Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.

My ***** felt a feather heavier than iron
As I’d opted for anything other than rollover
Whilst puking up that, “nicer,” guy.

The drink’s a ghost. The scold’s a mixer,
Soured on the rocks, Shaken, not stirred,
Stirred, not shaken,
And without a sliver of, “he,” who’d opt
Accommodate or acquiesce.

Call it, “transcendence,” I guess?
Born a realization that this world’s,
“DOG-EAT-DOG,” or,
“GOD-EAT-GOD,” or,
“GOD-TEA-DOG,”
And should I not comprehend
This very simple reality,
I’d be a doormat unto my own grave.

So I fail, I’m frail, and all for one tail
Prior the act that’d ever invoke,
“Leave;” even atop the eve of beggary.

Resolute? I’d opt for the longer life, perhaps,
Not that I’d wanted to live to long anyway,
But I’d made a choice,
I’d arbitrated one cardinal direction – elliptical.

I’d acted, placated, satiated, intimidated,
Decimated, defecated, wiggled my right pinky
And culminated a prayer atop altars, “godless,”
To never knock upon that door again.

And so, but one question remains,
“Did I?”

Haughty eyes bestow a daunting glare,
dismissing true beauty.
Their muffled conversations
reverberate inside my prism.  
Carcasses lie in a stiffened, upright position,
indicating everlasting submission.
My future is bleak; my past stalks me from behind.
Am I not a righteous soul?
Have I desecrated my body; your body?
Have I defecated on the holy scriptures?
Oh, what do I know?
I’m just a fly stuck in a window….

He plunged his hand in the half-fitted
electrical socket, absorbing electrons
and sluicing them through to his core.
A recreation fit for a man of no station.

The nightmare of homelessness’ prospect,
the jarring from entrepreneur to beggar
was not a loosely whispered theme
but the pocket-guarding we recognize,
whose opening threatens to spill
more than simple vanity.

His watched as his insides tumbled
into the street, broken beans of pride
nestled between the acid
and the hernia he gave himself
coughing out the last of his security
amongst the well-wishers
attempting to shield themselves from his need.

Discomfiture had not yet defecated itself
through his seams and the letters and links
he sent out as a man trying to hold a lifeboat
without the fervor of clinging hands.
The ache to survive not a desperate one,
desperation having kicked itself out
over the politeness of circumstances
that called for something else.

Turning back into himself, he *****
his fingers as he pulls himself out
of the electrical socket, and walks to pick up
his innards on the street where they lay,
his pride now a forgotten thing
like the pocket-guarded slacks
with the loose seams.

Purple hibiscus,
gathered from depth of the woods.

Serpents, in the wild,
captured for haute couture.

Coffee beans,
defecated by civets.

Foie gras, caviar, champagne flutes,
Evian, sipping her piña colada,
getting her tan.

Serpent’s skin,
rubbing elbows,
with the alta sociedad,
plucking her eyebrows,
rouging her lips.

" And  lead  us  not  into  temptation,
but  deliver  us  from  evil. "

Alone.
Stumbling through the sands of time
In search of shiny pebbles of hope
Buried beneath the never ending
Piles of ****
Defecated in our paths by those who came before us
Polluting our future with lies
Foreshadowing years ahead
Impending destruction and doom
A weight I feel heavy on my soul
An obligation to leave my path in life bountiful for those who tread it after me
Littered only with shiny pebbles of hope
Of love and beauty
Light and laughter
It is my mission
My legacy
Walk beside me
And our journey through the sands of time
Will cause ripples together.

Defecated, or did I say defeated
fated to live this life
barren as loose shoe strings
fraying a little at the ends.
Like a torn T-shirt
I am covered in holes and stains
splotches that just don’t
seem to go away.
Defeated in the mere inches I take
or the hearts that I break

but the only heart I break is my own.
How to pick up the pieces
when I am
piece-less
peaceless, no peace here.
So all I do is clench and worry
and hope that one day defeat
might become a feat
that can actually go somewhere
move someplace out of reach
as I seem to speak
of dreams unaccomplished and maimed
of dreams inferred striking infrared filters
that whisper mere fragments
of my name.

It took him six tries
to get it up. His *****
was somewhat
defective. His body
was a greasy blob
and after he came,
he vomited on the bed
and kicked me out,
threw a bottle at my head
but missed terribly.

and when he died
I defecated
all over his face. Seriously,
**** that guy.

I stand medicated yet firm in my statement,
These ideas become adjacent
Numerous problems I engage with
My hands find my hair Grip, Pull, Twist
So I throw on some smooth issshhh
Like Poetry over Heaven’s Melody
Sounds like seduction when I’m fussing
This music soothes my soul
When my belly’s filled with the Devil’s Pie
This music makes me whole
When there’s something missing deep down inside
When I get vexed I get down to ride,
Metamorphosis, in a moment’s time
Fear becomes a myth and death only by suicide
This comma, this dream, my life what does it mean?
In my time I’ve seen treacherous things
Scarred for life like your eyes were bleeding
Numb to the pain, but never blinded by what I see
Night terrors in the day, all that’s left is it to pray
Sometimes I seem to lose my way
Equilibriums shot what could it be?
They shot MLK and JFK, have they shot me?
I’ll cut off my hands, before a chip cuts off my soul.
Defecated times of my life, but I was born with goals
So I have to get this **** right, tonight
All have sinned, and fall short
So a few lines of courage I’ll snort
Sit here with my wine, and write this report
From personal experience, statistics, and public opinion
The world has become susceptible, and subdued by evil influence
To scared, squeamish, and sick in the head
To have the courage to say what needs to be said
They’ll regret it when they’re dead.

Written May 8, 2012

So he stood there and held her like there was ever something there.
So she stood there and held on not wanting to let go of anything there.
So he told her comforting lies.
So she listened and cried.
So they exchanged a couple polite smiles and he said some civil words,
so as to not look like he was in the wrong.
So he told her he was sorry for what he was putting her through
so he could feel a little better, like that would make the slightest difference.
So he made sure she knew he didn't want to hurt her, although it's what he had to do,
so she could feel a little better, like that would make the slightest difference.
So he went on and partied, like everybody his age should do.
So she went on and sat alone, like everybody with an old soul like hers does.
So he spent time with all his best friends who he loved so dearly,
so she watched from the sidelines knowing none of them care about his well-being as much as she does.
So she offered her heart and was shot down, offered her help and was shot even lower.
So she ever so slowly started realizing it was time to give up.
So, she picked her heart up off the floor, (her heart being on the floor because he chewed it up and defecated it right there) and she told the world she was going to be okay.
So there she was standing tall and she emanated confidence. Everyone knew she was going to be okay.
So she knew herself she was going to be okay, and she was sure.
So she wasn't okay.
So that was the last time she saw him.

as galaxies collide
black holes mate
and tectonic plates dance,
silly humans twitter away
asinine triviality day after day

this earth
already consumed by deathly Time
just a pimple in the universe’s prat,
about to be defecated
as cosmic excreta
to another remote corner of our multiverse

a befitting lesson
for a new generation of
lucifers, mammons and belphegors
puffed up with massive egos
yearning to play god

the real one quietly smiles
and now takes aim...


© 2019

Lack of Privacy

In Lisbon
Between parked cars
A man defecated
I wondered if he had
Loo paper  
Probably not
I turned away
Drunk or sober
This was his private moment

Everyone i love
just left.
Like a sudden
conventional rain
that just fell
and leaves
no trace on
the ground.
All those that
matters in my
life left.
Like the tempest
of the east wind
that comes with
the storm.
They made me
feel like a *****.
Like a skunk
with an awful smell.
Like one who
unknowingly and
accidentally defecated
on his pants.
With a mask
over my face,
i walked around
like a fugitive,
hiding shamefully
like a criminal
behind the mask.
I don't know
how i got to
this place of
emptiness and
loneliness.
Is there just
no one out
there for me.
My heart hurts
so bad and
held more mystery
than even the
darkest jungle.
I will give
anything for the
return of all
of you again.
I bet it will
all be different
this time.
Now the sea
is calm,
the reef exposed,
the sky blue,
with lashing of pink,
loops down,
creating magically
the beautiful lining
of lush lustre.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

Everyone is counting the casualties
Most of us saw the video of the decease
Most of us never knew her real name
Her story, was yet to be told,
Of a night worker, who stand alone in the dark
And defecated between the adjacent cars,
While an onlooker makes a video for shaming purposes
Words of comments, were

“How one live, so shall how ones die.
Man’s days are determined; by the almighty
Yesterday her name was the ***** from the club

Tomorrow her name will the late decease from Jamaica  
I will plant a tree in her name for peace,
And will it blossom beautifully without the shame
I shall be name, foam Flo wreck, the one who couldn’t be tame  
We only heard of people, after they are gone,
Peace be with you, peace be still
Peace came after, where was the peace when you need it most

**there is a very tiny cracks  in which another world begins and ends  Slavko Mihalic  quote

Jim, the alzheimer patient,
defecated in the ash bucket,
outside, where the smokers
congregate to smoke and ****.

It was his second time doing
so, what was more upsetting,
he wiped has (( with a plastic
bag, then, he kicked the bucket.

Ha!

Human (rat) race doomed!

Foregone conclusion hashtagged,
linkedin, predicated, et cetera, cuz
overactive derrière of yours truly
(no names mentioned, nor fickle
finger of fate pointed), and writer
of these words and one among many
riders (he adores) on the storm –
referring to brewing, looming, and
quaking potentially severe economic
fallout shattering The "debt ceiling"
or "debt limit"recommends ye dear
unknown (anonymous) readers bid
thee toodle loo  to civilization
and its discontents.

So much for hyperbole!
    
How axiomatic, ironic, quixotic, zoologic
that thee unavoidable ****** urge occurred
while in the midst of writing about that
vitally important ****** function, which
for any other Tom, **** or Harry would
be safer endeavor at least within their home.

That margin of err rear harmlessly doth
NOT exist within the rented domicile
of this twenty six plus years a married
(lighthearted) middle aged man.

What requisite non-forceful,
essential, dutiful call visiting
the ***** to purge the body electric
of supposed waste matter
(quite efficient machine ****
Sapiens anatomy), regarding
said expelling solid, loose, liquid...
thru **** ought to rank as
minimally risky private business.

Imagine matter of fact saunter
to the loo fraught with Uriah heaps
of danger that could imperil
the very existence of (in this case)
myself, and the rest of humanity.

Upon attempting to amble
very short distance, (perhaps
half a dozen paces), an
immediately deleterious,
hellaciously luminous, and
perilously serious threat
(unsurpassed even by hooliganism  
signature destruction forever
enshrining Gothic or Vandals –
if such peoples lived today and
occupied this apartment unit),
loomed as a far more impossibly
harrowing mission any combination
of maximum strength (Excedrin
would be superfluous) supposed
major natural disasters all rolled
into one frightful maelstrom.

Oft times the powerful need
to relief thyself disallows any
preparation H(abiliments), thus I
am forced to make a quick dash
to the toilet, BUT between
the cozy comfort of this easy
chair and the durable material
designed to suction even the
baddest, biggest, boldest BM
belies a trail and mountain
far more of wicked bewitched
crossing then say the now defunct
Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant.

Though this comparison may seem
like an exaggeration, the higgledy
piggledy hewn heap of fetid foul
fermenting faecal matter poses
dangerous, death defying diabolical
(DO NOT ENTER) dump.

No other option existed for me
to eradicate, expel, exorcise, et
cetera potential ***** matter except
to strike out toward barrier reef
of noxious, odoriferous, pestilential,
queasily revolting sky high (declared
SuperFund Site) to  enjoy simple
pleasure, whereby Gluteus Maximus
dispenses with human toxins.

The urge to let loose a stool sample
overrides any time to pen loving
note to surviving family members,
which (two darling grown daughters
seem like foreigners (or survivors
on a desert island) as each precious
Punim pursues autonomy countless
miles, whereby the eldest then
a Junior at The University of Pennsylvania,
and the youngest offspring plane
and simple sailed about seven
years ago to become
seasoned student abroad.

Though a tenant at this subsidized
(and quite agreeable accommodations
nestled within Perkiomen Valley,
Pennsylvania), no exaggeration necessary
to describe daily cataclysm perchance
spelling doom and downfall of this
dry husband and loving father to deux
progeny, who would hate to leave said
special offspring behind under
the sheltering sky.

Thus every onset to traipse
so few feet to flush out
thine flotsam and jetsam,
(when stream of ***** sprays
like a hose) to pay obeisance
and homage to modern
plumbing, the flash of mine
lxiv years zips thru me
memory, particularly when
carefully, gingerly
lumbering ridiculously slow
(lest mishap finds ambulance
siren wailing destiny of this chap
(most likely pronounced
dead on arrival), whereby tell tale
sigh of turgid tummy
would automatically inform doctors
that obstruction preventing quintessential
rear supply tubby
undisputed venal wickedness.

Tis at  unstoppable twitches
to defecate, (which sharp
saber rattling ****** spasms)
denote common urgent irrepressible
need arising within bowels),
when mental gallows humorous arises.

Such an embarrassing ending
(post eerie er) demise re: conclusion
to my rather ordinary life – (visa vis
being constipated, deprived
or hindered freeing offal,
would put to shame “windbag”
i.e. google as  proof positive
of blocked means to eliminate waste).

Also in tandem (though very
slightly tangential to above
distressful horrible likely presentiment,
this xMan bemoans being
swept off my yam bic pent
tam meter feet (literally)
by gigantic hands of she
(thee divine Gaia, who now
scatters defecated detritus
damning ability to access
commode constitutes reflection
on remaining Norwegian
Bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.

How trajectory of one measly
mortal primate webbed
whirled wide eyed schleps
along boulevard of broken dreams
(he may as well live planets,
galaxies or universes apart
worlds) ever shared
an intersecting vector
with another continues
to confound this crossword puzzler.

Again that sneaky sobriquet
irony doth mettle with
steely goatherd drivers
goes Pasteur ****, where gin
till lit tee lives.

Long story short described below.

Circumstance found this then
quite content solitary
son of the soil invited
to admirable, estimable, inimitable
estate listed as “Glen Elm”
within  National Registry of
owned properties within
Collegeville, Pennsylvania.

Garrison Keillor slated guest of honor.

He possessed je nais se quois
ability to tell tall tales,
whereby audience members
became rapt with seduction,
usurpation, and wide eyed yearning
to lean in so as to hear the suspense,
which increased in magnitude
in direct proportion as
his home spun voice became softer.

Unbeknownst to this
poor country bumpkin, when
he took bathroom break
during impromptu intermission,
a gal in her mid thirties
livingsocial with her parents
within the Mainline
(very wealthy enclave of residents
within southwestern Montgomery
County, Pennsylvania)
agreed to follow Jewish tradition,
asper prearranged marriages.

Though neither of  Semitic peoples,
nor the least bit familiar
with one of the oldest Religions,
thee family, whose youngest daughter
hinted of spinsterhood, their
open minded kindred ideas
generated exception to  
dictum remaining steadfast
to pinpoint “a nice Jewish
Kosher Boy”!

As frequent attendees
at this Leiper Mansion and
storied magnet for literati,
the accidental chance encounter
found thyself and unfamiliar gal
(fate decreed as thy bartered bride)
happened to be awaiting use of water closet.

As tends to be the predilection
of so called fairer gender ***,
this petite and attractive dame
introduced herself, which subsequently
found us becoming more
curious about the other.

The natural order of two
heterosexual individuals
(one male, the other female)
allowed basic instinct of
attraction to engender
fledgling friendship, that quickly
leapfrogged into
a sexually intimate dalliance.

Without any precautions
qua birth control inevitable
outcome of hitting
the figurative bullseye linkedin while
listening to the rhythm method occurred.

This reality determined
tepid reception courtesy
future parents in law to marry gal,
whose youngest daughter's
future child I fathered.

Even from this fairly commonplace
getgo dynamics wildly described
along seismograph of 10.00 earthquake,
one category 5 hurricane,
and an F5 tornado thrown in
for good measure for measure,
these tidbits totally hyperbolic,
thus equal much ado about nothing relative
to the interpersonal juxtaposition
of our quite rapid tête-à-tête,
that continues (to much lesser degree –
analogous to subsiding
storm of the Century 21) to this day.

After surviving approximately
two and a half dozen plus years,
(the marital inflictions
unquestionably more harrowing,
strangulating, and threatening
life and limb) battle scars
(many broken bones begot
by innocuous shuffling to
bathroom) populating neary
every square inch of this
ordinary chap deserves a medal of honor.

As a toddler at church daycare
upon a Roman Catholic lap in an armchair
the savage Father McManus
did ravage in a ****** slather Stan’s ****.
This grunge sacrament
the plunge of Stan’s excrement
damaged his ******, twisted & bent.
His colon sustained a permanent indent.
Thereafter whenever he defecated was ghastly torment.
He had no control. **** gushed in a torrent
drowning his nuts & tinky
cursed, the size of a pinky.
Growth stunted and bully hunted, stinky & hyper
for the rest of his short life, this dinky boy wore a diaper.
In the early dark he would awaken to his own scream.
Having creamed a fantastic dream
a shivering nun quivering her ***** for fun - so obscene
but realized he had ****** his ****
cooling in his diaper, a messy gloop.