yet another year zero
reinventing the squeaky wheel
constrained writing just for kicks
reviving a tragic hero
tabula rasa and leaky spiel
trained for fighting prickly ******
hollowing future and reticulating splines
swallowing nature then duplicating rhymes
only a blank drawing
at a bank withdrawing
funds splashing down like acid rain
workers trashing town with great disdain
fluxing bureaucracy
with ad hoc hypocrisy
go country for old zen
and then
shot glass shopping sprees
statues with haunting verdigris
from target to target
the stupid (never forget)
airport shuttles and toxic puddles
epic riddles while popping bottles
thrusting bodies and a fruity box
alternating current and topic drift
trusting hotties with shuttlecocks
baiting adherent with basic *****
eating that dog in a bar by the ditch
bar all rowdy with many shots taken
beer hall drowsy as closing time looms
far too loudly with identity mistaken
the band had us frankly and amply forsaken
awakening in a ditch as the a-bomb booms
a thousand soldiers ready for battle
at town's end with less depleted morals
worried about the deleted portals
we buried hell well without the cattle
no more long weeks of slicing ****** meat
origins about which they should not care
oh to sell knockoffs to the rich elite
hear their yells and use an odd nom de guerre
the profit and the revenue forecast
**** on the new road
the prophet and the parvenue act fast
pill for the wet load
he had dropped the load leaving pungent smells
in the dark it glowed and lit the deep wells
launching a rocket every four hours
we encounter yet more perplexing times
measuring success with fewer metrics
punching the clocks in tall black towers
changing the locks and the warning signs
altering quarters with newer ethics
cannibals watched while we profusely bled
fine forget it forget it forget it
ingest the capsule to induce the sweat
just relieve don't botch
figure figure figure
don't bereave think scotch
ticker ticker ticker
sounded like it came from someone shady
getting beat to end with some other blend
year to date murders now about eighty
yet today's statistics lie and pretend
fudging the digits to fake the assent
so what happened last week stays in last week
all of those painful jarring sights and sounds
making it all seem to look rather bleak
kept sly with pennies and kept shrewd with pounds
on alibaba we will not delete
separated heads from dark desert towns
metropolis with millions of dark souls
lighting up papers for a rapid trip
necropolis with brilliant harkening trolls
fighting the power in order to strip
their medals that they never earned at all
writing this line here and ******* the fall
straightforward message from a plain green rod
a photographer in obscure disguise
throw him into the main canal and nod
the coffee shop looks banal with just guys
losing interest quick and wanting to dip
touching that shiny pink wide-open clip
unknown underground studded with diamonds
mind-blowing trap sounds burst from the caliph
volume gets higher and heads start to ring
they came in sequence and then came silence
waking up confused in a condo lift
taking refuge in an ugly building
just invited myself into your home timeline
somewhat sublime reciting trifling rhymes
alter rhyming scheme to eschew couplets
now fully mobile and automatic
pentameter schemes and android tablets
tents and suburbs that look quite nomadic
recruited minions for the rebellions
human microphones sans inhibitions
quicken resistance to the man's big plan
invoking the crowd to buck traditions
spell that with an accent with great élan
broken mobile phone texting hexagram
a rapid drop in communication
a postal service mailing vexing spam
token for transit lost at the station
we can no longer go back to the farm
here in the city living these last days
sounding the airhorn and the fire alarm
seahorses as fish and whales as mammals
hard to keep track here of various things
went to the desert and smoked some camels
patient zero died sounding the alert
some will paint dark scenes with exigent themes
paintings so dire that your eyes avert
inverse distance decay in the network
old flags questing through the flood and tumult
of course these rhymes make them go **** berserk
losing sight of sites that house the occult
refusing to eat and wanting to drink
these words resonate with all those who think
utopia fell soon after completion
never understood humanity well
rationality ends with deletion
all the fine stuff just goes to *******
humans emitting alienating vibes
they form foul cliques like pups from putrid tribes
three ships all wrecked up in some unknown land
divulging harsh things and eating raw food
far too many times getting shunned and booed
had all my writings fully blocked and banned
still no dumb luck yet after x decades
recalled old friendships that have long decayed
more constrained writing that will make them groan
some will even see the trail left behind
writing all of this mostly in e-prime
punctuation-free zone made just for fun
lighting dark alleys with a mobile phone
some get all the love while others get none
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch
glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch
kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch
stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch
twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch
yesterday's blunt stunt went to the gutter
no regrets no threats no whatever man
just like autechre and that song flutter
forget the police just rave on til dawn
**** how darkness has lasted this **** long
ominous songs here still pumping along
exponential sneers and the obscene scene
existential fears lit up with benzine
socially-accepted narcissism
honest thoughts here treated with cynicism
forget all -isms / go back to the scheme
spending days like these sniffing naphthalene
won't dwank to the masses or kiss *****
temperamental peers can go live that myth
experimental stage done and over with
(pause)
*
* *
*
✝ gone to a higher place ✝

I am thinking with some nostalgia
about the simple but unforgettable things we shared
and how beautiful everything seems now with time gone by

There were four of us clumsy but sturdy Mother's boys
One Sunday best shirt and one Sunday best pair of shoes
We took turns to go to church and proudly wore our shared attire

The other boys on our street - how they envied us our pair of longs!
Gray flannel freshly-laundered with benzine and neatly-ironed
Worn so proudly and revered like a family coat of arms


We shared the near misses and the sore heartbreaks as well
When it wasn't your turn at church she looked around for you
With marble-sized eyes, this girl - the one for whom you fell

I remember the bitter tears I cried when you tore our shirt
And I could not keep my tryst with the one who sent me crazy
The things that we shared - how they broke our hearts sometimes!

But the beauty of it all was there was no malice or avarice
We accepted our fates and guarded the family secret
And none so jealously as I did though I was often in tears

the entrance to my mind
portrays an appealing demeanour,
but with a glance at the contents,
portrays an intervenor
towards the progression
of anything consolingly
appeasing

          or so I think

I keep pushing and
pushing until mist to dry,
a view to my loneliness
through a myopic lens
depicts nothing but self
at the following end,
a nearsighted perspective
allowing self-consciousness
to transcend into an abyssal
crevice leaving nothing but
self-blame scattered about
the exiting footprints

retrospect; permitting
history to foreshadow the
ending of every attempt
to let someone in,
I allow the spark to
grow to a flame,
putting it out in
attempt to prevent
and circumvent the
burning of the
one not to blame

the cancer in my
veins ignite with
every attempt to fight
for instances where i'm
not to blame
for instances where the
outcome is sane,
a love born a king and
deceased a slave,
a love resurrected,
mirroring death the same

the entrance is an inhaled cigarette,
that with intent of positivism,
paints the walls, dripping with benzine
illustrating their egress as
an opposing objective to
the goal in attaining peace
by companionship

so you do know what leeks are of the same genus (root)
                as an onion? odd, isn't it:
they're like over-sized spring-onions -
                                              but **** me: so appetising.

beyond that? sparrows, or i just call them jitters,
because are, jerky *******...
                they fly for a bit, and then fall, then flap there wings
some more...
             no wonder the germans took the crow as
their emblem... the consistency with which crows fly:
          rigid, mercedes-benz rigid.... the suffix benz being
of course relatable to benzine:
                                 it's stating the too ****** obvious,
you could also have: volkswagen-benz...
                     but you go: so, what?! the people need
  to tow... oh right! i get it now... people on wheels, wagons...
which brings me to the joke of folklore...
      the acronym b.m.w.          what do you think
some people equate that as?  hmm?    black man's wagon.
back sparrows...
                   tiny cute jitters, fidgety little buggers,
can fly like crows, can fly like pigeons...
         but can they walk like either? nope...
   they must be some obscure cousins of kangaroos...
              they just hop... and their general body movement
is, really akin to the insect quick-snap of motion.
        anyway, the title in question, last night i had the most,
i guess, "ingenious" idea?
                      it really was a recipe for disaster, i really wonder
how it would go down with a sober person,
as an adamant drinker, i thought it tasted pretty good...
   i just don't remember whether i used raw leeks or
ones that were poached for a while to reveal the sweet:
                while discarding the allium akin to garlic / onion -
the harshness i mean; so...

       leek
              plum sauce
                 chicken
                              snow peas (mangetout)
              crème fraîche

                                                                  and for the rice?

   a pinch of cinnamon
                         a pinch of kashmiri chili powder
      (which, by the way, is much milder than traditional chili powder)
      1/2 tsp turmeric (poor man's saffron)

             well... perhaps some coriander to boot as a garnish.

thing is... i have absolutely no idea how this conception would
taste like sober...         but it really did, taste ****** good drunk.

and why would i on earth write something like this?
   a memory of a flatmate at edinburgh university,
a really gay oddity... the poor ****** cooked himself
     spaghetti and "garnished" it with salt... and that was it...
wouldn't you feel ****** sorry for someone who just ate
    spaghetti with salt sprinkled over it? because he forgot to
   put salt into the *** so the spaghetti could soak it up,
   and then at least added as little, as basil pesto with some
                                                         parmigiano-reggiano?

A tiny beetle
Shimmering in the sun
All the colors of the rainbow.
Like benzine spilled in the rain.