist chaos,
or formulating plans while lying on the carpet
of her room. Her emotions are pulled taut and buzzing,
resonating fear when she forgets how to be tender.

Julia’s wire existence couldn’t try to be tender
She is a fat slap of clarity across your dispositions. Shadows
can’t cast new shapes across her buzzing
body. Her ******* pointing toward the roof
and her feet sinking between carpet
folds. like every time she is around it’s chaos.


Britt’s eyes reflect blue waves free from chaos
and each word skips across his tongue gentle and tender.
His clothes, Goodwill and kind-of-used-carpet
and camera casts light to evade shadows.
Short prayers dare scrape the roof
of his mind. Send heritage and denial buzzing.

Nelson is 7 years of swallowed gum and buzzing
alarm clocks, warning the world of chaos.
He climbs up rusted ladders to the roof
to shout of love and it’s lack of tender
tendencies. He is a fall breeze where leaves force shadows
across the laundry line, too weak to leave a hole in the carpet.

I glide through my days alluding tender
my mind scoffs at the chaos of my daytime shadow
but under the roof, i'm just a chalk outline pushed into carpet.

Morning haze, after phase
Heart still racing, mind still spacing
Memories of dancing lights and smiling faces
My body fights tiredness of different cases
Light the green to put my mental to ease
Experience life the way that you please
Reminisce the nights filled with the unseen
Never to dwell on what could’ve been

Just need to get away*

Away from the noise in my head
Leave the phone behind
Jump on the bus
Go to the furthest part of the kingdom.

Lock the door
Throw away the key
Hide under the sheets
Hoping you'll join me there

Afterparty - free bar
Escape back behind locked doors
Alone in the dark
We have all we need

she scattered her love
like confetti
only to know
that in the end
people just ignore it
when the good time
is over.

I have been singing for forgotten things,
beer bottles hidden in the hedgerows.
The opera singer, the strangled vibrato,
ash-filled cokes cans; the afterparty sunrise.

This recovery has been long, fickle.
Reckless optimism and the science of failure
collide into the colour
of a Daniel Johnston cartoon,
or a songwriter's sense of humour.

Disused pencils stand as monuments
to old dreams of grass-roots art,
the fragility of neurotic *******
drawn with innumerable straight lines
that composite a woman's naked body.

I have been drawing on memories
and hoping for a brand-new image;
dissolution of old borders - a strangled voice
in a room full of opened tongues.

The Hawaiian shirt made light of depression
in darkened hours and wax smiles.
Plastic cocktails, the pending brides;
desperate men - the post-work demise.
I have learned a lie ever since.

This recovery has been imperfect, a fraud.
Swollen truths to satisfy the concerned,
only myself left to fool.
I have found the early morning
but cannot reach a sober conclusion.

Redundant habits mildew my mind
with the backwater of yesterday,
familiar street names to mourn
those who became strangers,
the negative bias of my mind's eye.

I have been writing words of action
from the safety of my desk;
all that the desk-lamp can illuminate,
all of which words can make sense.

This half-lived recovery is bunk, irretrievable.
Working poverty and untied knots
are co-morbid in meaninglessness;
chains to hold me in Plato's Cave
whilst her skin freckles in the sun.

Disused and living outside of love,
morning curtains open to a sheet of light
that obliterates loneliness
in the presence of shared heat,
only for it to return again, come night.

Kris looked at the clock and knew he didn’t have time to mingle.
Because he was Santa Claus also known as Kris Kringle.
Why did he have to go to the office Christmas party?
It was time to get toys to kids, he did not want to be tardy.
Kris tried to argue with his boss, who was having none of it.
It was like the more he talked, the more his boss had a fit.
How could something be mandatory if we don’t have to go.
His boss said with a smile, You don’t have to be there, but you can’t say no.

So Kris found himself at the party, drinking punch and looking for a way out.
He was sure that with all the days he took off looking for toys, he lost his clout.
To make matters worse, someone suggested that there should be an afterparty later.
Another person yelled out in the office that he knew people who could cater.
I have to get out of here, Kris muttered, but his only experience was with chimneys.
There are cookies and milk waiting,  I can't get no more food in me.
So he decided to slip out, but his friend called out, Aww Kris you’re no fun.
Kris went to his car, and looked both ways before putting the keys in the ignition.
It transformed into a sleigh, and Kris Kriegle ripped off his suit.
Santa in all his glory, with the red everything  and the black boots.
As he left he shouted, No more Office Christmas parties! I mean **, **, **!
Because Santa is the giver to gifts to our children, not our office bro!

Ex-******* addict and traumatized people pleaser
Keep me high and keep me bound
No one knows who i am in secret
And yet my scars are displayed for all to see
Lines off my face years off my life
I don’t care anymore just take me
He’s mine and im his and i could say im happy
In life and death we’ll be intertwined
If soulmates are real i’d swear i can feel our string
I need you fully and completely
Love beyond time and reason
Beyond physical planes
Kiss me like a dream
Like the first time i hated myself
Feel me like Luci
Who’s gone forever
Will we last
You say we will
I don't care anymore just take me
End it at the afterparty

-



I’ve been accepted in a number of small-town organizations,
Constructed by some confetti-fetishists who craved nothing more than
To write their thoughts onto the underside of a bridge,
Abandoned due to incredible uprisings of what some would call faux water.

They’d told me,
Multiple times actually,
That I was bound to their ideals and morals forever;
That they’d essentially taken the parts of my brain that mattered
And the sections of my heart I knew couldn’t feel emotion but
Hoped dangerously that they, under suitable conditions, just might
And tossed them into a box
Snuck down to the river
Let it drift away as I slept alone.

I’ve been afraid to try new things, always afraid,
Always wandering about with a finger to the air and a
Paintbrush to mark where I‘ve been.

To think that they “saved me,”
Or “kept me from a suicidal afterparty” is now
Only a thought rather than action.

And now
Slowly, gently,
He lift a glass of dust to his mouth
Wondering who he used to be
As I watch myself from the corner.



-

We lie awake
at afterparty hours
with fragile hearts
that scream silently,
violently,
why do we feel alone?

Why do we feel alone
with so many of us here?
We carry a torch
in its fire our feelings flicker.
We pass it around
breathing the ember in.
We inhale the flames
And exhale dark ashes.

Each breath keeps it ignited
as we share this light inside us.
We feel it's familiar warmth
when we pass each other by.
It bonds and it heals us;
all walks of our lives together.

We lie awake
at any fragile hour
with open hearts
that scream loudly,
proudly,
we are not alone.

What is beyond death
When I don't believe in God
I know my body
Will be buried
Or burned away to nothing
And that's okay
But what happens to me
What happens to the person
Who loves with blue flames
Where does she go
When the sun sets
And all is quiet and calm
If there is a hell
I'm probably headed there
But I don't think
That there is
Perhaps I'll roam the universe
I can touch down on planets
And stars afar
Maybe I'll be reborn
If that's the case
Then end my term
Eternal life on earth
Seems like a chore
I don't want to live forever
I don't want to be here
When nations burn
I refuse to bear witness
To another century turn
And someday I will die
And I am so afraid
To let my conscience go
And fly into the void
Because deep down I know
What happens when we die
We are gone
Like smoke into the night
The thing that makes us human
Is furthest from physical
So when my body dies
My mind won't have
Anywhere to go
I don't want to be snuffed out
Like a burned down candle
And oh I know
That it won't be my choice
Maybe that's why
I've tried to end it all
I want to live
On my own terms
But the world
Has never been under my control
In a world where we die
So my only hope
Is that I can live my life
With the time I have left
But what's the point of living
When we all live to die

To hang with my crew, any day of the week, would leave 21yr old me, in the bathroom on his knees.
Wether we chill in the lot with a Rapper blowing trees, or moonlight the bar with lap dances and whiskey.

5am, 'In The Air', single mom feeling naughty
Next thing I knew, was at the afterparty.
Hooked up till dawn, but cant tell nobody.
Haven't shaved in a week, cant remember last sleep.
Ask me where I was and you'll never hear a peep.

Head home for an hour, change of clothes and a shower
Then back to work, cause the wicked get no rest
My tire explodes, Im on the side of the road,
and Im dressed to be sat at a desk.
Catch my breath screaming '****!', **** near hit by a truck,
as now rain pours down in my face.

Tore my shirt and late for work, *******! do I hate this place.
Now the hours feel like years, till I again have some beers and get back to where I feel like me.

6am in the bar, and just lit my cigar, and the bottle it seems is empty.
Lather, rinse and repeat, cause its only midweek
And this is how I know to mend.
What is my life? **** if I know, but a ShitShow you'd pay to attend.

Do any of you feel like you can't rely on anyone but yourself? My whole life has felt like that but tonight it's really hitting me.

It all started a few weeks ago when I asked this girl I liked to formal. It was quite a stretch considering the social boundaries that were already in place. I'm a senior and she is a junior and I had no connections to any of her volleyball friends. It may not seem like it but some girls need to feel like you are socially "accepted," and I was socially unknown.

When I asked her, she seemed really excited which made sense due to the energy and good vibes she would bring to conversations despite her extreme shyness (I seemed to do most of the talking). Then formal came around. Before we went to the dance, there was a pre-formal get-together at her friends house. We were there for about three hours before we left for the dance and it was a great opportunity for me to meet her friends and her social group. I made my date laugh many times and I truly felt like there was a deep emotional connection between us. I conveyed confidence and a sense of humor, but it was clear I was the odd man out.

As I'm driving her to the dance, we started talking and again and she gave off off many signs that she was into me. I'm usually pretty good at looking in to that kind of stuff and I felt something was there. Although when we got to the dance, things start getting pretty shady. We met up with her volleyball friends that were at the formal get-together but it became increasingly obvious at the time my date was either too shy to dance with me or she only wanted to be with her friends. After 30 minutes of awkwardly following her and her friends around without dancing with her, I decided to give her some space and proceeded to hang out with my friends for the majority of the night.

About an hour and a half after I left her, she found where I was and asked if I wanted to go to a party that was happening afterwards with her which led me to believe this was her trying to convey interest in me without putting herself out there. I agreed and we got in my car until about five minutes later when her friends insisted they couldn't go anymore, so she decided she wasn't going to go either (I can confirm that her friends weren't trying to get her out of hanging out with me and there was actually something that prevented them from going). So I dropped her off at her friend's car, still went to that same party, and called it a night.

The next morning I hit her up and told her I had a great night with her even though it was mostly *******, but I didn't want her to think I was mad for what actions took place (Ignoring me during the dance and ditching the party). Then Christmas break began and I was out of town for about a week and a half. While I was out of town, I decided the best way to get to know her and her friend group better was to throw a kickback since it became clear they rarely accepted new people into their group. Keep in mind that it's not just me and all of her girlfriends. One of my guy friends who is almost dating my formal date's best friend has gone to all of the events with me (pre-formal, the dance, the afterparty), and he was my only guy friend throughout this whole process.

Finally the day comes, I send them the address and then I get the dreadful question, "Who else is coming?" Side note: people who ask this question can honestly ******* because pretty much what they're saying is "is there anyone else coming that would make it worth going to?" Anyway, I told my date that it was just going to be my friend Nick (the guy that I mentioned earlier), her, and her other two close friends which she replied "that's it?" with no emojis. I proceeded to tell her yes and that I'm just keeping it small. I was left on open, but still assumed she and her friends were going to come.

I set the kickback to start at 8:00 PM until I get a text from her around 7:45 PM saying that she was sorry but neither her or any of her friends could make it. As for my one guy friend and the friends he was inviting, he said he was going to come but never bothered to actually show up. Fed up and frustrated, I decided to invite all of my friends that were in town to come to my house where we can all get ****** up. After anxiously waiting for an hour and a half, my friends started to show up and at the peak, around 7 people showed up which was actually pretty good considering it was Winter break and most of my friends were out of town. I snapchatted the whole thing and made it look really hype without looking like a tryhard and put it on my story to let the ******* that ditched me know that I could invite other people right on the spot and they would still manage to come through.

It was a great night and I was glad there were people that I could rely on once in my life, especially since my whole life I never found anyone I could rely on. It made me realize how cliquey high school is and how unwelcoming most people are to letting others join their friend group. No matter how good of an impression you make, certain people will still push you away if you don't meet their social standards. Anyway, I hope all of you guys have a nice rest of your day. Thank you for reading this.

With lulled fireside chats,
we smoked spliffs to the lyrics they inspire.
We collaborated on canvasses,
filling blank spaces
with Purple.
Neurons in one intoxicating drip of paint,
we adhere to a generally powder-free
prowess to party.

Rage.
Get what you want.
All night.
Making sure that
if we sleep,
our shoes
are off.

The first time for one of us
the three of us
lay trapped in the meeting of lady's lips.
Not getting off
but getting close
to a pair of sculpted and slim homosapians
who put on
and take off
with the fall
of just the right words.

And just the right silence.

As the moonlight fades, I rise to roam now
sticky floors that bore the footsteps
of Tasmanian Devils and "Diablo",
only to find that testosterone
has forced fists
into walls.

was she ever even mine..

Don't try to hold me
and turn off the lights I'm too hungover
I'll eat guacamole in the morning

I met him in the night.
    A Gayborhood local
     told me he was from Venezuela, but didn’t have to,
           his accent, so beautiful with its deep grit and softness,
                               twang and lisp.
                               I already knew,           he didn’t have to tell me.

             He bought me drinks, and watched
                             me             and only me,
                as I bit from the fruit of his garden.
              
             He invited me to an afterparty,   I didn’t know
   him, but we went     through alleys,
         dampened by the heat of bodies
      melding to the brick walls, glistening
                            in the streetlights and nightlife. Unknown lips
                          pressed and held, to stay,            not to
                         part. It was
        beautiful.
          
             Within the alley was
        our destination: underground. It was
                a luscious venue, crowded, exuberant and whimsy.
    Velvet covered the walls, and he brought me more drinks.
                                      I finished them all.
                    

                                                               I remember
locking lips with a stranger, and how
         it hurt.

                                       He was warm and sweaty, and
         smelled of Burberry and whiskey,
                                    his stubble left
               my face burning.

                            He grabbed my hand, and led me to
                         the bathroom, then I woke up
                             in his bed.
      
      
             I remembered
                            his husband’s name, and that
                                            he lived in Caracas, that
                  we had ***, and took
                           a shower together, that
                            his mother, dying from leukemia,
                                               slept upstairs, unknowing.
        


                                            ­               I wept
in a stranger’s arms,
   cradled by their tiny physique.
         I wept
              for our beloveds.

I’ll stay for the afterparty of our conversations, but I know your party is for one.

Eternal
Crush my tree
Fantasy
Will you marry me
Or just kiss me?

In love every time
Doesn't grow old
Been all this time

Everytime
A surprise
I'm scared to look into her eyes
Are you there?

Friends for life
The way she cares
Her eyes, nature, body and hair
It's all there

Look at the sky
She said that morning of the afterparty
God made the skies, said the song
To reach for
It could be freedom,
but she is cute too

Eternal
Crush my tree
Fantasy
Will you marry me
Or just kiss me?

desar

dear god dearest god
am i cluching: clutching the idea:

a TikTok short
just how i like it:
eyes eflamae: aflame...
darting witnesses:

shame that i only have
one shadow
only one shadow
i should have at least four!
one angel one demon
and two genuine(s):
in the plural sense
language can disintegrate:
i can imitate god
prodding anti-gravity
in the black sun

Lucy Lucie Loo

     Lucy Lucie i.e. loo
emit Romulus
Remus
Azure: or rather:

opposite of acute diacrtic(al)
diacritical:
that's not to say: a critique of
reason or unwind
the purity of the races
and beer
i designated to the Deutsche sprechen

allure i know
darkness a beacon like no other
but better no
citadel of the homicide
that if you think
you can't learn anything
from the ****: membrane:
evil, purest...
only access through the elites
that
now
no longer know
when the man with the leash
came to tame the dogs
of human concerns:

loudest mouths
but still not the moths auto
taming themselves to
suicide by "blinking"
or head-butting against
nothing: nothing... exactly flourescent...
****: misspelled that too
again
and again and again...

yellow teeth
pink sclera: i didn't! misspell that
just now!

Alexandre Cabanel or:
VON STUCK!
hmm: immersive "literature":
my last will and testament
to some Peter and some Paul
the ***** work cousin Jesus
begat the Ottoman mania
after BYzantium
like no one saw Islam coming?
like!

ha ha ha!
ah ha ha!
no one saw Islam coming
and then the terrible thing
happened and human reality
burst open and
the insatiable: the one truth:
schismatic contamination
i gather: only one schism in Islam
and that's a pivot of pride
almost devilish like
my character

but if i'm not an evil man
and still evil KARMA befalls me:
then i can do one better and
just be: a MORBID: ARTIST...

yes: poetry is not journalism is more
than journalism
i'm sampling the times
what with God the generator of space
then Man the generator of time
or at least what's relevant
the relative ant said to the unrelative
ant something about an Aunt of the Mount...

pink sclera in the brain shot dead
on a pinpoint crux
like torture is the site of seeing
many enviable paths to take
like becoming a preacher of misery...
anti-biological
to say the strong don't take care
of the weak
but perhaps: i need to fly away from
serpentine metaphors
and go into shadow and:
clues akin to O and rings of fated
deflation of will:

so un-free this binding contract
to the communicative-articulate:
hyphen compounding like
a good translation of French thinking:

mind you i couldn't read Knausgaard in
English could only find a palette for
him in Polish...
so that tells you a lot...

but working with these four English
natives
is so was so so
so: surreal?
William IV was at the gig
took my Swiftie away
William IV was at the Friday gig
took my Swiftie away

funny working with the Born and Bred
British Somali Sur Sur
(no surf)
such a lovely face i kinda wanta **** 'im
don't mind if i do those sparkly
eyes
but the personality like a hellish
*******: comma comma comma      (,,,)

variations on the KKK ***** whipped
by Hugo Boss uniforms for the SS-mensch...
because how did or didn't they
perform an orchestrated genocide
rather than like the Mongols turned everything
into ash:
like mountains of skulls
and the burnt pages of the Baghdad Library
just like the Christians and the Library
of Alexandria
same ****: different cover
a ratio:

better to reign in hell: than to serve in heaven:
same ****: different cover (ratio)
and in that line of thought:

ratios are better than percentages
and definitely better than approximates
and decimals:
i love ratios: they are dualistic
in that you can JUDGE
and judging is above knowing
it's ultra-knowing
i'd rather judge than be wise
wise is a shorter variation of CUNNING...

i have seen wisdom become cunning
and it has an ugly face:
i have an ugly face: period
because Beelzebub Bob took an *******
dump in my face and plagued
me with his spawn of maggot acne...
ooh well... oh...

i'm not a loud mouth anti-racist:
i'm just NOT a racist:
but i don't hide my racism behind
anti-racism like the currency
of policy maker loud mouths
but it was just weird working with Brighton:
four natives

SHAUN
DAN
SUGAR RAY
and...
one ******* Irish rooted bastawd!
MACAULAY: obviously chandelier
shambles and shanders and shandy:
proper Aussie brew:

but **** me if i get some Raj and ****
on my team
or: is it just me
that i can work with former Nigerians
now Brits and a West Indie
with a name like: surd N? Nkoyo...
N'
   ah! apostrophe N like precursing
the KOYU... not KOYO then?
sounds better with a U at the end:
sputnik U For ogling:

now: that's wrong! wonky!
it doesn't have a feel of containing the sound
that spelling doesn't: ogling:
i'm not: google! oh ****! google is not AI
therefore m'eh...
but it should definitely be
anti ogling: i.e. oogling or ooggling

PETITION! OXFORD! CAMBRIDGE!
i know there is a summer furor gripping
Europe right now
hot summer
war and "war" in Ukraine
or rather if Islamophobia is so surreal
why the super-real Russophobia?!
don't get it:
it's not like Russians are terrorist
minor Pakis etc
i don't get it...
so Islamophobia is unreasonable
while... Russophobia: suddenly is?!

i think i'm concerned with an intelligent
ethnicity: a people
who cares about Western idealization of
a Greek thought: namely democracy
the weak have the votes
someone strong enough has to fend
for themselves: in this pit of snakes and
landmines: snails secured by
that goo glue of a sloth's death...

but so unreal: we did our job:
the five of us at Turnstile Alpha
the queue was dispersed in minutes
then i: couldn't keep a leash on these guys
me and Elder Sugar, Ray: tried
but then i know how the security
workforce looks like: hierarchical etc
and for all the anti-racism
spoken of
when it comes to hierarchies
an ants
but since dinosaurs became birds
there was no actual extinction
given the other lizards
so i guess given the dwarf insects
there must have been a society
of exoskeleton folk
that: with talking mushrooms
hijacked bodies
and became extinct too
     but left the air with moisture
and enough oxygen for us to survive
since who are we to know
that dinosaurs existed but we did
paint dragons
and the meteor explanation
more like the moon nudging earth
to unleash the seas
who is to say nothing of this sort happened
what compass
is there: direction NEWS
within the confines of time?

time is a human "thing": not a construct...
itemizing and scrutinizing and
allocating bookshelves
time is alien to god as concept or
even practicality:
god has no knowledge of time
but man has
i can slow down time i can disintegrate time
by smoking a zoot
a heavily laden tobacco joint
with just a sprinkle of marijuana
and i'm playing god not out of pride
but out of fear: god's Sabbath is any day
when my worded prowess exfoliates
and my imaginary non-imaginary: but binary
blah blah whiffs of a secret wind
come back to haunt / motivate me...

but i wouldn't get away with what i did
walking out of the concourse on level 5
for a cigarette break
if i were supervising two black guys
and two Asians...
i figured: but i know the upper escalons
of this hierarchy
of CCTV are manned by white guys
and they only dish out supervisory
roles to minorities on the sly to
appear more inclusive
but then that brews up burps and tightknitknots
of miscommunication
i wouldn't have: have:       oh that word!

i was looking for the grave on A and an acute
on an E
to dislodge Adam and Eve(n):  

    À                 :                   É

      king: crown:

           caron (later):         Æ    (first)

poetry is not rhyme nor rhythm it is
anti-coherency anti-philosophy
it's thinking: airy-fairy: dust for an eye
one eye to peer into
the land of the dead
and the energy associated there
with investing in memory
off of the living toward
the dead
energized to be dead but alive
in the talking mushroom universe solipsism

weird working with the natives
weird as ****
i was not expecting
but Dan the Ginger Nut ended up being
more than a female
he had about 20 friendship bracelets
by the end of the shift
he was the dutiful soldier
about time: no war
he was the female in our little nugget
of crowd awareness: this is Wembley
and this is a Taylor Swift gig:
this is not Auschwitz and this is not
genocide
but we're still herding people
through turnstiles:
so it's kinda handy to have the back of
the mind rummaging through
the hells of SS-Mensch... black clad:
skull: Hugo Boss black: black uniform:

oh i can take this route if i so please
i can choose this route if so i please:
and i like to please myself
cognitive
before i **** poor Edie's brains out
and flick my magic wand of a finger
to make her ******
what's missing is her fascination
with squirting:
we already covered her swallowing
my monkey juice
oddly enough...
she's the first woman to know
that i speak in my sleep
and that i'm lactose intolerant

funny that she has a brain of mine
for a child that i want to unravel
which also means:
as a man: surrogating
the ancient habit of what beget
the Roman Empire
to be a dad surrogate
implies that i do not have
a diminished testosterone levels
of the: vitamin mineral *******:
i mean the HORMONE:

you can get mineral and vitamin
supplements:
but hormone supplements?
unheard of!
hormonal blockers sure
but hormonal supplements?
best bet is to have a kid without
actually having a kid:
i'd prefer a boy but i was given
a girl and
that's almost Tom: BOY_YEW...

that floating thingymagig :dzdz
dzi dzi: baba: FANTA:
          
                ding ****: can i come along?
seems like somewhat of an afterparty
and i could have at least
one apprehensive gesture of: THAT look
for what i am THAT am: without i
might imply...

         ignorant fool to think: maybe forgetting
the Hebrews would be best
who who knows:
they've been trying and tried
and tested
been spewing geniuses left right
and no centre
beside the Israelis now:
not descended from the Hebrews or the Yids
of Germany
that instigated: well:
the slaughterhouse of Polish Jewry...
and there is a distinction
between the Jews of Germany and the Jews
of Poland:
and... well... d'uh?!
need i to spell it out: Wiemar?!

the Jews of Poland were not the Jews of Germany
and it almost seems like
no one is going to own up to
to Treaty of Versailles
and Wiemar hedonism and all the wonky
***
like this *** is bad it's leaving
me with a distaste: a negation of taste:
etiquette: fashion... sensitivity to sensibility of:
sense:

         two gay guys riddling *** on the train:
nudge nudge:
kiss kiss: innuendo: shy...
two: ******* LESBIANS on the train:
shy? god no!
just looking for a walking talking *****!
out straight open ***
in your face...
kissing and fondling
just shy of ******* each other
just shy of ******* each other!
but all the rest is there:
i was there:
but not the bedroom...
but Sappho contra Sapphos
is me in the mix too...

at least two gay guys can make
the whole public show of private
affection: tasty...
lesbians just create a horrifying
three:
one on two sexed up dynamic of THIRST:
babes...
i'm not thirsty...
i did a little flick of the finger in
my prized ***** possession and
i was ready to summon the meteors
for a Chinese New Year...

clearly there are ways to organise
people:
but democracy does: not...
organize: people:
democracy dictates individuation
but to what: extreme is that even satisfying
if given: to the wrong people?
to: everyone: is the wrong sort of people:
everyone is the wrong sort of people:
because it ends up a struggle
to find anyone in everyone
in:                                         someone....

well if we're going to have
a ****** revolution in pedagogy with
everyone minding their ***** pronouns
then who is to suffocate
the prepositions and conjunctions
from anything but TRANS= affix-ation:
label: LA'BEL...
the beauty:

                         capital compounds: TRANS=FIX
     lowercase: hyphen            i.e.         trans-fix:

and i know that transfixed is a non-hyphenated
word that has been given the Ocford seal of approval:
so m'eh...

summoning benevolent
deeds
while invoking the letter(s): Š,
    Č, я                     ю
           ч                                ц
ш                            щ
                                               ц         п

zh         zh                   cz sz sh ch yhwh

    etc                                etc. not: ж:

                                                                     ž ≠ ź) ż