I am afraid that I might hurt you when I carry you
That these hands – tired, calloused, and clumsy
Might not know how to hold a gift as precious as you
Son, I wish I could show you the beauty of the world
Sneak out of the house after dinner, away from your mother
And watch fireflies while listening to the chorus of crickets at night
I wish I could answer all your questions and sate your heart’s wonder
Catch a dew as it rises and trace its path as it falls again as rain
I want you to open your eyes
See a much brighter world; not like mine which is perpetrated by my silly fears
I wish God would give you great hands
One that would be so powerful that it would not be afraid to hold a basketball or a bicycle
But one that is gentle that it would hold mine and not let go as I grow older
How I wish, as you grow older, to give all of these to you
But son, how can I teach you of courage and valor
When inside your father’s chest beats a heart of a fearful dog; cowing in terror
You deserve someone who has a heart of a lion; brave and strong like a true champion
Still, I see you as possible
I need to see your smile to dispel my many terrors
I need to see you get up when you stumble so that I may let go of my failures and always move forward
I need to see you sleep so I may sleep
Need to see you cry so that I too can cry
I want you to like me
To see me
To see me now, in moments like this
Your father stays awake, gazing at your sleeping face
Fumbling as he reaches down to carry you
Being ever so gentle so that you might not wake
I am still afraid that I might hurt you as I carry you
But I need to feel the warmth of your skin
Like my breath needs air to live for
*10:18:08.23:30

Loyalty makes a loser out of me
Deciding that the overriding emotion
Should rule my reason
Allowing the cowing to familial bonds
I am stuck in a sour situation
Facing no hope for improvement
Leaving this life with no secret delusion
The confusion of right and wrong
Stains my last shirt
It hurts because I am stuck in a blender
A ****** of identity
Between my father figure and me
Wanting and doing something better for myself
Would make a traitorous liar out of me
The guilt would devour me hour by hour
The freedom would empower me
Give me time to build a better me
So how do I decide

At ringend on june sixteenth nineteen hundred and four
                                                                     Molly opens her door
and Literate Leopold plonks his kosher black pudding into her hand
                                                                                        Isn't it grand
                                                                 to be remembered this way?
Walking the streets and ******* the teats of the sow that eats its children
Searching for meat on O'Connel streeet that has the tang of scented *****
The well known literate degenerates
long to have  their hot-dogs stroked by baaaaaaaaaarnacles
whilst sellin' knick-nack Paddywackery of dear old ***** dumpling
                     How do they walk with her sausages
                                  and inner organs  of beasts and fowls?
their shanks ****** dry of whuskey on Denny's big breakfast show
                Well **** your ****! With a flame-grilled
                                                                       samuel
                                                                                 becket burger
                                                                             and a side order
                                                                       of oscar wilde fries

"warmth showered gently over him, cowing his flesh. Flesh yeilded amid rumpled clothes.
Whites of eyes swooning up. His nostrils arched themselves for prey. Melting breast ointments.
Armpits oniony sweat .
Fishgluey slime.
Feel!
Press!
Crushed!
Sulphur dung of lions
Young!  Young!

                 In the petri-
                               Pish
                               Pish
                               Pish
                               Dish
spitoon culture
           the illiteraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaati
                                      hold a party
                  
                "I'm a tiny tiny thing
                     Ever flying in the spring
                       Round and round a ringaring
                                                  Long ago I was king
                                        Now I do this kind of thing
                                     On the wing, onnnnnnnn the wing!"
                                                    Bing!

Professor Latelate Lateshow Late review
Was talking to ME……..        about yew
What do yew think of that aesthetic crew?
                                  The opal hush poets?
                                   The master mystiks?
The wanz thit
       *** to me
          in the sma' oors
               o the mournin'
                    tae ask aboot
                       plains o consciousness?

They're all Barbers, says he, from the Black Country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses!

In Dublin's fine city
Where the wine bars are pretty
You can't find an ashtray
You must smoke alone.

                                                                                  Isn't it grand
                                                               To be remembered this way
Walking the streets and ******* the teats of the sow that eats its children?

The Reds won by turning capitalism and democracy against us The frenzied shortsighted pursuit of individualism enraptured by its own grandiosity Obese in arrogance and false piety Among our weakest links the myth of liberty in the guise of protection against our own From My Cold Dead Hands they will eulogize the depths of our hypocrisies tucked into the gaping cracks of a marbled column tombstone that reads We the People a hollow echo from a dead philosophers guilded mirror reflecting delusions of equality while his window glimpsed the reality of People bound as chattle An era of monsters championed as heritage by a devolved theater of gross absurdity enraptured by a sycophantic maelstrom swirling a wretched mass of vitriolic grievance creeping its facists tendrils through our halls our homes and our hearts So much bluster about essential freedoms now a **** in the wind from a constituency of the ignorant dead eyed before the altar of Exceptionalism A manifestion of the truly unexceptional by a bizarre cult of personality devoid of that very essence Whiny and bloated convinced its oily opulence is somehow self evident justification for its own cavernous gluttony Heavy the privileged jowels spew hatred and lies slathered in corruption shouted as truth through the arcanity of scripture among those who would not know the forest from the trees from the rot in their minds as long as it says so on the TV vomiting endless propaganda of imagined shadow forces flooding the country with fictionalized caramel colored criminals Willingly blind barrelling into a fog of twisted fantasy failing to realize that the narcos envisioned pale by comparison of heinous intention or deed to the very real NARCs embraced Lockstep and jackboot heel in tow behind a tide of Nationalism that is anything but A contrived patriotism cannibalizing its own mythology whittling the bones of history to alternate facts devoured by fat children as so much sugary cereal bored reading the Constitution from the back of a whitewashed cardboard box ******* about a return to values and integrity they never possessed with their fingers crossed Cowing to the blackened whims of spineless parasitic wraiths picking at the shades of fallen titans Packs of roving dipshits trumpeting ideals their grandfathers died to eradicate Prancing about sporting the finest camo and tac gear in a perverse sashay Their measure of civic duty reduced to how much red white and blue crowds their shitstained boxers dowsed in cheap beer and sad rivulets of encrusted ***** trickled in a shame for which they have yet to fully account or atone Fools leading the foolish to oblivion are we God bless the USA for surely no creature under heaven would

we went fishing, we went cycling...
the best years
circa 2002 through to some other
circa...
we went to forever distant places...
we allowed ourselves to
stomach heights of mountains...
now come to "think" of it...
i have tabloid and graffiti where
bow-ties and mourning should be...
the world just preserves
this insistence to continue:
with or without a status quo...
because today i am shuffling into
a currency: the world so happens...
the anglophone sphere is
insomniac awaiting election
results... i'm hardly invested in it...
i wish to be so oh so concerned...
that i might forget - yet now remember:
the reconquista of much
of europe for the ottoman turks...
but it's not like the turks are arabs...
never mind...
               i itch with skin i tease
myself over an asset that's these eyes...
i sip a glass of water,
ciemnota that is gladly ruled over
by counterfeit, bb'ah'ah... bb'ah'ah...
actors...
less of what's to be done
and more of what's to be...
how i imagine myself being (a) man
rather than doing the expected
manly-"thing"...
          if it was oh so simple
that we were all born turtles...
with knowledge of plumbing apparatus....
i am less as being
and forever diminishing as having
done... employed by a "miracle"
of the undo...
               revision quest...
there's no reality of a gaping hole
or: ex nihil stalking me:
  no: born of death....
              latin! latin!
          natus ex mors...
we went fishing and how we bicycled
around a never-ending stupidity
how i extended my youth
while you preserved your old age...

grandma was a ***** to the last...
no?
  3 months to spare...
she could have noted: he's not feeling
well... some aid would be nice...
i feel cheated my heart
thrown into a heap of stones...
i'm expecting a heaving lung
in return...
not this close...
not from family this anger arch... ing
to subdue my unfathomable
shadow, come noon,
come the moon:
puppet! how's lore?!

she could have called and said:
instead of 2 day's worth of baggage:
you're in the hospice breathing
your last...
i wake up to a tomorrow
and hear the north.east.west.south...
apparently you're dead...

for all those estranged examples
of dictated family...
i should have extracted ms. *****
from your wife: my grandmother:
how she would suddenly be found
gloating: pinning you to
a pampers **** soaked... etc.
gruesome details: n'est ce pas?

she was so adamant about inheriting
your pension...
she was moreover adamant
on me taking out 500zł each day:
it's not like you amassed a lot of savings
to begin with...

over 7K... dutiful grandson...
i remember when she first encouraged me....
you were drunk and i would be stealing
pennies from your trouser pockets
left hanging on a chair in a room
of much darkening...

well... there's no unthinking this one
through: i'm the better drunk than
you will ever be: i fathom a need to
write some odd doodle while you
were exhausting the last remains
of memory cinema...

i'm gaining friction from people who
have started to notice:
i am not using english
with any orthodoxy, catholicism or
the sushi entree of protestantism...
looks like this language
i alone must own:
i will not be among the throng
of false prophets speaking
to the natives for corrections...

i own all that is readily available...
the natives can go burn
wickers and churches: in all honesty!

TUMANY...

                   it's theirs? they loosely(,)
just disguised themselves:
as... hinter...
          and the lapsing of aggrieved:
solo quests...
their native language doesn't translate
back...
it's theirs or is it simply mine?
how much this integration will allow...
i need more heads decapitated
saluting lazy tongues on pikes:
i am sure!
before the zombies will start sleeping: again!

if i were to stress my:
formality all too readily...
i remember days when we used to go
to school...
and meningitis was rife...
and a rifle too...
and we complied to the details
of the herd...

but not this, not now...
i can get a haircut i also can:
sure as hell wait for an irritating death
from a toothache!
sooner the pains from
a bad-hair-day...
i'm waiting for my teeth to
grow into fangs...
into elephant-esque tusks...
since my mouth will be unable
to impossibly keep them...
but my hair is more prompted
as: kept attention of "detail"...

suicide never made more sense:
all the excuses are in situ:
on the ready...
and i wouldn't even want
to blame these explorers...

             as ever: english in the "gulag":
how dasein translates into
"concern":
how happiness could ever be
substituted for inquisitiveness...
mind you: my eyes are darting
fathoming a whirlwind...
a roller-coaster...

i was debriefed by happiness
once...
i left the same sullen & sulk
signature as i ever might...
it didn't budge teasing an amassing
zombie-feud...
to begin or end with...
after all... i was born into a land-mass
that once claimed pride...
from sea to sea:
the baltic and the black sea
was, "in question"...

land-locked manoeuvres -
too many ******* vowels!
too many ******* vowels!
              there was a part of me
that somehow understood the genius
of the russians:
hence all that jazz of russophobia...
but there was no need
for claustrophobia and a siberia
pairing...
ugly feelings: mostly hurt...
or somewhat...
the terrible price of disgruntling
a slab of turk:
having confused it with a slobbering
over, over a camel jockey's arab
surprise...

saudi promises regarding
yemen...
                and all that was to remain
of bahrain...
like syria...
thank god for the closures
of the "ummah"...
bite the horn: ring the tonsils:
a church bell's worth of an uvula!
tongue this gluey
extract: my teeth a soothing
coming together: hey presto!
a shell for this slothing cringe
feast...

my grandmother with 3 months spare...
you told me:
ring me each month...
check up on my whereabouts...
i could have expected so much
from strangers...
"fwends"...
not from the ugliest
floral pattern of **** that was
a granny..
you were a drunk:
i'm a better drunk of the whole lot
of us two: twinned...

this unrelenting presence:
to have been allowed witness of your body
so well fashioned for
a funeral: mr. navy...
mr. now...
            
        i suppose a thank you is in order...
81 years in waiting is
the only way to die...
there's no need to tease turtles
with envy that extends into
a century...

now i want to remember edinburgh
through 2004 to 2007...
it could have been manchester...
it could have been an itch
like southampton...
pressure me... creases of
a Penzance... reverse the tide i probably
couldn't...

perhaps i want to chase learning
a game of chess...
perhaps i want to relive those summers
i lay on the balcony and read
the books i read..
in your abrahamic *****...
cheap-chow-mein-of-wording...
here's me... better clued-in...
better suited to sniffing the *****-feel
of 1980s pop music...

little ol' grandma i will hardly:
perhaps at best in my heart
i'll be wanting to **** on her grave...
perhaps i was expecting
something dramatic...
some phenomenon...
naturally... esque-borne revelation...
some earthquake some
waking into...

not how you seemingly "merely", "passed"....
ol' grandma: i wish to have her
shackled into a niqab: because
i last sentence these provocations
when i wilt to solve the crossword puzzles
with a 7am and a coffee...

death didn't rob me of what
you had already stressed:
the mortal feign...
            i had 3 months to spare...
detail for me the breaking
of the riddle of conscience...
                 i have to heave this last
salvage pin-point...

while "we" must be dictating....
people's loop
crescendo limiting bogus....
hey no new presto!
welcome
to grief... the limbo cowing-tie...
my litany of arbeit:
macht... frei...

             now that i dare
merely think it...
robespierre...
                 i heave ol'
yo-yo... because no one
would heave such
exhaustions.

I ponder where I’m going
Always looking but never showing
Up to where I need to go I keep blowing
My chances of finding it are plateauing
I need to get there without owing
My life savings can’t keep growing
If I keep lowering my blade for mowing
My destination will never be visited allowing
The past demons to keep vowing
To stop me from peacefully bestowing
My final destination is cowing