exotica, without palms or coconutz,
noose, nötz...
       etymology unknown,
or rather, without a known genesis
other than spontaneously drunk,
exclaimed with a poker face of random...
two words,
schtygar...
      quasi polish, pseudo german,
silesian through and through,
meaning? loosely: meisterschtick...
    mistrz... master and no Margarita...
also, rębacz przodowny...
           hajer...
  in English-schloß meaning:
hirehand... or coal-mining infantry...
the first to the spitzhackehand...
hire-hand, die jungengang...
to ja ci świrgotkiem wróbla
z nad rana, o stół i o pokrzywe
na ratuj raj...
        ortografia:
   stolik
                  tzn. stół
    a ni, parabolii kurva: U!
kúmā?
     drób i drobniej starać sie
(ę ę, bo to pan, i jego...
    Mazó-w'szeszesze-szesze)..
gzyms Tuwima,
no tego z łódką,
    bzy... kurva... kotficy....
bo bez bzu...
tzn. (to znaczy) bez..
neine bysztrysk jako trojan...
czy tesz, ż, tra la la la la 'ojak...
     hrap ś'ī...
                       a na tronie
zasądzie, kupa gnoju
           i szamba wulkan...
no tak, w góre... pstro!

i want to write i don't write i'll write anyway,
luxurious escapades of the tongue
crafted to make suitor letters and somewhere
a diligent me takes care to be
a...
                ah blah blah...

     from hearing the offensive god
and somehow a somewhat off nothing that's
similar...

the sweet scented air of Poland come the onslaught
of May, Spring...
that recollects both magnolias
and bez (without): bzu - lilac...
         bzdura: nonsense...

20 years ago there was this massive expansion
of the European Union...
10 new lands giggled at the expansionary
vision... lackluster because
withholding only a few retained
the monetary communication
of shared investments...

the Czechs still have their coronas
and the Poles still have their gold standard...
but together is the best kept apart...
weltsprechen...

exhausted by the racial hyper-focus
of the likes of Krista Franklin...
because i'm tired of the Afro-American narrative
that brings no one together...
like fathoming the force-feeding of turkeys
before any feast day...
not pouting a sense of critique: not necessary...
but i'm just tired of
people supposedly not getting along...
some vague aloofness some:

a stranger in a familiar land...
i spent so much of my youth among graves
that i've come full blown "circle"
to seeing people as graves...
perhaps if there was as much rigor in me
to drink later after having written..
no writer in me ever to be born...
a good excuse to not watch the t.v.
and and tiredness from adverts
and all that K-POP boom boom...

i could perhaps understand dancing before the pyramids
like it would be a wholesome hope
for... instance... one two three...
mirage of the dictated life
then the non-dictated life
and now this is not me with some
J. K. K. Tolkien ambitions...
no ambition to riddle my efforts with
escapism to tow and tug at fiction...

laptop positioned on a washing machine...
give me the well earned wages of loitering
but not anything associated with
post-literature political of a Harry Potter scoop...
verbiage and misnomers
some feeding ground of peckers and
lazy sleuths... dropping words missed in
casual conversation...

            arbiters of writing escapades
and truths-saying and soothing humming...
by the ordeal of giving love from a heart
like squeezing water from a stone...
perhaps... somewhat hallucinogenic in purpose
or rather escaping with words
that govern and sooth any ordeal
that does not necessarily have to be written about...

grandmother's fetish for Harlequin novellas
because the way she loved supposedly "loved"
my grandfather...
how two men in her abiding: blame who?
seemingly died from malnutrition
because she was so dissolved
this happy feminist junction of happenstance
luckily i am a man with a fetish for
German (tongue) and the ability to cook...

find me: chasing chickens on the village-island
of Kauai...

in those 2 years, imagine... i've travelled
a river's worth a sea's breadth...
yet he with his earnings
grossing an estimate 1 million
became the conclusive
waste of fiddling with possibility: per chance
wasted....

       how he spent those last days listening
to terribly angry music...
i can understand friendless isolation...
i succumbed to listening to music
akin to:

the titans, the elements...
the sound of rain falling on a tin roof...
rhapsody of imitation: knock knock... knock knock...
then the sea waves...
then the air turned into a wind
whirling...
then the earth rumbling... i too ate hunger
and felt a grumbling "inhibition"...
then the sound of the crackling of
breaking of wood in fire....
music devoid / detached from the progeny
of the usage of words...

of(f)...                    terminology of the posit
of "things" to begin with, to end with:
on note...
           my little Nuremberg extravaganza...
no **** poor soul in sight...
but all this weight and height
and all this this... miasma... myopia...
this borrowing of inherited stink
like all the ******* have all the good brown
while all the whites have this *******
sickly sweet albino blah!

     **** the covert tattoos
living among us alias "us"...
             i'm more bored than tired...
then again i'm also bored and tired
and it's under not disguise of "inhibition"
that i get to...               digest these fundamental
loathsome truths of a nocturnal Babylon.