daj, do wynagrodzenia: reszty.
daj: to niby: siebie;
a... dam... dam...
ale pierw: powiem:             to!
(ich) nicht werden
                  geben (ihr) das nacht!
first... i'll punch myself
hard enough to give myself
a plum-eye: ******* pacifists...
and then?
    then i'll strap a trouser belt
to protect my knuckles...
and then... then...
                    then: we'll "talk":
who might find a translator
ready...
   god...
i'm gagging for a
knuckle exchange...
        almost... itching!
like i might await
a shaving... from a Turkish
barber... in Essex...
of all Danish palaces;
and why would i want to allow
consort with these women?
considering the fact that
the russian ones believe in trans-national
grievance taxation:
of someone... who hasn't...
actually died...
              you know what?
*******...
suffer...
       watch me wipe my ***
with a satanic smile
ennobled
by a coulrophobia...
excesses of vogue
                      atypical models...
how is it... that...
coulrophobia doesn't translate
in reverse?
  and what's up
with the black privilege of
jass music, akin to white mozart...
as...  
  sure as ****, the drum would be
the first, and only thing,
prior to the people learning
the ******* clarinet!

oh drop me your ****** ***
holocaust dead bomb
on a polish ***...
     i triple, quadruple dare you!
you *******... ivory coast
   centipede!
               i'm *******...
as watts: wild-eyed...
       unstrap me from this
"unreality" of conversation...
then undo the internet banking...
and the rest of it...

             not adam watts!
    glitter & doom....
who?      tom waits...
oh **** me... blue valentine?
if that's not a **** with me
album... what is?
                 live circus?
        
do i look like a ******* ****-
(see the hyphen?
it's a prefix... the english are
lazy sometimes: couldn't,
i.e. could not,
remnants of shakespearean
english...

       i'll always cite macbeth...

  time, thou anticipat'st my dread
exploits: the flighty purpose never
is o'eertook, unless the deed go with it.
from this moment, the very firstlings
of my heart shall be
  the very firstlings of my heart.
   and even now, to crown my thoughts
with acts, be it thought and done.

it's hardly a racial slur, ergo...
why so ******* sensitive akin to a french
footballer or a ballerina?
   ****- (hyphen! hyphen!) ergo a prefix...
as already mention:
no, no...
   it's not: no iraqi ever called me a pa-ki
      (pákí)... yeah...
and you never called an afghanistani an
afghan, ever, no?
   pure camaraderie in that part of
the world... all the way... yeah yeah... yeah...
-stani (suffix) is sometimes missing
because... the english like to shorten words...
e.g. why is daniel: dan,
why is matthew: matt?
  why is muhammad: mo (farrah)?
                                    ******* pansies...
police your circumcised penises fiddling
english teenager girl, first,
come after my vocab. justifications: after;
savvy?

or a gypsy?
   by now...
     i'm looking like any
traveler...
and the world...
       forever resembled
a world,
  in the confines of
      a claustrophobia...

but... if there's a bigger concern for
a world...
  and a freedom...
i want a bare knuckle fight...
a black eye...
namely...
you bring  BOXING GLOVE...
and i'll bring...
     a LEATHER BELT...
wrapped around my knuckles,
and the wrist...
    like i might care to give
a second attempt to smile...

ah... the men... who care
about minding, if not in the least,
keeping women...
      bye bye, bye bye...
       and i've allowed myself
to know my grandfather...
as i did the slap in the face...
and...
the key question:
in the unfathomability of counting
the 32 / 4 ratio...
alas... one fist... one smile...

and countless... dentistry encounters...
because?
   because the rest?
the cultural artifacts of a today?
  lost to h'americana...
            as i might have wished...
for my prior genes
to make an autobiography
in **** germany...
  
   what?
  
      well... obviously: the oops.

no, for the crescendo...
you know...
           i'm getting this funny vibe...
gott ist tot... it's not really spectacular...
nietzsche really believed in eternity,
to the point where he pointed:
what does science offer, only old age...
what does religion provide? eternity...
oh nietzsche was big on eternity...
   gott ist tot is as unspectular as:
is it: how to do you pronounce x,
or is it: how do you pronunciate y?
debate:
              everyone says around here
the former... since no one wants to be a *****...
pro-nun-ci-ate (pro-nun-cíate)...
   might as well replenish the vocab. bank
and replace the word with:
how do you elocute z? / recite)....

gott ist tot / gott ist tod...
    "same ****, different cover"...
you know why i believe in god?
    not the christian reference points...
salvation blah blah, saviour and hide & seek blah blah...
n'ah... where would i derive all my vocab.
hunger if not from him?
   some men derive their vocab. from
women or gambling...
            i am not in the position of their
luxury... so god it is...

            primarily though?
               god is metaphysics...
             ergo? his judgement is not clouded
by metaphysical questioning...
it's impossible to receive a metaphysical
answer from a metaphysical question
when engaging with a metaphysical
ontological paraphrase of one's own search
for meaning in this mortal frame...

oh sure sure, my belief in god is as juvenille
as anyone else's belief in humanity's
clarity when it comes to jurisprudence
and its application...
    i've experience "jurisprudence" once...
drive-by phone theft...
me and three fwends...
   i catch the number plate...
i tell one of my fwends to note it down,
police station, report, culprit found,
a sit in at a barkingside police station
looking at mug images,
spot the ****** (it was dark when the mugging
took place, photographic memory, **** happens)...
a court session, australia is playing england
at the ashes (****, i missed it)...
in court the defence lawyer shows me
another picture of the culprit...
back then photogrpahs had dates
attached to them...
the photograph? over 4 years old...
i tell him: but this photograph is 4 years old!
how can i identify if this is the same
person: i, myself, will probably
don a beard in four years time!
      a simple slip-up...
        now that i have a beard:
it's so much more fun than growing your
hair long... i hated the nickname
chewbacca back in high school when i was
growing mine for a french braid...
i walk out of the court,
come to terms with the detective...
and i see the same hunger in him as i see in me...
will justice be served?
highly unlikely... since the victim
didn't recognize the *** in the mug-shots...
justice was probably not served...

   and this is how god plays into all of this,
hell or heaven, blah blah...
man created the figure of domina Iustitia
as blind... god created death to be blind...
justice was never supposed to be blind,
death was: the unfortunate deaths
of teenagers in car accidents,
among all the other freak accidents...

clouded with so many metaphysical questions
i don't appreciate man's ability to adhere
to jurisprudence without being
subjectively contaminated...
i have more belief in an "imaginary"
god than belief that strains me to belief
in man's sense of justice...
          the nuremberg trials are a rare exception...
but only when the culprits are
unabashed and fathomable by a collective
sense of pride... a blidness...
i believe in god, because i'd love to experience
the judgement of a post scriptum of
metaphysics...
  personally? i have been wronged...
heavily...
            i will not name names....
i know when and how i was wronged,
and by whom...
                2007... Canterbury...
      i won't name names: i'm not a rat...
man is too clouded with metaphysical questions
to begin with, god isn't,
he's a metaphysical ontology "bias"...
which is why, he is primarily a jurisprudent
answer...
   i'd love to experience divine jurisprudence,
hell or heaven are not of my concern...
and i don't imply divine jurisprudence
associated with the polytheistic take of
jurisprudence via a solipsistic mechanism
of a minor god and the person in question
without the hurt party...
in monotheism the god is solipsism personified...
these days: also the personna non grata...
so no... gott ist nicht tot...
            he's a personna non grata...
i just don't appreciate the human *******
of law, law governance...
   come on, in england you can receive
an a.s.b.o.s. for your cockerel being too loud
in the morning, your dog barking...
           would you trust man with
jurisprudence?
  a woman was cleared of the ******
of her husband
       when she hammered his head into a pancake:
over an abusive relationship...
police, weren't, "there"?!
sure sure... the hammer will do...
i believe in god without a sense of reward...
i just don't think man is capable of
passing justifiable laws...
no man could ever pass the eternal laws,
gravity... 100°C for the boiling of water...
i need a being  who has groundwork
in eternal laws, in unshakeable laws...
the ten commandments aren't:
you shall not...
   more... maybe, you shouldn't...
they are the most pristine jurisprudent
laws available... the: maybe you shouldn't,
eh, chappy?

       i just don't like playing the thesaurus game
on the more tight-knit game
of "passing" the wink-wink of Solomon's
judgement...
please, **** me please,
i'll eat 20 raw herrings in a cream sauce,
slurp 30 oysters,
eat 40 strawberries on a hangpverl
eat out about 50 harem virgins
like a castrato if you ask me, nicely,
**** camel cockey:
lucly i landed on a black gold slurp
with plenty of bangladeshi slaves:
******* of riyadh...
     what did muhammed tell you?
you camel jockeys / sand *******
have clearly forgotten...
******* arabs: short attention span...
you need to remind
the retards...
the dajjal would come from the east...
a palace of gardens...
well obviously the prophet wasn't
thinking about genghis khan...
            
  hmm barbarians...
vikings, arabs: yet so inclined to like poetics...
funny, that...
the civilized peoples banished
the poets...
            the ruling class and their cushioned
people: sacrosanct sycophants...
wankers, basically.

    the hajr? muhammad spoke of the dajjal
coming from the east,
and the east being a city of gardens...
where isn't riyadh and where is mecca?
isn't riyadh east of mecca?
was the dajjal to come from the outside
of islam, or from wtihin?
      last time i checked...
sh'ite islam isn't friendly to sunni islam...
if islam was the one true religion...
would have a shcism have occurred?
i don't think so...
   a persian would never bow before
an arab... that much os true...

oh i believe in god...
given how man practices jurisprudence...
is it some sort of, a, thesaurus game
i wasn't told about?
to me the human quest for jusctice is
a thesaurus game...
man is incapable to pass but one,
eternal, law...
he's great at nuanced laws...
laws allocated to sports...
i mean, **** me, cricket?
the best vocab. you'll ever pick up...

even god isn't as pertinent
in making the sort of music associated
with the limited alpha-to-beta
of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G...
wow! seven... seven?!
how many heads does the beast
of revelation have? oh... 7!

i'll stop tolerating islam, and start respecting it,
when it, acknowledges its presence
as a character study in the book of revelations...
then i'll just move on,
having made my point...

until that time comes...
    it's 600 years shy of becoming what
degenerate christianity has become,
oh and it's ripe...
it's gagging to implode!
600 years and wait for it to become
the next secular vasal conglomorate...

the warning muhammad gave
about "the best from the east"
was in point of question:
   a reference ti gneghis khan...
more like ibn saud:
  thst fat diabetic one eyed ogre...
and the legacy of decadence he left
behind...

saudi men with slavuc girlfriends,
buying up pink cushions and *******
chihuahuas...
**** after ****...
  you know the three slavic proverbs?
1. better a sparrow in your
hand, than a dove on your rooftop?
explanation?
better the small joys at-hand,
than impossible possibilities out of reach....
2. a drunk can spot east,
past mecca, whenever honing
the safety of his own bed... even at night...
not much of a proverb...
3. i don't care to rememeber...

once toleration comes into play,
i will, respect... just a waiting game...
i'm pretty sure no iranian will
bow down to a sunni camel jockey...
i like proud *******,
it implies: there are absolutes,
un-moveable goal posts...

                      if you are ever to bind yourself
in supporting a "side" outside a sports' dynamic,
always the outsider...
always the outsider... in this case?
the ****'ite islam brigade...
       the persians...
the sunnis can shove it...
   *****, bones, whatever....

                   ****'ite islam i can
fathom, even respect,
sunni islam i just tolerate...
  as much as iran takes claims for the
big satan in ref. to h'america...
well... if h'america supports the infantile
saudi arabia, who's to blame them?

you know that polonaise joke about
about the pacifism of jews in
2nd world world war poland?
the joke ran along the words:
weren't the jews shooting the nazis
using crooked elbows (rifles)?
they always seemed to miss them,
taunted into walking into gas chambers,
the ******* hobbits...

          what? some bolshevik Brooklynian
jewish rada is to spare me
                 the pay-up diffrential
telling me, i was wrong?

  as i said before: the nazis lamented
when the warsaw uprising happened...
no, st. paul's doesn't stand proud
because, because...
   even with the blitz...
                 the luftwaffe were told:
you drop a bomb on st. paul's: firing squad...
and when notre-dame de paris -
last time i checked...
   the nazis didn't luftwaffe the **** out
of paris... did they?!

                  the nazis weren't mongols;
no people so well versed in chanel in terms
of their military being so well
   suited & booted could ever make such a
                              architectural sacrilege...

what?! people under the silicon curtain
are gagging, begging even: for nazis!
can i be the first?!
i just want to please the hungry!
if not punk then moving swiftly into ska...
am i the first?
   siliziumvorhang...
well, **** me... from under the eisenvorhang...
what's with these neo-communist pseudos?

and the hebrew god?
a jealous god... so a god with the knowledge
of the existence of other gods...
why wouldn't a jealous god have
no knowledge of other ("imagianry") gods?
to be jealous of only one's own existence?!

3 / 1: that's the ratio....
that's the only ratio... 3 times i experienced
love at first sight:

when i fell in love at first sight...
malina, samantha, janina,
priya....

equal measure: isabella of grenoble...

in reverse:
magda, promis, ilona, kot (i forget her name,
7 years old, first kiss, you can be forgiven
to forget, she had two twin sisters
and she was the senior,
her fasther drove a distribution truck,
milk, i think)...

****, i actually mismanaged
that ratio...

i believe in "a" god...
since i find too much of human jurisprudence
to be riddle with the thesaurus...
i don't think man can pass
law, he can "suppose so"...
but he will never pass the sort of law,
made forbidden,
or absolutely allowed....
i don't believe in a god akin
to the sort of a pontous pilate god
where i'll always find myself
outside of punk evolving into ska...

         mind you...
i'd hate to be trapped within
the confines of an atheistic exclusion zone
of intellect,
      to be trapped in nothing is one
thing, but to be trapped inside
the confines of an atheist's "nothing"
is quiet another....
i don't like being a hamster inside
a cognitive wheel of another...
   god is the jurisprudence spirit,
man the metaphysical spirit...
and i would very much like to stand
in the light of divine law being passed
to finally feel my shadow...

kult: brooklyńska rada żydów...
  not familiar?
  i forgot punk a long time ago...
esp. when californians came up with their
version, ergo? ska...

i'm currently taping a film
about the silesian vampire...
how strange, that the prussians came
back into the ***** of the polonaise...

growing a beard is so much fun!
fiddle after fiddle: and no violin!
atheists bore me
as much as the theistic hags
who's only ambition are
the thrill associated with Sunday
h'america and cinema...
               i can imagine only one
heaven...
where i am blind and given
               a large library of music.

Fluffy puppies all around
Hiding bones underground
Failing to not make any sound

Inside, outside sniffing the air
Of their surroundings they are aware
They don’t do it to give you a scare
They want to show you that they care

Chihuahuas, Chow Chows, corgis too
Enough breeds to fill a zoo

Too many breeds to name
I love them all the same

While every puppy is great
Mine was brought to me by fate
Not a moment too late

My puppy makes my heart full
Life with him is never dull

While my dog may drive me crazy
He is forever my baby

I have a puppy who loves to run and jump.
I have a Chihuahua that is named Trump.
He was born on the 14th of January and he's special indeed.
I now have two Applehead Chihuahuas, that is their breed.
Trump is some feisty and he's as cute as he can be.
He is my new pet and he means a great deal to me.
It's nice to have two dogs that are purebred.
I love both of my Chihuahuas who are Appleheads.

As grass grew taller,
The wild cats could stalk their prey;
But not chihuahuas.

The dog.

How I miss him,

the snuggle parties, when WE lived together.

Black Hole puppy eyes,

howling to share those skeletons,

If dogs could talk,

---huh.

Midnight velvet coat,

chard's of glass when brushed the wrong way.

Would loose this phone number...

but it's that dog...ya know?

The dog I miss,

grocery store trips,

welcome home kiss,

and good night pets.

The way, my daughter loved him too.

Proud to play mommy to your four legged son,

no smile greater, than her smile those days, caused by purpose and warmth.

The simple joy of a child giving a dog a treat.

The simple joy.

This feeling. Can't beat.

That dog ain't going to make it,

just             like              us.

Just the dog. I miss.

His ground shaking roar,

-he sure is the best guard dog, even if the size of a mouse-

mixed with laughter in the morning.

The way he almost made you look human, when he got sick and you'd cry.

At the next party, stories pour out of their round happy faces,

of their Chihuahuas, Pit-bulls, Dachshunds.

Staring into the Coriolis of my beer, lost like these months,

look up and say "I had a dog once.."

Their names are:
Katie, Bobo, Bear--
Max and Buddy,
Sushi and
Grafin Hegwig von Stubenrein*,
Hedy for short.

For 30 years, dachshunds, chihuahuas
and miniature schnauzers.

Chihuahuas are definitely
the undercover dogs,
but dachshunds will burrow too.

Hedy and Buddy at the foot
of the bed, cross- and lengthwise.
Bobo too, but anywise.

Sushi and Max like it
when we sleep on our sides--
preferring the crooks of the knees.

Katie was an armpit dog.

Dogs are mobile and in a pinch
do double duty as a heating pad--
but a cold nose on bare skin
is welcome in the heat of the summer.

Night or nap, the company is welcome--
Did we rescue them or did they rescue us?

flossing jocks swing mighty
***** crow blowing triumphant
incumbents sent to extend the morality
vitality reality equals fallacies and tribulation  
recreation station seething with malcontents grossly exaggerate
the aggregate to depreciate the innate greatness of iced milk and cherries
varying fairies trailing mankind grind to different beats
seated meat sacks lack tact and force ill-mannered children  
to render hate venders with crayons
yawning chasms plastered with plasma and grass clippings
flipping chihuahuas slipping in to the dark
bouncing ta-ta’s, beer-soaked and tightly clad
refocus the mass passing by
flying low with bellies plastic filled
pelicans land softly on quiet mountain lakes to breed in peace

Our lives are pregnant with insignificance.  
Things like--pecker gnats and Chihuahuas,

fake bronze menorahs,  white t-shirts,
and plastic daffodils.  Good Mental

health demands we balance life’s  trivial
with significant concerns, such as--cost-free

drugs to feel less bad, dealing with suicidal
people who find homicide intriguing, predicting

a python’s hunger pangs and the why, of
Saturn’s four rings;  the wise know the difference.

In the eyes of nature we are mere insect beneath her feet
Chihuahuas who think they are bigger than they really are
So because nature has a heart she laughs saying we are cute
Feeding us, nurturing us even giving us a place to call home
She was kind to us expecting us to be the same
But that wasn't the case
We became greedy
Taking away from her more than she could offer
Cutting her down and polluting her life span
Making her regret the day she ever met us
We picked at her causing her to cry
Then we would dance and laugh not giving a **** of what we just did
The pain and treachery we caused our mother
As she stands at distance drenched in her own blood
Rotting away in the deepest dept of her own soul
But still she is kind and still we are the same
Maybe one we'll understand
I just hope that day doesn't come too late

Over thirty thousand years ago a pregnant she-wolf
And her mate lay hidden in the grass
Watching some of our human ancestors
Hunt with spears, bows and arrows.
They were very impressed
But more than that so hungry
That they followed those humans home
Hoping to steal some meat.

They were just about to ****** that food
When a humans appeared
All around them.
They were caught!
All they could do was look up with pleading eyes:
“Please don’t **** us! We just want food.”
Seeing one of them was heavily pregnant
Those humans presumed them starving
And threw them meat
Then let them go!

Hungry again, they went back for more
And the humans fed them
And even stroked them.
This was so much better
Than having to search for prey
So often without reward.

And as time passed they took to accompanying these humans
On their hunts
Then ferreting out some prey for them to shoot
Rounding animals up
And retrieving those shot down by arrows.

Soon the rest of their pack joined them
And the female wolf had her pups
Near the human camp
Where it was safe.
She taught her pups
To plead for food and care
With their eyes and whines.

Those wolves remained forever,
Generation after generation
Each litter getting cuter
And softer
And more loving
Towards mankind.

And so they evolved
Into a seemingly endless variety
Of “Dogs”.
From Rottweilers to tiny Poodles,
German Shepherds and Collies to Chihuahuas.
They became known as “Man’s Best Friend”,
Showing us unconditional Love
And loyalty:
A bond like no other.
Even evolving raised eyebrows
And deeply sad eyes
To attract our love and care.
Domesticating themselves
Yet begging the question
Who is really “the master”?
My money is on
Them.

Paul Butters

© PB 20\3\2021.

When you died, you died too soon.
You died one year ago this afternoon.
A vet tried to save you with a blood transfusion but you died anyway.
You died and my heart was broken one year ago today.

I bought you in 2017 and you were only six years old when you died.
If a person ever says that I didn't love you, that person will have lied.
Some Chihuahuas are hateful but you were not.
You were one of the best things I've ever bought.

I took you to two vets but your life still came to an end.
You weren't just a dog, you were also a wonderful friend.
I have something to say and it is 100 percent true.
You were a very special dog and I'll always love you.

A sudden hole in my bag
And all my groceries fell out
Just look around
If you have any doubts

I hate when the items
Make a run for their lives
Must have been the sardines
With their pocket knives

They saw we were home
And before it was late
They sliced and they diced
On their paper bag prison break

Now their all hurrying and scurrying
In a mad dash for their lives
While the veggies went left
The meat products went right

With no time to delay
I went right, right away
Toss this dog a bone
And just see what I say

Never realized how fast
Bologna could roll
Or steak could gallop along
When out of control

But I grabbed them both
Without a minute to spare
As a pack of wild chihuahuas
Came from out of nowhere

Who proceeded to think
Of me as the meat
And made a melee
Below both my knees

When I made it back home
The veggies didn't get far
As they were still fighting
Over the keys to my car

The rhubarb had sights on the North
The avocado due South
As the artichoke thought
California no doubt

Luckily I got there
In the nick of time
And marched them inside
All in single file

Where I had them for dinner
From dips to dessert
Thinking back on the day
And how it could have been worse

Next time at the checkout
When paper or plastic is asked
I'll kindly speak up
And say...
do you have something in a wire mesh instead

first you learn how to brawl with your head, only at the last resort do the hands enter the arithmetic picture: i'm shipping up to boston, by the dropkick murphys - or at least that's what i get from the song.

and then you write something decent,
and you know it's decent,
   you mastered an observational tool -
but then the people know oh so
little - and always settle for the easy
way to pass the time, with a cute "chihuahua"
of a poem, and some dumb stereotype
of a blond; and that's the major source
of a downer... known the **** "chihuahuas"
from the "rottweilers";
i sometimes imagine a poem that
deserves your teeth to be sharpened like
a pygmy, or those zappo zap zigzags;
can't help it.
  but when i know that i've exhausted
a day, i return to the passionate heart
of the kitchen -
on today's menu?
        mmm... moroccan tagine...
with a cumin paprika onion parsley chilli
garlic ginger & turmeric infused couscous...
and on the side a halloumi (grilled) salad:
a bunch of mixed leaves, cherry tomatoes
courgette, garlic infused olive oil...
hey presto!
      a feast to remember, and enough spare
for my dad to take to work for lunch...
with mum visiting her parents for a month
it's becoming very much
   *steptoe & son - strange how the atmosphere
changes between men when there's
no women around...
         i do the cooking & the cleaning:
and pretty much all of the drinking -
which brings me to this idea of gender dysphoria...
there are too many men in non-masculine
jobs that debunk writing verse or
cooking at being very much masculine affairs...
i can't say i've eaten food cooked by a man
that wasn't satisfying...
   then again, i've eaten overcooked spaghetti
and undercooked potatoes cooked by a woman...
and i've read the more satisfying verse
by men, rather than women...
    to an extent, of course: there will always
be exceptions...
    but look at it from the ancient perspective,
poor sappho, among virgil, horace, homer
ovid...
          that's what i mean about
my "gender dysphoria"...
                     believe me when i say that the most
masculine men who work the trades
rarely complain about male poets -
or male chefs -
     after all, some poor sod will have to peel
the potatoes in the army...
there are no dinner ladies in the army -
    feed the cohort the right broth and they'll
follow you like they might follow a caesar;
just like my father, when i started growing
a beard once i passed 25 (when white guys
actually begin to get proper ****** hair),
i asked him if he would too...
     and he did...
       now i look like a young santa claus,
                       and he, as a shadow at 5p.m.

Go to hell you daisy-eyed Rue21 priestesses
Clamoring for significance in ***** dressing rooms
Ashy skinned in clumsy selfies, splayed out like convenience stores
There's dust on your shelves and all your candy is stale.

Go to bed you pajama-pantsed prima donnas
bleached blonde and child-weary, swiping plastic for apple juice
Can't you see I have to go to work?
Pick your ******* cigarettes already!

Go to church you ******* hypocrites
You incessant fat barking chihuahuas
If Karen at the office is so insufferable,
why don't you just leave?

Go **** yourselves you snide social statisticians
prancing around prize racehorses
You'll be glue on somebody /else's/ eyelashes when you're done.

when i feel, when i really feel like writing,
i turn from being a snowman, and become
an avalanche.

god, i love the tease!
  it's like tickling a bear -
ever wonder why large dogs
rarely bark, and you always
see these puny chihuahuas barking?
it's a phenomenon i've considered
a great deal of times -
puny dogs bark all the time,
even if there's no impedeing sense
of danger, while large dogs
      bark: as their last resort:
or a hello! look at me!
i'm lord of the manor, come near
me and you're chow mein,
or a tartar steak!
    god, i love big dogs,
   gifts me with the idea of
a **** the size of an elephant's trunk:
to boost my ambitions.
ha ha.
    
i always wanted to speak like
sean connery, or shaun o'connery,
or shea mac'connery,
can't remember which one was
catholic, and which one was protestant,
or which one was supposed
to be my uncle...
          evidently? none of them!

point being... i'm not a ****** predator,
i'm ***-prone: as any man finish
a 100m sprint **** first, head later,
but i am a predator of some sorts,
i hunt for observations,
you know, the type that looks
for telescopes without the astronomer -
the microscope without the biologist,
the kaleidoscope without a john lennon...

god, i love this word: *kauczuk -
imagine a monkey without
   a rubber ball -
what you gonna give poor gorilla heirmondo
next, a drum kit?!

funny you should ask...
i'm actually gagging for the day i'm called
a ****...
          i sent a letter to santa claus for
confirmation date that it could or would or
will happen...

    don't you *** it?!

come one, everyone knows the holocaust
happened,
   but people are still complimenting
the **** army uniform, how chic it was...
for all the wrong, the nazis always have
that one stable and historically bulletproof
observation repetition...

mind you, being a predator of observation
lists two individuals, the maxim perfectionists,
nietzsche & la rochefoucauld -
  no, no bongo-bongo parties around here,
predatory subtleness -
      a teasing voyeurism -
  a tickling sensation - nothing more,
enough for the eyes to feast,
and the rest remaining: grave ridden (as if
it were);

that's why i'm waiting to be teased as a ****,
everyone says: they were the best dressed army,
seems to me that ****** did become an
artist after all... albeit an artist in the fashion
industry...
    and never, was such a worse-attired army
of men defeat the best dressed of the lot...
i admit, the winged hussars of
the polish-lithuanian commonwealth were
a charity shop of pick & mix...
    
     call it: the ***** of "dolce & lagerfeld* -
carlie, dear, come on other,
suit up these ss boyscouts...
  
      as sylvia plath said: all women love a fascist,
except women that... don't know what
the answer to that is...
  nonetheless, fascists seem rather pseudo-****,
given they put so much effort into
their uniforms...
      ****** & mussolini,
i can see that brand selling,
given the backlog of nostalgia behind the brand,
you can see why so many wartime movies
have been made,
  and why americans and others are so
eager to don the **** uniforms...

       they called the catwalk:
khaki on black... it's the nuo white & black...

    and so whittle dolphie became the artist
in a double-edged sword moment,
an artist in auschwitz, and an artist in
fashion!
           this is exactly what british humour
looks like, i remember this one time
in edinburgh, this poncey english guy came
on stage in a comedy club,
  his opening line?

'you might recognise the accent...
  it's educated.'

beat that! mind you, beat the persistent fascination
with the **** army uniform,
   the totenkopf insignia...
look at them, poor buggers, slobbering as ever...
always tempted by the fashion,
it's always the fashion!
     nazis did one thing better than their
genocidal psychopathic mania:
  army fashion...
  the crispness of their attire is still
the most formidable apple of eden to be bitten,
and how easily people don the attire,
almost with a sense of pride & a chance of
bagging a bride too...

amazing... it's called something else in asia...
something about
   hsinchu city of taiwan with a bunch
of black geese marching...
      chan something...
haven't figured it out...
  but it seems there's a translation back
from asia among white men:
     kamikaze: hey, i'm all up for cultural
exchanges...

there we have it the new dolce & gabbana -
   ****** & mussolini -
      the best dressed pair of ****-wits
the world has ever seen...
     staggering as it is:
people will remember the nazis more
for their uniforms and a perfected sense
of fashion of military personnel,
   than their crimes;
****** really was an artist, although
i'm sure he never expected to become
a fashionista on the side;
it'd be nice to see a history in a universe,
where he really did, settle for
a career in still-life painting;
  i'm already speculating that:

his inspiration came from
                                   paul cézanne,
  and somehow precipitated into examples
of l. s. lowry.

I think about my Dog
All the time
The omnipotent one;
Maker of Chihuahuas and Bernards;
Distiller of EVERY smell we LOVE to smell
HE who NEVER NEEDS to eat grass.

Oh, Boy, Good Boy,
Why, oh why, don’t we have thumbs?
We can’t open the ***…frigging doors
To answer the NEED of nature!
We can’t even open any food container
Or answer the phone when they are away.

Don’t get me wrong—
I like being on all fours, Dog, stability!
I like my nose knowing and showing!
I LOVE doing it *******:
On a manmonk leg, on the couch, with a bi—
(Sorry, the manmonks think I shouldn’t say that word)

Speaking of manmonks,
Could you help them understand us better?
Don’t they know they STINK?
They take me out to play, yeah!
Then, I bring the stick back not once, but twice, thrice…
That’s just not nice.

And why can’t I EAT all day?

That thing around my neck itches.
And the metal thingies are crazy jangly; but
Thank you, Dog for allowing me to scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch so well.
And lick where I like to lick.
And lick where I like to lick.
And lick where I like to lick.

Oh Dog, dear Dog,
Please hear my lamentations.
Grant me my thumbs!
Let me open the door!
Remove the collar!
And finally use the holy

Can Opener!

litany of the Church of the Ecstatic Coma
I was playing pinkie dinkie
with next door Suzie Woozy
her father was a CIA spy catcher
with a big spy catcher mitt
try not to leave town he warned
you are someone's project
come here Sweetchops she coos
you get your molasses rubdown today
I sizzled like a Siberian shashlik
skewered with the awe in awkward
their witchy priestess had smoked me out
her tongue slid down to my sternum
the boys from Central Scanning drooling again
going all area focus on the ****** pixels
her teats were wheels of fortune
I had no choice but to place my bet
You're quite attractive I lied
I've heard it before she lied
at that point it could go either way
what else can you show me she teased
having hesitated too long I went for the guts
I wanted take out she wanted road ****
let's do it daddy-o she tugged
and plunged a foot of sharpened rebar
into my 3rd eye
this is your song she hissed
her hips slowly grinding coffee
a Gobi princess half horse half bowstring
ten ****** on her team as a handicap
like Venus disarmed by wit
horrifically stuffy may I and do you mind
threw me to the rabid chihuahuas
guarding the Temple of Loud Delights
the other church goers heard the commotion
I immediately checked my utensil
and the dish ran away with the spoon
to the Babylonian nuns of St. Thuggurash
protectors of women on bar stools
gave their coyote yell and he was cured
of his ****** extravaganzas
no more dancing harlots and magicians
no more leg ******* the Delphic Floozie
counseling instead Chinese all you can eat
with a band of handy mandarins
their cleavers gleaming
asleep at the foot of his bed
a plate of pasta for a pillow
avanti il populo
**** the menace go play

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon