some smells
make you retch
a rotten egg
for instance

Modern athletes, strong and buff,
These days are tested soon and late
just to prove their skill and strength
are free of anabolic taint.

Ryan Braun, the M.V.P.
was tested thus occasionally.
He didn't seem the type to me
to boost his skills unnaturally.

Thus imagine my surprise
to learn the ***** he supplied
contained synthetic Testosterone
Brewer fans emitted groans.

Now it seems he's off scot free
based on a technicality.
He will not have to serve the ban
imposed on many a lesser man.

Opening day, reserve the date;
Braun will be there at the plate
His many fans will come to see
Ryan Braun, the M.V. ***.

[Ready?]
Yes but I really don’t approve of your obvious use of anabolic steroids. It’s an amoral and cowardly shortcut. And don’t even get me started on the innumerable adverse effects. Don’t even get me started.
[Can you keep up ?]
Of course but can we talk? Can we talk? The size and shape of your head is comical who do you think you’re kidding? You have, by far, the roundest head I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but imagine you as an obtuse High School English professor who doesn’t understand the source of his students’ laughter but really, it’s because you gave me a C on an essay because you say I had a “circular” argument. Or as an equally clueless physics professor generating chuckles left and right in response to your lecture on “spherical” whatsits in a vacuum.
[Are you tired?]
No, we’re not done yet—Am I right? Am I right? Look at you. If God ever were to create guns or pumps or pecs of that size, it would only be by way of some syntax error.
[How about now?]
No, let me finish—Who are you trying to impress? Masculinity most certainly isn’t the word to use. I’d say monstrosity. Who do you think is or would be attracted to a walking, talking industrial sized freezer. If a woman needs protection, she’ll find a guard dog of necessary ferocity. Or maybe, she’ll cultivate some kind of relationship with you and find comfort in the fact that if she ever upsets you, you could break the ***** in half without the slightest hitch.
[……]
I don’t even want to know the state of the pinpricks you at one point called your testicles
[……]
I wouldn’t even say it’s proper to call you “Mr. Universe”. You’re big, but you’re not that big. I’m more inclined to call you “Mr. Pampered and Pumped up New England”. I cannot comfortably call you Mr. Universe because I’m not comfortable having you represent my universe. The “Mr.” signals the “Master”. That’s just appalling. And what is with the spray tan? What is the true pasty picture of Mr. Universe throughout the winter months?  If someone ever has a question for the Master of the universe, I’ll be sure to tell them to direct their questions to the beefed up and bloated tangerine to my left.
[……]
……
[……]
Are we done?
[No]
How far have we gone?
[Nowhere]
What?
[You have gone too far, but we haven’t even walked out the door. Once you’re finished running your mouth, we can work on getting your fat, saggy *** into shape.]

y speaking breath
                       l                                take
                 p                          timidly
              e                                   (yearning sweltering swelling fire
          e                                                          and cut languidly
       t                                                                    the shape of subtle
   s                                                          carnal clangor;into the passive
                                                                 mound of my coffee hard
                                                                      embolism) an anabolic
                                                                    shriveling eruptioning
                                                                 testosterone fountain


                                                   i,m not my own. at this quivering
                                             plussing of my heady gobble
                                                            i,m
                                                      only stone softly
                                                  ungently
                                                                  an engine
                                                           of pure
                                                        *****
                                                                     pumping

By: Cedric McClester

We saw it burn
Now I’m concerned
With what can be learned
Before we return
To what we know
The status quo
With nothing to show
Can someone say whoa!

Let’s tear a small page
From the outrage
When kids are engaged
They don’t usually stage
The kind of destruction
That leads to reduction
In the production
Of new construction

Out of the fallen ashes
From our past clashes
Let’s find what surpasses
Ignoring the masses
Why can’t we fill the void
Like an anabolic steroid
For the underemployed
Whom we usually avoid

Subtract the crime
Which I can’t cosign
From the paradigm
Don’t let it define
The legitimacy
Or what well might be
The urgency of now
Which is key anyhow


© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.

title: scandal tilt
body: porous: per & marie 2019:
simultaneously: preserved...

wow!

on my way back from a shift at Craven Cottage... walked through the park with great haste, sweat like a pig prior to slaughter when sitting down on the District Line from Putney Bridge to Victoria... still wearing my jacket... upon disembarking the train, took the jacket off... breathed... allowed my sweaty back to breathe, took off my clip-on tie, undid about three button from the collar down... well... i've been told before that i'm as hairy as a monkey... hairy face, hairy chest, hairy stomach... a Turkish ******* would never mind... we only travelled two stops from Victoria through to Oxford Circus... i have to write the following word in katakana... what... a *******... スカ - SUKA... *****... a female-dog... what's the ideogram of that katakana? no... it's not that simple... SUKA... thank god i was wearing my sunglasses... the Thames bore these two holes for my eyes with the glimmer of the sun being reflected come sunset... i asked my co-worker: Putney Bridge is not the last bridge of... the first bridge of London? he mentioned: isn't there one at Hammersmith? isn't there one at Richmond: i replied? favourite bridge? oh... you that film: from the 1990s... Sliding Doors... the Battersea Bridge? no no... not the Battersea Bridge... that white one, with all those Christmas Lights... it's the Albert Bridge... sure... we know the last Bridge of London is the Tower Bridge... but what bridges are there after Putney?! oh... we're not going into Oxfordshire or... Kingston-upon-Thames... **** that... London, proper... **** me... the map on google reads like some Arabic text: right to left... weird... what comes after Putney... see... when i was living in Edinburgh... at least i knew my bearings... there it was... the shining emblem of the compass... the Firth of Forth... down in London? it's a ******* Bermuda triangle! the ****** just spins and spins... people come from all other i'm like: yeah... "that"... that's not supposed to be there but... "there"...  clueless... sure as ****... after Putney Bridge you get the Hammersmith Bridge... then the Chiswick Bridge... then the Kew Bridge... then the Twickenham Bridge... that's the last proper bridge on the map... London will forever be too disorientating... at least Edinburgh is facing north... London isn't facing any direction on the compass... it just... spins out of control... so i got on the Victoria line at Victoria... two *******... one looking somewhat tame... the other... ooh... what a treat... we were only going as far as Oxford Circus... red hair... some of her's some fake... tattoos on her hands and fingers... she looked like she had piercing in her cheeks in the past... just my type: crazy... unhinged... daddy issues: whatever... and i''m standing there, tired... dead-beat... i just want to get home and drink some whiskey and scribble... about my triumph while helping a few boys sell cookies and brownies for charity by changing around their stall arrangement... because i wasn't put into the stadium to shove a lot of lard around... i'm peering through my sunglasses... oh... wait... she's digging me... oh right... she's one of those girls into the Scandinavian look? oh god, one of these ones... only hours prior i was talking to this Finnish grandfather about sports in general... i'm giving off these whiffs of Viking "beauty"... **** me: and i know what i'm goign to say next: that sort of physiognomy always attracts the happy-tattooed-hands and fingers red hair types of *******... right? where they **** is my ******* Mohawk then?! where the **** are my tattoos... i mean... i've seen dogs with eyes like these... eagerly brown and blooming with joy... any other scenario... we got off at Oxford Circus... i waited a little... she just about ****** off down the North Bakerloo route... i spotted her... obviously... she tried to give a shy glance back: would i follow her... ask her for her number... she had the most amazing: inquisitive eyes... i know... she wanted me to approach her... one of those... magical movie scenes... two strangers on the tube... blah blah... if work didn't **** me off... if i didn't have to make up for it on my own crowds from something within like: self-initiative... just my-******-up-type... no... i went down the Central Line route... travelled to Stratford... got the train to Goodmayes... bought a bottle of 200cl of brandy... some pepsi... some cigarettes... and walked past Chadwell Heath... thinking... about absolutely nothing... well... the "one that god away"... sure... it's not even whether i have the patience... i obviously have the charm... but i know how the conversation would have started and ended... so... you still don't live alone? you don't have a place for me to crash... bring all my belongings to? guess... what... what she said with her eyes... perfect! what she would later say with her tongue? no, i don't want to hear it... beccause i'd be her stereotypical loser... so... why... ******* bother? with those eyes of hers i also received: twice-more with the eyes of the boys i helped to collect more money from selling charity cookies in the park... oh **** me: more! because it was selfless! there was no ******-friction involved!  sure, i could try to rekindle my self (in the reflective, not the reflexive: myself... sense... no... that's long gone... i've aged, i've learned some pretty good lessons of reserve) with a teenage boy i used to be, who would fall asleep listening to Roxette... fading like a flower, watercolours in the rain, blah blah... but this... what's that film? Happiness of a Spotless Mind? Jim Carrey... crazy free spirited girl with red or purple or blue hair... sure... and if, myself, didn't go mad aged 21... entering a church... hearing a choir and then hear a great wind disperse the singing... sure... right now... aged 35... i'd be a proper career-boy... not caring about the lesser people in me... status-orientated... i would easily pick-up these wacko girls left right and centre... and give them a month's worth of... living out the Pretty Woman fantasy... no.. instead i have a personal library in my ivory tower of a bedroom in my parent's house filled with Heidegger's black notebooks... oh man... but this one... she had prettier eyes than an Alsatian's... she gave off whiffs of surprise... could she love me, like i am? torn? perhaps... i forgot to make a reality-check-cheque in my head... better this fleeting interaction... she... infatuated: me indifferent... at least in the moment... obviously now i think about it... sure... some, "alternative" universe... where... we might live an affordable living in... the ******* Shetland Islands caretaking a lighthouse! but my life hasn't been all that predictable to find more unpredictability all of a sudden... some exercise in a vitality for / of life... i just need little pockets of being acknowledged by the other as being recipient of existence... that usually comes along with children and handicapped people... or animals... these three categories always spot me... if i were ******* rising in the hierarchy of the truly insane-sane folk... i'd have to be as mad as a poodle-or-a-toddler's-worth-of-Mozart! ****'s sake... no no no... i'm not buying that trip! **** that... i'm going my own way... to a place where the moon is a skull in the coldness of the night, and come April... there is a whiff of a Magnolia scent in the air! i call it trans-temporal pairing to some cue to a clue to this puzzle... but this one... my god... eyes like a properly bred Alsatian... so endearingly brown... she looked like a teenage girl for a second's worth of flash of time... she just looked so ****** up... like a puzzle box... and with all that make-up she slapped up... Madam Tussauds' replicas saw less... what's the retrospect? i? i'm scared of reality? last time i heard: i've been the one most detached from it... why would i be afraid of reattaching myself to it? the only reality i find comforting is... when i'm surrounded by children, retards or animals... i consider plants as inanimate objects, so no... other thoughts... mother's arthritis... a father coming to the conclusion of this career... nearing retirement... their mortality... my mortality... cinema movie love stories are sort of gone... reality doubles-down... no one was truly with me when i needed help... ergo? i helped myself the best i could... and... i don't need loved-up pretend hitch-hickers... how authentic it might seem... at least when i visit a brothel... no ******* is going to say: oh... another loser... how are losers treated in those Japanese love-hotels because of over-crowding, no-house-building "claustrophobia"?

on my way back from a shift at Craven Cottage...
tired... left the house at quarter to 9am...
came back.. at 8:30pm...
and did what? only a 6 hour shift... got paid...
hmm... good idea... i don't even know...
capitalism... whoever defends it ought to know
that there are rogue companies out there...
the current company i'm working for...
i'm supposedly an employee...
   but... they have... since November of last year...
yet to issue me with a statement to clarify
how many hours i've worked and what i'm to be paid...
they just... transfer money into my bank account:
without any: black on white clarification...
i've already heard stories about the owner and co-owner...
how they profited from the pandemic...
little pawn me... a year... i just need a year...
to get those references... even today i started talking
to this guy about joining another company...
at least that company has an online rubric in place:
where you can book in electronically
rather than rely on some bogus whatsapp messaging...
******* cowboys... meat-heads... the whole lot
of them... no logistical sensibility...
but i've done it since November... i'll wait...
i'm patience... i'll play nice... but today...
oh today was coming... they're behaving like it's
a ******* schoolyard... i'm being punished for having
mentioned already having a university education:
oh god! and a degree in chemistry!
some are studying pretend-law... or whatever *******...
or they have known each other for a bit longer...
or that i'm not talkative: professional... while they
stab each other in the back... or...
i fancy this one girl who started work...
rumours spread that a supervisor is ******* her...
but i approach her with flowers on Valentine's day...
she gets fired... i get sidelined...
          oh i know my place... it's a place that's
called the waiting game...
         but today i was *******... less capable people
were put into positions within the stadium...
me? again: to the ******* park with you...
some might say: oh... he's ben given the easy shift...
yeah... the ****** shift...
   i made due counters... i had to...
by the end of the game a ginger colt that was
ejected during the game... drunk... had nothing better
to do than to sleep in the park... i tended to him...
woke him up... waited with him for his friends to rejoin
him... so half-asleep... i comforted him with:
you team (Coventry) beat Fulham 3 - 1... happy?
he replied... why do all the best games happen when
i'm asleep? well... this must have been the first
in a park in London... you're lucky it was a gorgeous day...
but my pinnacle came when i helped these boys
who were selling homemade bakes for charity...
NSPCC... £1 a pop... but they weren't selling them...
because they position their stall right behind a tree...
so i walked up to them... listen...
you're not going to sell them... you're hiding behind
a tree... here... let's move this stall of yours...
away from the tree... and closer to the route of leaving
fans... and let's also twist the table a little so...
your BAKED-GOODS for CHARITY is facing
the people walking out of the stadium...
    i finished my shift... would you know it...
             from about 30 unsold pieces of dough...
the boys had only 2 left...
           and how they thanked me...
   fine... FINE... if this steward contra SIA hierarchy
is in place... ******* wanks...
i'll do a better job elsewhere... pacifying people...
after all... all those with those SIA badges... licenses...
oh... they know **** all of judo...
they just rush overpower: art of ****...
   first comes the art of reason...
much much later comes any physical interference...
but i'm working with half-wits...
  just because some are bulging... have a voiced-prowess...
gorilla-mating-call-warfare i call it...
they think they have a license to: attend to doors
they build up this superiority-complex...
which is great... i might therefore ask:
not that i have a PhD... but... if you're going to belittle me...
do you have a degree in chemistry?
just today... i picked up a high-viz. orange...
later it was changed to black... i picked up one with
the word: supervisor on it... because it fitted me:
2XL... oh no no... one of the other pawns inquired...
you can't wear that... but it's black...
i was told to change from orange to black...
but this one has the word: SUPERVISOR written on
it... my god... how people have learned to overvalue
themselves... or rather: how have become become
undervalued that they have to have these little battles...
the war is already lost...
whatever ******* Einstein figured this one out...
so at the end of the shift we're about to stand down...
me and my "mate" are park 3... we're looking for park 2...
right... and we're all wearing black vests... black trousers...
black coats... the crowd that's leaving?
well... you know how the English dress...
hardly in the United Colours of Benetton...
or the old way that GAP used to attire people: colourfully...
so... i'm looking for a black moth
among a cloud of dark grey moths... great!
******* genius! like i said:
i'm working with ******* meat-heads...
i'd like to say retards but they are too bulky and too angry
and too ready to stance themselves as BIG
rather than arm themselves with cunning...
o.k. o.k. work... but i got the upper hand...
i helped those boys sell those cookies... cakes... whatever...
out of their stash... we just moved the table away
from the tree... shifted it so the sign was more apparent
and... hey presto! NSPCC got its fair share...
and... my reward? the sweetest thank you any man
can receive... the outstanding look on a young boys face
that a stranger is capable of helping (him)...
that's ******* priceless... i'm writing about all those
petty squabble prior... but... that thank you:
that look of longing for hope in the future...
that's mine... i own that... or that tenderness of
the drunk boy who was sleeping in the park
waiting for the game to finish... while i gentle touched
his leg to wake him up... that too...
i don't need physical confrontation when i can:
appease... comfort... all those adrenaline junkies...
those... amphetamine-anabolic-steroid: former prison
guard types... whatever...
i know one decent move that could floor anyone...
you make a cross with your thumbs... while pretending
to pray... with these hands... you grip someone
by the knuckles... pressing the thumbs into the hand...
and twist... i forgot martial art i learned that from...
i left the classes after i was kicked in the *****...
and curled into a foetal position: after i refused to:
shout HA-YA! when pretending to punch and throwing
kicks while marching forward...
****** lessons in martial arts... getting kicked in the *****...
but... i write this... like...
like i will never go to the gym and pump weights...
just give me 2 hours on a bicycle...
doing some press-ups...
and once the shift it gone... having being paired
with this "mate" of mine:
he'll reply: it was nice working with you...
and you sort of know it's almost...
when he tries to sell you an alternative
job to the current you're working at...
because... it's "CAPITALISM":
   i too heard... didn't you hear?
if you have the right sort of a microphone...
and you put it up to a dog's *******
when the dog's running...
you can... hear... ******* the tune of:
jingle-bells!
didn't you know?!
   esp. that version from Lethal Weapon...
      one ****, count one two...
two's a ****'s worth... three and four and by five:
grr... what's not to love about
life and all the arguments for the status quo
of all those people that always go ahead
and gear up the tide of: away away we go:
leaving the rest of the idiots behind...
           tear-jerking psychologists with an audience
of soft-cookie:
those types that ought to be hard-on
digestives... instead... they get dunked into tea...
i burp... what... a cushion my crap and crab
on the inside out...
rather than harden it with the exoskeleton
of the outside in...
            little ******* London adventure of... perhaps
Romance... but... most probably:
probably not.

i mean: you know how the joke goes?
when you diagnose someone as having lost touch
with reality?
and then... too many people have lost touch with reality?
the supposed loss of reality of the individual...
transpires like a phantom: clout...
why were people supposing that, "i" became detached
from reality?! huh?! why are these people
wearing pseudo-niqab nappies on their faces
when almost pretending to be: trainspotting?!
huh?!
           i'm schizophrenic... what about all these...
covert... hidden... undiagnosed hyperchondriacs?
i thought i was just a bilingual...
oh... right... the mono-lingual normies of England...
sure... "we" can follow-up with that...
"you" try to destroy "me"...
"we'll" come after "you":
gender neutral? one's a ROYAL:
one and we...
                anything to: bypass the ******* rap!
investment from years... years ago...
always invest in children...
you never know when they'll come around to
protect you against the elders
or... more importantly...
your contemporaries...
                always invest in children...
         their presence is a future forward:
kinder:
      immer invertieren im kinder...
   ihr(e) gegenwart ist ein zukunft: ein fließen!
i'm guessing...
unlike in Deutsche...
a(n) apple... savvy?

           i truly wish... i truly... want to believe
beyond the told ties of the heart to:
all the discomforts of reality checks...
that i could possibly come to the splendours of
illusion on a whim:
and keep such whims within the confines
of illusion... without having to have to reality
check them back with...
items of "reciprocated" gratitude...
for the "good life"... oh what a sweet little whisper...
and... if i were a painter...
what a Francis Bacon horror i would possibly
conjure with the aid of cubism...
such trivial times are beyond us...
dog have eyes and the levelled certainty as such...
women just have the spontaneity...
there's no Bonaparte behind them...
no suicide quest for Moscow... no... chains and harship...
believe whatever psychologists you want...
pop, piquant... whatever... piquant: i.e. niche...
whatever... no one helped me through my 20s...
now in my mid 30s...
i've finally reached a pinnacle of being attractive...
during transit... but i know it's all a veneer...
behind my visage there ought to be some
******* miraculous story where...
i'd probably invite her back to my flat...
where i live alone... blah blah...
                i own too many books...
   i prefer the safety net of prostitutes...
at least they love me for the way i **** them...
with the intensity of the moment...
i posit: carpe diem... and make an hour last
a certainty... i don't need this *******'s worth
of timid courtship... no thank you...
i waited long enough... i waited too long...
no more...
              i'm done... i'm going to brush my "Greek" nose
up a little more... with arrogance and say...
when i needed you? you weren't there...
now... that you might, perhaps want me?
no... i don't need you...
           you know what i really need?
strangers! i need to interact with as many people
as possible! i can't be bothered with living a life
for some... exclusive relationship!
i need... the most inclusive: selfless relationship!
a... motto akin to:
liebe für das volk!
               if not in Deutsche... then in Latin?

AMOR ENIM POPULUS!

who else? who else can one love?
if one has been denied the excusive rights to love a woman
in one's youth?
as one ages... being denied such a right?
one can only grow to abound in loving:
the people! how else is one to survive?
   what? the same old: "missing"... "mythological":
"exclusive": female?
learn from Adolf ******! LIEBE DAS VOLK!
                  you haven't been given exclusive rights
to counterpart individual...
and... to be honest... inclusivity is stressed by both
status of wife / bus-driver in terms of how
universality is to be expressed on the ground:
all are to be treated equally...
alles ar zu sein behandelt gleichermaßen,
id est: gott! mit! uns!

             i have no one to love... i truly do, not,
so why... keep myself deluded in some...
waiting game of exclusivity?!
   why not freely pass into a medium of selfless
inclusivity?! why... not love: as freely...
and as painfully... as a sparrow might...
the dawn of spring... and the midnight or some:
forgotten hour(s): to come...
    i'm too old to find exclusive love...
to pair-bond... i'm too old... i know the frosty bite
of reality... but at least i can love inclusively...
like a Jesus Christ... like an Adolf ******...
what?! they're... that ******* far apart?! i don't...
*******... ****-ing... think so...
       i'm more comfortable with inclusive love-affairs
where i can be forever pillar... cold...
less-spoken that could be expected...
    my 20s... i never had them...
                    my 30s just about returned...
and now i'm interacting with people in their 40s
and 50s... and all i have in my mind is...
a cat... in musketeer type of boots...
kicking a rat into a sewer... why?
because... that's seems... just about... GERECHT!

Xenobiotic anabolic apomixes.  The apropos in the avant-garde of eclectic synectics.  Exogamies of incorporeity ideology.  Extenuatingly exacerbating extemporaneous.  Accidence ambience acoustics articulation attenuation actuator arbitrage.  Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigence exodus.  Aorist ; spatiotemporal telemetry tactician logistical stratagems.  Executant emulation embark embargo extradition.  Tour de force teleportation.  Extrapolator incarnate encephala enunciate.  Clairaudience clairvoyance, cantilever capacity omnipresence presage.  Entelechy!!!

have you found your next darling spithole yet?
not meaning to come off rude but
i just don't have photo albums in my home anymore
of all those weathered stacks
of glossy tourist postcards and airbrushed polaroids and half-arsed private promises that led to
quick pity ***** and more simpleminded conversations (weather? news? one plus one?)
when you ran out of coffee grounds
and breakfast was cold
and the fingernail scars being shamefully picked on were still quite scarlet
like vampire tongues
fresh off a feast, a binge, a hellfest
of a hot-lipped hunger pang
how many towns did you ravage and terrorise and theatrically swoop over with your velvet raiments
how many people fainted
at the mere sight of your anaemic cadaver-sheet skin and anabolic empty marble glare
how many ****** pitchforks punctured your abdomen and how many furious torches
burned the inside of your pelvis and how many corroded teeth did you lose chewing on
leftover bones the next night
sitting all alone in your grandiose dining hall that smells of decaying rats and halitosis
spitting out the occasional tough marrow or stray spider leg (you never really got used to that odd brackish flavour),
how much of it was
worth it to you?
you were acting on impulse
instinct
some other impressive, egregious “i” word you have yet to figure out;
i can't blame you.
blame is too weak a word for anyone with half your brain to ever understand
i can't blame myself
except sometimes in the middle of the night when my teeth refuse to unclench (pissoffpissoffpissOFF)
i understand
you're the same as everyone else (nothing wrong with that i'm wrong i'm wrong so wRoNg) but
sometimes understanding doesn't mean forgiving
[just nod] yes i understand
okay fine, you crave makeup kisses
caked-up made-up fake love fake blood
painting broken boundaries all over brocade bedsheets screaming
slipping almost begging
WARNING don't cross this line and carefully step over the crude chalk drawings
where many unfortunate deaths have occured
splintered spines and shredded vascular systems and cannibal sick sighs
you barely even toed it and you lost an entire ******* arm
past that finish line
where they unhinged their jaws like singing serpents and gorged mercilessly
until their overbloated stomachs
ballooned up and burst into confetti just in time
for the next baby shower birthday party funeral eulogy
and you might be the next
victim
will you fall for that
a g a i n ?
never ****** mind that—
because we're all about acceptance here.
we're all about holy terrors cavorting with holey beggars
we're all about your tremulous callused hands on the inside of someone's delicate insides
coil up their wrenched guts again musicman
spill your unraveling lullaby all the softly shrieking butterflies have desperately searched for a way out
and you crushed them all
just to feel iridescent powder sparkling in your stained palms at 3 a.m.
reflecting the gentle throb of the glow-in-the-dark stars and the grating television static and the godless blue in your undilated pupils
when she's lying next to you fitfully asleep
dreaming of an infinite field where the weeping azaleas never bloom (she still wonders what it meant)
ribcage left ajar just a peep
cascading umber hair and stick-insect limbs splayed all over your worn pillows
sometimes unconsciously feeling your freezing nape
and you feel nothing
at all
i hope you're happy (satisfied?)
or i hope at least, that she rinses off your fraying toothbrush after she uses it to secretly purge in your newly-cleaned toilet
if that's not too much to ask for
and you also left some day-old lemonade and reheated battery acid by the fridge door
just in case
but you missed out on buying coffee grounds again
even though there's an unhealthy smattering of pinned yellow-note reminders
right next to her faded number
and you'll be moving out next week
oh well. oh well. unwell.
my obscene picture collection is still incomplete even though it's set to display on a national gallery next week [this is your cue to clap]
but you never called back so
i hope you're happy (****—sorry—satisfied)
she's not
and please, don't forget to gargle.

butterflies! schmetterlinge! in the stomach!
  im magen!

how she became revealing...
when Eunice came...
i walked out to buy a newspaper...
i had to sober up...
top up my oyster card...
drink two bottles of cider...
admire the winds...
i whole lot of them congregated...
i counted about seven...
at one point the music
coming from my earphones
was silenced... by a howling...
at one point i had to stand in position
and get blasted with the gusts...
the winds howled...

das ist mein wein!
this is my wine!
das ist mein blut
this is my blood!

glücklich sind die
happy are those...
wer kommt
who come...
zu meinem Abendessen
to my, supper!

well... i'm pretty sure the tax-collector
that St. Matthew was the man who
managed to secure a cosmopolitan messiah
movement of Christianity...
who bought the wine? the bread?
for the last supper?
did anyone make the wine?
if i were there... i'd be the one disciple
with some vines in my garden...
and we'd be drinking homemade wine...
somewhat cloudy...
but still ******* intoxicating...

i drank a litre of my homemade wine...
i figured... if i'm been standing ironing
my own three white shirts
and my father's shirts from a two week holiday,
i'lm going to treat myself...

i'm still waking up at 6am tomorrow morning:
it's still a tomorrow from the time i'm
writing...

i'll be wearing the Eternity cologne tomorrow...
not the 1884 sickly sweet...
i can see why women are competing...
back-stabbing each other...
my mother was just watching
Mean Girls today while i was ironing
the shirts... i made myself two sandwiches...
one brown bun with a brie cheese
and some  jalapeño jam...
another... a white bun with some tomato
infused pate... with pickles... no mustard...

the two storms raged these mythical isles...
i texted her: will i see you tomorrow?
she replied... oh... because of my anxiety...
i don't know... the trains are not working...
so i plotted out her the same route i would
be taking... i'm leaving the house at almost 7am...
i'll get up at six... eat one of those pre-prepared
sandwiches... drink a coffee... smoke a cigarette...
shower... pamper myself...

you're game? my anxiety! you anxiety?!
what about my "schizophrenia"?!
who the hell makes that Eternity perfume?
it's nice... i'll chew on extra gum while
i take the alternative route to Stratford via
the 86 bus... i could have left the house at least
1 hour later... but then again:
i like to be early... have a look around...
buy a cheap coffee...
***** the locals...

              oh i know she's not anxious about
the storms that currently hit these shores...
i know she's anxious about seeing me...
you can't somehow slander someone
and somehow get away with it...
           while i pushed her with the banana loaf i made and
the homemade wine...
like i said... she's not getting away that easy...
i'll just add to her anxiety...
i'll make her claustrophobic...
i'll put a ******* leash on her if i have it...
after all... she looks like...
an older version of Lindsay Lohan...
come on... no one is going to simply pass that by...
without having some sort of investment...

yeah, chances are... tomorrow's fixture is a Saturday...
i might just be stinking of *****...
but the allowed 15 minute break?
i won't ******* to smoke a cigarette...
i'm going to watch the match... making myself
look menacing... bat-like...

she was never going to be anxious about the storms...
i sent her some links to German folk music
that's been around for over 10 years...
no... she's not going anywhere...
i'm not going anywhere...
i already have what i want...
now i need to add what more i want...
she appreciated me leaving her flowers
on her doorstep in the middle of the night...
what, girl, wouldn't?!

       i'm gone, far gone, i'm not coming back...
not with a face like that...
thank god i've been to the other 2Ps...
no priest... who even cares about the psychiatrists?!
i went to the prostitutes...
well... then... am i really capable of love?
so... it's not, really, that, complicated?!
well then! here goes!

see... when you can refrain from speaking
while you touch, while ensuring you "speak" by touching?!
******* eureka!
the prostitutes could talk all they wanted...
when i had a *******...
usual pornographic *******...
trouble came when i didn't have "one on me"...
well then... we exchanged language lessons...
she spoke Romanian... i spoke ******...
we sort of amused each other in English...

but there was no mention of ******,
of latex gimp suits, of a general boredom of having
*** too much...
i was *** starved... she was on the prey...
but i asked her what eyes were in Romanian...
nose, freckles, ears...
i left the brothel riding back home
on my bicycle harrowing
the night with my voice like Frankenstein's monster...

leben kann sein spaß!
(life can be fun)...
i'm sure she's sort of asking herself...
did he come late?
where are the zeppelins?
why is he asking my son to learn German
rather than French or German?
i already said why: so...
the similarity of the grammatical structure
of the languages...
English retains more of the German
than the Hastings' French...

no one sensible enough, can possibly "think" that me,
utilising the German tongue qualifies
me as having neo-**** roots...
i have a fetish... it's my thing...
or that Latin is on the cards
as somehow related...

no.... she's not anxious about the current weather
predicament and the travel discomfort...
she can just call the supervisor and ask him to
pick her up.... he usually does...
he drops off the women at their houses
while making the men figure out:
do i get the bus or do i  walk from here?
typical ******* cuck... some ****-pleasing
invertebrate...
  sure... he's large... but like David vs. Goliath...
it's not much of a  match-up...
6ft2 vs. 6ft5...

today's morning will be a quest for 100 press-ups
of my own body...
i want to be lean... like every rock-climber ought
to be...
i don't want to be some silly ****...
with an asteroid, android... upper body strength
"look"... of taking "too many vitamins"...
Asterix... anabolic steroids...
              look hard play the part...
i'm not having any of that... "juice"... wife and all...

she's feeling anxious... hope she sees me...
i hope to see her...
     i will see her... i will drag her out of her
moth tearing for birth cocoon!
i'm a man in love:
love is ugly... i will do everything...
even if i am punching up in my defence
to make my claim for her...
however ridiculous it might seem...
i will lose friends, i will lose readers...
what does it matter?
when i can feel, so?

     nothing compares to it...

It made the love between us alive
It built a bond and kept us unbreakable

Yet we betrayed it
Our lies were overpowering

Trust  b
              r
                o
                  k
                    e         
                        the bond
Some of it went missing
Our love died

The trust left was not enough for us  to believe  the love reigning

Trust said: "I am a catabolic yet an anabolic of every bond and am hard to be restored."