"A leisurely breakfast" their mother would admonish, "aids digestion and builds strong bones..." so what with the imposed inactivity every morning, boredom broken only by Sockeye the family Spaniel, whose want of table manners coincided very conveniently with mealtimes... as he paced restlessly under the table, slobbering indiscriminately in his daily scramble to devour every dangling morsel before supply and demand shut up shop for the night and went home, far tastier... he gobbled down the latest offering of egg white, than the remnants of his own dietary allowance, they just had to get the timing right that was all, or risk loosing a finger, or gaining one depending upon who was doing the dangling, or who was doing the gobbling... he gave an indignant sneeze, not so much a hint but more of a... 'what's with the pepper malarky...'  So that it was only with a good deal of snappy hand coordination, lengthy digestion and sturdy bone building that Rocky was finally able to extricate himself from the table and make the most of what little time remained until lunchtime, meagre time indeed for the Rocky's of this world to hang around with their dogs, leaving their little sisters to help mums do, whatever it was that girls usually did when they should have scooted out of the kitchen faster, when it would have been all so much simpler just to grab a handful of biscuits instead...  Meanwhile, laying in wait in the room above, flat out upon the bedroom counterpane, having recently had their insides stuffed to bursting with a full English breakfast's worth of beach and holiday apparal... and that was just the luggage.    

     The contents of which, up until a week last washday had been snoozing fitfully behind 'Do Not Disturb' signs, cautiously peeping out from the gloomier, more remote recesses of the bedroom dresser, or carefully concealed in cupboards and closets... and being in every other respect by no means readily accessible to public scrutiny of any kind... had been left to their own devices some twelve months earlier with a clear understanding to skip bath nights from that moment on and henceforth immerse themselves in the heady, camphorated pungency of mothball, vowing once and for all never to darken portmanteau lids again... but now, after many hours of arduous laundering and de-fumigation... were now being squeezed and unceremoniously shoe-horned into what had recently become nothing short of an overcrowded sanctuary for the dispossessed.  
              
     Meanwhile, all the luggage asked from life other than be detained under section four of the Mental Health Act, 1983 and be found cosy padded accommodation elsewhere... was to have their interiors vacated, their tranquility reinstated... and with a questionable wink from a dodgy Customs official, have their travel permits invalidated... irrevocably, for despite throwing a double six for a spot of well earned convalescence back on top of the wardrobe some twelve months ago, basking in the shade of a warm Summer Sun, striking up the occasional conversation with the floral decor, third bloom from the left currently answering to the name of Petunia, the still over extended luggage, seemingly with little hope of R & R this side of the letter Q, faced the perennial disquiet of vacational therapy, of being knelt on, sat and bounced upon and be specifically manhandled in ways that matching sets of co-ordinated luggage should not...
                                        
     Tina could be heard quite distinctly in the next street concerning her husbands lack of competence, whilst Red it appeared had become just as outspoken as his wife in that particular direction... as the local self appointed busybody, who lived well within earshot of the address in question would bear witness to as she put feverish pen to paper, writing to what had become a regular... and some would say hot bed of intrigue in the local tabloid concerning how vociferous the once tranquil neighbourhood had become of recent and how certain undesirable elements within the community were to be heard carrying on alarmingly at all hours, day and night... and as she diligently weighed her civic duty against simple household economics as to whether to send this latest block busting eye opener by first or second class post, their parents could now be heard broadcasting, if anything to a wider listening audience than the previous newsflash, some of the more sensational episodes of the previous twenty-four hours as to who was pulling whose suitcase zipper now... although in which direction it should be pulled, they both agreed, wasn't for public disclosure at that time... vowing to draw blood well before the day was out, as three lacerated fingers would later testify and that it was only because of the children that they were going at all... but God willing, they would be setting off very shortly with rosy smiles on their faces for the sole benefit of the neighbours, even if it killed them. 

     Spurred to fever pitch  by this latest 'stop-the-press' newsflash, the same public spirited busybody now threw herself wholeheartedly into further award winning journalism and for the second time that morning took to pen and paper, only now directed to the gossip column in the local Parish Gazette, followed by grievous lamentations of impending bloodshed to the incumbent Chief Constable as to how they'd all be murdered in their beds ere long before nightfall.

     By devouring his water bowl, thereby dispensing with the need for it to be washed and by its abrupt and mysterious absence, disposing of all further incriminating evidence as to where the abundant supply of liquid, now surging copiously across the kitchen floor had sprung from... the flash-flood was hastily making its own getaway beneath the kitchen units, leaving Sockeye to his own devices to carry the can on his own, ankle deep in what up until earlier that morning had been sloshing around quite contentedly in Eccup reservoir.

      Having inadvertently released the handbrake in a boyish gesture of bravado, thereby placing himself in sole charge of a runaway vehicle, Sockeye it appeared was not the only member of the Salmon family to have dropped himself right in it that day as Rocky, having unwittingly placed the following ten years pocket money well out of reach and back into the pockets of his parents dwindling resources, had to a far greater extent nominated himself for the same Earth moving experience as the one his mum would shortly be giving Sockeye...

      Having just been granted licence to do whatsoever it pleased, the vehicle began its leisurely rearwards perambulation down the long garden driveway and by way of small thanks for its new found independence took Rocky along for the ride where due to a certain lack of stature on Rocky's part, at no point had he ever been in the slightest position to influence the Holiday threatening train of events which now engulfed him, never thinking to reapply the handbrake... that would be too easy, he perched on the edge of the seat clutching the steering wheel and stretched out his sturdy little legs in an heroic, but futile attempt to reach the pedals as the family car, which up until any second now had been his fathers pride and joy, pitched backwards at what seemed to Rocky, breakneck speed and directly into a very severe and unforgiving brick wall.

     Almost missing this latest round of entertainment above that of her parents most recent exchange, River accompanied by Sockeye scampered outdoors and slap into what could only be described as the most fun she'd had all year as an unsuspecting "what was that noise" muscled its way through the open bedroom window and fell flat on its face in the garden below and which, if that morning to date was anything to go by, then the neighbourhood would soon be tuning in to the latest Salmon family's 'hot-off-the-press' breaking news bulletin.

     Opening her mouth River hesitated as she fine-tuned the speech centres of her young and delicate synapse into full vocal alignment, then adjusting shutter speed from f8 to automatic she closed her mouth... then opened it once again and informed her brother that if the tip of dads size 9 was an Olympic gold, then Rocky would be sure to take first in the 110 metre hurdling event with 'team GB...' and could she have his autograph... with those words of solid encouragement rattling around his ears like the last biscuit in an otherwise empty tin box, River went skipping back into the house to announce the latest newsflash of her parents next financial happening... which she felt certain would prompt further rounds of thought provoking front page journalism.

     A steady two hours drive away, over on the east coast, the inhabitants of a sleepy fishing community were gainfully employed, pretty much as any other, going about their daily business, one such denizen... a baby crustacean, currently marooned by the tide had taken up temporary accommodation in a beachfront rock-pool property of certain distinction, was as yet unaware of a completely different and obscure set of circumstances that would shortly be rearing his slobbering jowls and bring all four paws, the size of dinner plates, crashing down upon the unsuspecting seashore fauna... was determined while she waited to catch the next high tide home, that until such time that the right wave rolled along, would potter about in the little rock-pool, perhaps indulge herself in a leisurely bathe... and catch up on a spot of therapeutic knitting.

     So, placing the days events since breakfast into perspective...  [i]  the vehicle indemnity provider, henceforth to be named 'the party of the first part', who currently weren't cognisant of an impending claim to date, would shortly be laying eggs attempting to squirm out of all liability, due to  [ii]  the automobile, driven by a minor, fortunately for Salmon senior on private land and henceforth, the aforementioned to be called 'the third party, to the party of the second part...' which urgently needed rigorous cosmetic attention to the rear tail light cluster and surrounding bodywork so as to maintain a favourable resale mark-up price.  [iii]  Having been dragged kicking and screaming from the top of the wardrobe, the luggage had rapidly developed cold feet and cried sudden illness in the family, but were being taken to the Wake anyway.  [iv]  Wrapped around the hot water cylinder since the previous Summer, the various sundry items of holiday apparel stood united, resolute as a Union Picket line not be seen dead looking as though they'd never so much as seen the bottom of a flat-iron.  [v]  Both Red and his wife, Tina, despite wearing the same anaemic smile as the one show to the neighbours as they departed, travelling counter clockwise along the crescent so as not to unduly advertise their recent misadventure with the garage wall, were only going for the sake of the children, whilst  [vi]  River and her errant brother didn't want to go anyway dismayed at leaving the television set behind, were already missing their favourite programs, which only really left  [vii]  'mans-best-friend' who, when he wasn't actually hanging over the front seat giving dad big sloppy licks as though... 'are we nearly there yet' or perhaps... 'I need to stop and spend a penny... or you'll all know about it if you don't,' was more than content to be taking up the majority of the rear seating arrangements and with a delinquent wag of his tail, was deliriously happy to be wherever his family were.**

                                                        ­                             ...   ...   ...

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1862

Who is confident
Will be cognisant
Others may be right.
Who is arrogant
Will be adamant
They alone are right.
Therefore arrogance
Is just confidence
That's asserted; Right?
Or it may just be
Insecurity,
This need to be right.
To make others small
So one can feel tall
Is never alright!
Who gains this insight
Will have seen the light
And will do all right.

friends of friends and an **** of mutuality
every one ripe for the ******* until we greedily
eat our own tails

I find myself running low on chemistry

with so little reaction left inside of me
the water around the plug hole no longer spins,
it only falls

architectural wounds
cannot heal beneath this razor’s murderous haste
while the cognisant weak and a capella apes deform
the silent comedy of a shared space

once straight tempers and scorpion kindness highball
an unhappy taste, leaving who to speak
for the ordinary host?

the functionaries’ short practice
infects the martyr’s hurried hair
between the principal route and the settling irons

When I have the dream
that I am pulling him
from the castle, by such
crude force, and I dream that
Otto, my dawn compatriot,
has him by the collar
face down
I feel myself out of that
assumed body, still present in
the scene – and each time
I recourse to the knowledge
that the lake has a great depth,
an unknown depth at its deepest point
So when the ripples are subsiding
When Otto stands in that detumescent
pose, I look very simply and solemnly
at the water, and my outside self
just above
is revelling in recourse to
the lake's unknown depth.
The beast I am
cannot know the serenity in that great depth

With that in mind
I long to plunge him, to
plunge my surrogate frame into
that beautiful water
among the weeds, the trout and
the body
And dive
in nervous equanimity
to that depth
to know that fact
and to hold my arm out
through the deep
as a line to the surface

but I am conscious of
the approaching light
so we leave, Otto and I,
the morning sun warming
us, releasing the dew;
I know I will return
to the cold room
to erase all the lines;
spent
after the relentless
****** of a man many citizens
of my nation
suppose to be perfectly innocent

In another vision
I emerge onto the lakescene
in a slender junk
my white drapery
and my precious oaring
does much to disturb
the Guineverean twilight;
close to the bank
where the fog has receded
there are orbs
I am younger
than I have been
for some time now
and just as each movement
that I am making
in my elegant junk
strikes me as being unique
I am faced with his image
over again
in the same humour
the likeness
over again
they could not find the body
in the deep lake

I can make a confession
that I am alone on this trip
confident, though
quite old
with my husband long departed
this is a confessional piece
about when we went to the lake
and I swam
and he was watching
and we were quite young
and I thought I might marry him
and I did
and after the drying off
and the drink of water
he was telling me about Ludwig, looking out over the Starnbergersee
with his mournful eyes
I cannot say if I loved him now
I cannot say if 'summer surprised us' as the poem said
he liked the poem
his mother was named Marie
and our house had a wonderful garden
so that poem was evocative, I suppose
you could read it that way
I didnt open my body again

I often wonder if the silence
owes something to my
nightly ritual
my method of calm:
I lie very still in the dark
burrowed into the sheets
and I imagine each being
reposing in the uniform rooms
the light outside almost without colour
within, it is only I,
repeated throughout each room
and each room's little boxed being, I am
luming over the bodies
to extinguish any little vestiges
in those cognisant minds –
the memories falling;
dim petals around me
every time my hand
on a bright body
the sssssss sound
that leads to the inevitable blossom
that is falling around me

When time ceases and your world falls apart,
When trepidation clouds your imminent future,
For when everything you ever held onto is lost,
and your thoughts shamble past your once glimmering eyes;
For when you stop moving your dexterous arms and just lay,
You feel pain surging through your veins,
Detriment taking over exuberance
fighting your self doubting mind off of deranged thoughts;

For once you feel the need to close your eyes
and fight off the impassiveness that blocks your sight,
For once you just wish this wound would heal,
For your toiled life to just ease into calmness,
To be ridden off the weight piled on your fragile shoulders;

Your mind seives through various ways
To feel the ubiquitous presence of ethereal light,
To curl up in it's peacefulness and inevitably give into it;
Tranquility takes the place of hurt
like an addictive shot of cannabis dissolving into your system;
You feel the penetrating urge to hold on to it
To reach out to your sliver of hope with your scrawny fingers
and grasp it tight,
Your hope of a world inoculated against the social stigma,
Rid of narcissus and his obnoxiousness;
Where for once in your troubled life you would not have to hide;

You feel your numb fingers closing over something sharp,
Possessed by an unquenchable thirst for freedom,
Wanting to insinuate yourself with the ethereal glimpse of hope;

Your breath lies between the blade of wishful virtuality and reality;
Reality, a now tormented word,
a word defining a world arisen out of
A never satisfying greed for power and erudition;

You fathom your cognisant mind to construe the moment,
To feel a sharp paroxysm of pain, a flush of wrong;
An ardor to redefine reality,
To concoct the mundane world scrupulous,
To write the wrong;

The heart now pumps blood of valiance,
Belligerence to cause insurrection,
A piquant taste to live builds up,
To fight for righteousness and to die of victory,
For it is in our nature to fight;

The blade falls into the pit of cowardice,
And reality has been chosen;
Chivalry triumphs over death
and the **** that time is begins to run rampant;
The crusade soaring in your mind now vanquished,
Your fragmented scorched life now meaningful;

For you have been reborn,
a master of time and chaste;
Reborn into a warrior,
one who has fought off the wards of death;
Whose prudence his armour,
Benevolence his weapon,
Candour his speech,
Dauntless his demeanour and
Intrepid his blood.

One morning safe in barracks while sitting on the loo,
Our Colonel, who'd put duty first, was wondering what to do.
Now, he'd sounded out the adjutant and the R.S. M.
He'd asked that pair what did they think would occupy the men.
They had answered 'drill, sir. Men love parade ground stuff'.
But the Colonel, after consultation, thought they'd had enough.
Their morale it should be lifted, satisfaction thus enjoyed.
'We must not have the men abused, but gainfully employed'.

Thus, next morning doing block jobs, the diggers were astonished
When told by sergeant of platoon that toilets must be polished.
''Tis for honour and the Company's pride' he'd said to busy soldier
'And pleased it is you'll be my boy before you're too much older.
That instead of stamping feet on square or theory of the gun,
Or concealment from an enemy, or stalking (which is fun),
You will spend your time with elbow grease each morning here with me,
Polishing taps and porcelain and cleaning lavatory'.

So that every week when CO. comes to look at WC.,
Accompanied by the Major and all the powers that be,
And they poke round toilet ledges, check louvred slats for dust,
These expert, fighting officers smelling drains because they must
Ensure their Colonels wish, and we to quench our Major's thirst,
So that of Battalion's toilets it's his that comes in first.
And young, fit, soldier volunteers, now feeling ****** annoyed,
Are to be denied all training to be gainfully employed.

But enough of silly moralising, holier than thee.
Who finally beat up all the rest for champion company?
Well, that was Sergeant Kusba, who were a devious swine.
He'd doctored water closets so they smelled like table wine.
Well, 'twer lemon essence really, after which one could not flush.
And a secret guard on toilet bowls to ward off morning rush.
Which was borne by me and Sergeant Glen 'til trickery did we smell,
After which we cornered Kusba in the Mess and gave him Hell.

So we as well began to use the lemon essence trick.
We all professed to satisfy but thought our Colonel thick,
As he stood at water closet breathing deeply, satisfied,
The diggers standing by their beds all laughed until they cried.
And the CSM., cognisant, fed up as much as we,
Served the Colonel and his minions a scrumptious morning tea.
Whilst they stood relaxed and at their ease upon our polished floor,
Between ***** trough on one side, on the other, closet door.

Carefully each day
Fostering each other's hearts
As we commence routines and tasks
Familiar situations are nothing
Except feelings of assurance through cognisant repetition
Taking a coffee to the table, eating a cake or sandwich
But the simplest things lift us
Your mouth makes signs to me
Beckoning me to touch you
In a moment it's changed and we laugh
Your eyes sparkle and smiling I sigh
Raising me to the highest once more
Even a moving finger or the tilt of your head
Keeps it soulful  and interesting
Distractions are few
As soon we sit as one
Joined at the hip exchanging body heat
Looking forward, feeding our souls
Crazy in love and so simply OK!
Not mundane to enjoy the nice little things
Gaining insight as our life entwines
Morphing into each other as we sleep
Do we care for others, yes
Our Pagan hearts are true and full
Revelling in each minute together
As humans should when love takes first place

It was my
favourite puzzle
And the best time of
The day
More of pretence
Or actual happiness
Was something
Which couldn't be figured
Lying to self
Caused harm
Truth was even bitter
I was trying to
Stay awake
And arrange those
Pieces
I felt a strong
Disinclination
And wanted to
Battle it out
I looked at the illustrations
And stood flabbergasted
Nothing made sense
I had to be
cognisant of
Those boundaries
And keep my self
Wrapped up
There was a piece
Lying by my side
Which wasn't a part of
The puzzle
It was just
An infatuation.

I was young when I first met her -
a teenager, and getting a hang of it.
I'd like to think I smiled more, back then.

I don't recall much before her -
even the little I remember feels surreal.

I had just experienced the sweetness of a first love -
staying up all night speaking on the phone,
exchanging silly, cute love messages read on the internet.
It was adorable, I tell myself.
Teenage love often is.

Then I met her.
She was quiet, and timid.
We barely saw each other -
but she was always on my mind.

At first, she'd only visit in the evenings.
As we grew closer to each other, she was around more.
She would swoop me away from friends -
she was jealous, and wanted me only to herself.
I was not cognisant of how jealous her love was.

She hated it if I was smiling, or laughing without her.
She hated it when I went to visit places without her.
She would be mad at me, if I did anything without her,
and I would cry myself to sleep.

So, to love her best and to make her happy;
I stopped smiling, or laughing without her.
I stopped going to places without her.
And I cried to sleep, even if she was not mad at me.

When I met her, she never gave me her name.
But I asked, I had to know her name.

Her name is Depression,
and I wish I never met her.

a calyx in chaos.
a crack in chalky crown, crimson, cratered, clowns
cry crystal shards....
clothe me in crimpolene
in shades of clinical ivory
and cream.

come hither they cry
and carp, cavil,caterwaul.

come hither, come,
come, come.
cypher the cyan, from the cyanide
castigate, the casting,
of the conversational.
be cognisant, within the
cogs of the  clock...

click-ticking..tick-clicking

in chorus, chant of canticle.
be the calm,
within the clemency.
and the core,
of the courageous.
concede not,
contemplate, with conscioncious, clear
the concepts of conotation

above all be
incomparable, capricious, canny and considerate
a conglomerate of cause, corpus and crux.....
both curious and a curiosity.
cause...
creation, cherishes
a clever n' curious, curiosity.

Tonight the lane
Will be flooded
With blood
And shadows
The ongoing rituals
And other paraphernalia
The squad will deny
But conquer
Every soul engaging in
Increasing the baggage
Of our cognisant minds
I'll try to ameliorate
The functionality
By passing on placards
With the truth imprinted
On every edge
While poets will continue to tell lies.

look into the morning mirror
slow shave and study dull eyes
looking back



a floor full of masks the passed ones may have dropped
he falls onto the ceiling, nose pressed onto the frieze
and she puts on heavy-shoes and has to hook him back downwards
it takes morning starch and bitter coffee to make ceiling dust shy
fashion is thrown out on its cracked sheen
as the carried mode entails only generic style and empirical fall



Let me sniff your armpit
Let me sniff it, please
I'm looking at you stand before my eyes
I see you right here.. before my very eyes



a pigeon on a windowsill
such a lovely unexpect!
it flies inside - harmony beheld
creates a stir
into a pane, stunned.. and life is expectorated
disposal wants to occur too fast and something
                                                                          
            breaks inside him

system slave runs forward, grabs its soul
and hurries out slow

gray panels of cement amidst more gray panels
lodged between silvery towers and metal clink
olfactory-core comes nerve alive

( . . . )




he stands before the glass and looks upon her face
whose eyes may show no grief
clothed in vest and heavy foot
he unclips the last vestige
fully cognisant
and off he goes
to shock of passerby
he looks up to see the truest, bluest sky


and looks down to see the small figure
of her
receding.. receding.. receding ..




duty of kissing ceilingdust is in the past and

so is
living in slow-reverse

Knowing that I had but a short span
of time before
I would depart,
and cognisant of all that I had built
upon the trellis of my dreams.
I wondered how best to preserve
those unique sentiments
as my endowment to the world.
There seemed to be
no formula for one such as myself
to entertain the posthumous
yet valid sustentation of my life.

But then the gods,
or such as pass  for them
in my philosophy,
took pity on this sinner
and vowed to store his yet
unsatisfied  expressions
of Life’s truths
for all posterity.

They salted a rain cloud
with my spawning seed
that I might yet persist
in word and deed.
Then storms produced
a prophecy,
a bequest to my progeny
that when I am no more,
and worms have done their worst,
the nascent grains of my philosophy
shall still remain intact and undispersed.

And so these morbid lines
continue to enhance the pages
of this conduit;
to bore, excite, annoy, exasperate
and otherwise to plague their readership.
But have no fear:
take heart dear reader,
persist in honest faith
and reassurance that
the peregrinations of this verbal inning
is closer to its end
than its beginning.

she is the sand that supports me.

I think constantly about what constancy can be and whether or how it affects me.

Family is the one certainty in a
faith that can be hit or miss.

This is the tidal reach and
she is the beach I rely on
the reason I go on
the rock that never moves.

The bridge between two cities.

We can fly across the chasms to the ends of acceleration.

In the instant of recognition
if self can be recognised
I am cognisant of my faults.

I'm not sure if perfection is attainable or winnable,
nor sure if I'm capable,
but
I'll cross that bridge
when I come to it.

This constant battle of tug-of-war with the universe has taught me to be cognisant,
Of how fragile I am between the few good moments,
Moments where I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be suffocated by these four walls,
The same four walls that have seen and heard every one of my downfalls.

Its funny how one word can pull the trigger to a lifetime of memories,
I’ve spent so much time isolating them but they come up just as easy,
The days I spent sitting on the cold, bathroom floor with slits on my wrist,
Never expecting to wake up the next morning or live through another night like this.

Each morning is a guessing game of which body part I hate the most;
Will my thighs, my arms or hairy legs be looked at and called “gross”?
The razor sitting in my top drawer rattles and calls out my name,
Will today be the day I carve out hateful messages and sit out in pain?

I try to block out the thoughts that are circling in my mind;
Pointing their daggers at my back and slowly killing me from the inside,
My heart feels heavy as I put on a smile and thank god that I’m alive,
We both know that i’m lying but at least I can convince myself, even if it's just for a while.

In the heart of Kolkata lies the palatial palace of the redcoats
The centre of architecture served as the residence of the empress of India
The weapons of war, antique jewellery, charismatic gowns and magnificent paintings gleam with pride
The sharp eyes of the queen catch everything around her as she sits on her throne and is ready to accept the crown
Carved is the coast of arms and the last supper in the abode of the angels
Spacious corridors, stained glass windows, classic architecture, lush green gardens form this cognisant seraglio
The crows and Robbins are her messenger or maybe even the prima donna in disguise
And every morning the angel of the sun turns around and announces the beginning of a newfangled day

.    Depressed people never
     have happy dreams and
    because the subconscious
  is nocturnal, sleep is hunting
ground for suppressed thought.

Therefore, self induced wakings
from disturbing nightmares can
only suggest that the person is
cognisant of what is occurring.

It is an extension of their coping
strategies during diurnal events,
when flight is the chosen option.

i don't see how there can't be
a simple Cartesian implosion
of
counter-intuitively
saying:
i exist before i even know
that i exist:
or at least comprehend it...

which is twice as true
as how
life: regardless of my sentiments
of flow:
the moon:
tides...
i think therefore i am
is a resolute of competence
and knowledge seeking:
surgeons have the modus operandi
of i think therefore i am:
such the proximity of failure:
disaster...  mistake...

eureka! did you find Europe
expanding as the funnel for peoples travels:
like the casual commute:
or did you find: i think...
it's hard to find i am in i think:
let alone i think in i think
in i in ?
or is that !
                i don't know:
it's like the second slaughter of a cow
when the steak is not done
medium rare but treated like
a Sunday Roast...

onomatopoeia: please! please!
enlighten me... ? = hmmph
and ! = ah / gee!

    i want my tongue back:
my tongue is not some morbid fetish
you have at the altar of his ****...
the serpent is my tongue:
i want it back:
you can keep the fruit that labor
with glee:
i want my tongue back:
you can have the serpent story
the apple the tree:
Y Y
  
∇       Δ

NABLUE DELTOUS...

         i'm sending the two H emissaries...
naHblue: delTHous:
one married the trininity: the mother Tau
and became F of if thigh:
the other:
intact: Cain: Esau...

        the vowel catcher and the laughter-generator...
hideous bunch...
so one became a priest:
a surd: a servant:
a silent alliance of letters written
but not said:

salad, plenty of that:
i still want my tongue back...
where does my voice
otherwise escape to?
rhetoric or cognisance...
       cognisanze...
         seance... eons... ae...
         cognisant.... cognizant!

jeez: what a burden triple eyes
getting to watch a boy get dribbled...
peanuts: candy... dental floss!
dental floss: peanuts: candy!

now i will brush my teeth and drink less
and feel brushing with authority:
but not yet off the mark
on being the daddy and dream team
soccer coach on Kauai...
as that isn't: claustrophobia from sexless
you want to play the dragon
but still dealing with two serpents...
one in the tongue and one
in the phallus...

    i was not aware of having any
reproductive know-about depository PO BOX...
my two serpents were always one:
confused by women
with such intellect that images
became black and white...
word... simply put...
           she confused his **** to his vocal
bass-box...
to my ****: to the *******...
to: the serpent is the tongue in
a dragon's mouth...
       i don't think i have a ****: i have a cockerel
morning y'all!
        i have a juicy ****...
i sometimes imitate
when jerking off the Jeckyl & Hyde
of a limp-dickery...

otherwise VOUS for a hard TH
or FOES for a soft TH...                 pH:
soft water: nutritional scrutiny:
an alkaline or an acidic diet...
bad teeth: probable suicide or just bad
nutrition? Mark Legget already knows.

Dear Madam,

Welcome to Melbourne!

I hope I could live up to the image
that you attribute to me.

Am I not human like all my fellow-men?

If there were any consolation,
it would be that I should not harm anyone
as life is already full of pain and suffering.

If there were happiness,
I wouldn't want more than I deserve
as there are hundreds of millions
who are more needy.

Happiness that is sought
without regard to the welfare of others
is selfish and dwarfs the person.

We should teach our kids and grandkids
that character is more important
than knowledge, success and money.

Let us never be ungrateful
or take what we enjoy for granted.

If we could reach out to people
in dire conditions, let us not walk away.

Let us be cognisant that we are all connected
in common humanity and that to act inhumanly
is a smear on our character.

The Universe has its rules and order
and we would grow within it
if we develop love and compassion.

The Persian culture is so rich
as is our Chinese-
let us in utmost humility embrace
the noble, the good, the beautiful
and the sublime.

Despite our weaknesses and frailties,
we all have ample potential to do good.

I hope you and family will realise your hopes in our beautiful country.

sincerely
P