Hi, below I copy a humorous hiabun, which I shared as an exercise to mentor enquiring and inspired poets to learn, so they might adopt and try different techniques and then give critique together with awesome comments... Yes, I used the words ***, ****** and **** for context the rest was left to an individual imagination as in good poetry!

It included reflective commentary encompasses innocent classification terminology used in the critique, reading, examining, appreciating, understanding and writing of poetry for example: POETIC DEVICES (enjambement, duality, keriji, images, collocation, semantic, oxymoron, repetition, listing etc.), STORY (personification, characterisation, subject, context, voice etc.), IMAGERY (synaesthesia), STRUCTURE ( lineation, breaks, syntactic etc.), SOUNDS (syllables, rhyme, alliteration, pace, musicality, phrasing, beat, assonance, onomatopoeia, mouthed rhythms, patterned) and WORDS (preposition, determiner, verbs, adverbs, lexical, nouns, adjectives) used by poets, critics and academics...

And here it is :

****** tongue-in-cheek haibun - a reflective commentary on writing a popular tanka

Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile


My first inspiration was ***, passionate life squeezing screaming ***, the thumping wall musicality of ***, exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.

I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.  

Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.

I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.  

I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.

So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!


Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite

‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.

Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile

My first inspiration was ***, passionate life squeezing screaming ***, the thumping wall musicality of ***, exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.

I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.  

Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.

I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.  

I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.

So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!


Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite


.

Noun, verb, adjective
Pronoun, proper noun
Determiner, exclamation
Interjection
It can do it all
Tastes like vitriol
High on the anger
     (or high on the pleasure)
Sharp as a broken stone
Fits the bill on any occasion
Censored, painted over, blotted out
Doesn't matter to me
I love the word "****"

there was a time to read two volumes of
Knausgård... and since i don't speak any norwegian:
it didn't really matter...
whether it was in english or western slavic...
will i get to the other four volumes?
i can only remember giving william burroughs...
so much of my attention as to complete
the oeuvre...
                         and unlike the translator's note
from michel foucault's... surveiller et punir...
i was really going to start reading this today...

- foucault uses the infinite: to the effect of an
'impersonal imperative'...
          this nuance is not afforded in english:
or is just plainly denied...

- the verb surveiller... has no adequate translation
into english... the english noun 'surveillance'
is apparently: but also obviously
too "technical"...

- the range of connotations between 'inspect'
and surveiller as a direct translation...
alan sheridan: this in part verbatim joystick
is... bothered by the work of a prior to his own
work of translation: a jeremy bentham...

- 'supervise' is closer than to 'inspect'...
                  but the word applied: is not close
to the word being translated...
      
- 'observe' is too neutral - but... its apparently
teeming with aggression should
an 'observation' be one-sided...
                      
             before the book even began...
i very much doubt... translating... Knausgård's
magnum opus of 6 vol.
beginning with... min kamp... my struggle...
because there was the obvious precursor...
and nothing more...
so much for nuancing the devil in the details...
of a book's title...

i once proposed that... well: what is mine?
is the struggle truly mine?
it's mine: in the superlative...
    but not in the confines of an: adjective-adjective...
in the superfluous...
skip the middle-ground "reasoning"...

but associated with struggle is the my:
that someone is mine...
           i'd rather posit... a lost sense of ownership...
translated back into either german
or norwegian:
              ich skampf...
                          jeg kamp...

                 then i guess: a struggle owns me...
it wrestles with me...
   it becomes a sort of... Israel...
               i become a sort of Israel...
prior to: i am Jacob: it is my struggle...
but... what if this struggle is outside of the confines
of merely me and my ownership of it:
to be donned and worn proud for...
future: coquetry?

   how different it sounds...
my struggle: i am jacob...
   i struggle: he named me Israel...
             and he called himself what i didn't wish
to own or be, therefore, mine...

if what is mine is a determiner -
akin to... a determiner being and:
   a conjunction...
           if i were to posit: ich kampf...
i cannot claim a determiner of the struggle:
it's... indefinitely there...
passed between strangers...
having a share of universal qualities shared
among others: which i can't exactly
invest a self with: but a pronoun i can...
since... by then... i struggle is an indefinite articulation
statement... a determiner allure of the expression
is a definite articulation...

but there's a time and a place...
and i'm not going to read a translation of an otherwise
french text... i was hoping to skip past
fiction... but having regarded Knausgård
first two volumes as:
autobiographical fiction... or...
       would i rely on... something that explores...
discipline and punishment...
naturally... i am expected to be the good citizen
and not go out...
i'm figuring... i need to stock up on some
more kalimotxo juice...
i'll take some bottles to the recycling center
and if stopped i'll just tell them...
i haven't been out all week...
i'm doing my exercise: i don't jog...
i walk... i'm just stocking up on kalimotxo juice...
and i'll be recycling some glass...
i can apparently get away with the first
time misunderstanding...

so no... not a good genesis of testing
the waters of: bad boy citizen...
i read the first two chapters and just left the book...
it's a book... it's not a piece of music...
sometimes it takes much longer...
to get into the mood:
if you want to read the book proper...
plus... i have neglected my libra prerogative...
to not write more than i have read...
i must have crossed a rubicon of sorts...

as it happens: these stale "concerns" are here
because: i honestly don't know how
to be a teenager: again... and to be riddled by
pangs of unaddressed emotions...
having to turn to fiction and vampires...
i don't have the credentials to write of pangs
of either joy or misery...
perhaps it's a numbing effect that allows
me to plough through bibliophile affairs...

after all... i have in my hands...
   illustrations by william rainey R.I.
the gresham publishing company 34 & 35
southampton street, strand, london,

an address to a mr. serjeant talfourd M.P.
by the man himself...
not the first edition (1837)
not even the first cheap edition (1847)...
i'm guessing this is, then...
the "C.D" edition... and the year is 1867...
so a one-hundred-and-fifty-three-year-old
book...
   it even smells so... grotesquely: variant...
then again... what's not to like about misnomers?
well... when no metaphor is at hand...
i guess a misnomer will just have to do...

but to keep to some quality of "mannerism"
regarding such artefacts...
it's one thing keeping such a book,
on a shelf... and having the gorgon's pride
to have to buy a modern cheap paperback
edition... no... this book will... just have to be handled...
perhaps handling it will...
allow me to air it... it is tinged with a horrendously
stuffy allure...
one that wants to find it... being...
a neglected "something or other"...
to give it life and most certainly air...
  a book that wants as much to be read:
as it wants to be aired...

    it can't be anything less than...
charles dickens' the pickwick papers...
to this i remember our first schooltrip to the world
war I graves near Ypres...
on the bus i was reading by the sort of
illumination that would make me successful
as to having to acquire glasses come mid-age...
and this dreaded teacher came up to me...
spotted i was reading dostoyevsky's crime and
punishment... and how... when he was my age...
read the pickwick papers with the same
ferocity as i was reading... what i was reading
at the time...

and i will be as **** honest as necessary...
me... reading a native novelist of these parts...
the parts of: make thames proud and london blush...
what on earth was i thinking...
not having or having not... succumbed to the allure?
what was i doing with the french writers
and the russians?
why wasn't i... bypass Shakespeare and sprint
to the trough from where pigs entertained
the company of kings?
                    we'd too wish... of what "we" is
not necessary to mind... had "we" been giving
smoking's to attire and join in the festivity...
oh sure, sure... smoking's and moccasins...
         well... if they can get away with donning
the converse sneakers... these days...
                   who would... hunt us down...
these sock hunters?!

     come to think of it... this is a **** good rendering
of how far i have fallen...
in terms of moodiness... or lack of: thereof...
sometimes there's only this:
an exercise in applied language...
   to what use? no one really knows...
had i... not discovered Dickens prior...
which... well: to know that Dicknes... is also
a suitable term used in pub trivia and
the encyclopedia...
              but it's good enough of me...
to have finally come about...
        
                              this romance of societal norms...
and reciprocative contracts of expectations...
hierarchal strands of weaving and the river-works
of flow...
              it's nice... there's none of that french
romancing the period...
nor the ever-pervasive angts of the russians...
that... sense and what remains of sensibility...
the self-evident pomp...
and the circumstance just around the corner...
the allure of what english liberals would
sell to foreign investors when being given
the opportune chance to do so...
as to how england was to be carved:
and sold by the pound...

                     and what a time to be given
privy into this literature...
                         i almost can't imagine having
an impetus left to drag myself into Proust.

Determinism is self-defeating

If it is true,
No one is accountable for anything.
If no one is accountable,
There are no morals.
Without morals,
There is no concept of right or wrong.
Without this concept,
We would all follow our desires.
Which according to determinism,
Are not our own choices.
If they are not our own choices,
Someone or something else made them.
But if someone or something
Determines our choices,
Who or what determines
The choices the determiner makes?

Either they make their own choices,
Which refutes determinism
Or the universe, space and time
Are infinite and cyclical.
Which they are not,
Since the universe had a beginning,
(Big bang/ creation)
And the universe will have an end.
(Heat death/ judgement day)

Whether you are religious or not,
Determinism is a fools errand.

And now the light of the little globed sun
Guides my waking fingers over stiff keys,
(Stiff fingers over waking keys)
Now I begin the hellos and the wonderings
Each day brings - the bottom of my head
Reminding me "Ask him about his aunt,
His toothache, her boyfriend, her
Overdue college application."

Infinitesimal checklist of maintenance.
Though I don't know what the hell I'm maintaining,
I tiredlove it and work at it and maybe
I can get my 10000 hours from a screen -
Maybe I can be perfect from a screen,
And one day I'll open the door
For a stranger and see a keyboard...

Ridiculous. Room's a mess.
Room's dark except for the sunglobe,
My sun, my determiner of days
And with a click the ordainer of nights.
Ah, it's a tiny world, I can fit it all
In the bottom of my mind when  I sleep,
But I'd never tiredleave it,

I waking/sleepinglove it,
And if you'll just shut the door again
I can be tinyperfect.

We really are a superficial generation, we rely on the amount of Facebook likes on our profile pictures as a determiner of how popular or pretty we are.
Today I got asked 'How many likes did you get on your profile picture?' Does it matter? My beauty is NOT and never will be indicated by the amount of likes I get. Even if I upload a picture of myself on Facebook and no one 'likes' it, what does that mean? that i'm ugly? that no one likes me?
STOP LETTING SOCIAL MEDIA DEFINE YOU.LIKES ARE NOT REAL AND MEAN NOTHING.FACEBOOK IS NOTHING.SOCIAL NETWORKS MEAN NOTHING.STOP LETTING THE INTERNET RULE YOU.BE A FREE HUMAN NOT A SLAVE TO SOCIAL MEDIA.

Inside the space of
my heartbeats, lies the calmness
of my soul which helps me to
reach the octave of my
operose. Its hold-over tends
to fly with the cold winter &
turns into the colors
of monsoon.

How gladly, I fly!

I think, I'll have to do a double-take because something is protecting me from an injury to the feelings, which can tear us apart.

Shivpriya
#beautifulthingsandemotions

when one can simply peel off poetic-prose like...
so... like... scratching one's head...
or clipping toenails...

    now that washing your hands: perdiodically
and with: fingerprinting technology details...
well: i suggest all that soap bottled and
riddled by a diluted composite of:
mainly water and sodium chloride with
some perfumes...

              when one can simply peel off poetic-prose
like... that sort of a ripe banana...
not much good for raw eating with the chimps
making congregation over
arthur's later edward the confessors
round-table... no... no ape-politico!
not with darwin ideologues and those
neurosurgeons who would never meet up
with the horror-flick: almost a B-movie...
crank-me-up... doctor channard...

     but there's this... waking up to...
no... it's not the radio...
and not... a violent reaction...
      or panic in babylon...
   the brian jonestown massacre...
            #... #iwasnevercrazyaboutvivaldi-
                                    -violinsimitatingsparrows-
   -oranyotherbirdofspring...

well... checking the temp. my prayers have
been met... the pepsi... or cola...
whichever... i expect there came some
coca-cola contraband when gaining
the ingredients for the pepsi max...
i can't tell the difference these days...
between a coke zero or a pepsi max...
but sure as **** pepsi max came first...
so... contraband between corporations...

some mishter jamesh bon'        double-oh:
yep 00 does look like...
what isn't a double-U of a... W...

i mean... where could i get such words...
if not in a victorian work of chicken-scratches
and archeological scribbles...

they should defame Shakespeare... but not quiet...
only because... of that:
thane of Glamis! thane of Caledonia...
         but i should have met Dickens...
before having met... Charlotte Brontë...
hell: thank god i didn't meet Jane Austen...
and i can thank a monster for hooking me up
with Mary Shelley...

                but what's a Dickens with a fishing
rod... with no desire to entertain
a panorama of... 5am... river... pitch-black...
or thereby... and fingers counting fingers when
pinching a sound-bite of a wriggling rot-tooth
of a maggot...

       misnomer: or just the appropriate sounds?
mind you... what's that i heared about rhyme?
it looks well caged... zoological even...
given that i have been given assurances...
they would rhyme... those poems...
well... apart from the greek narrative epics...
or the latin... narrative mundane bouquets...
teasing at maxims and: fare-ye-well...
me... tarzan... jane... dr falstaff:    yummy garden
greens!
rhyme... well if rhyme it is...
you won't be needing a piece of paper on stage...
rhyming as a way to remember lines...
imagine being an actor...
for that "concern" a poet too...
and... no rhyme was involved...
i guess by rhyme you hear the bouncing ball...
and the suffixes are tabulated...
  when and thus: all this forgotten...
better in song when there are couplets
of sentences and they... end with -ed:

   i head!
to which... wink wink...
  my head of... a sunken ship's worth...
an anchor! sleeping cerberus ahoy!
we will surely pass!
into this belly of the most fantastic beast
that's Hades himself...
digesting shadow creamed with ash...
topped with a dash of hope: that's soul...
and hey presto! we'll have ourselves...
a feast: al fresco... although...
6-feet beneath the ground...
which is... aeons from sunlight...
     and... 6ft short of a flower's tip...
hardly gagging for the heights of an oak...
am i?

but that's quiet an affair...
everything, is, in, its, right... place...
i was thinking: amnesia and vanilla sky...
but then there's the curse of tom cruise
not winning best actor for:
born on the 4th of july...

it's a make-over...
the original movie is also an opening
quote from vanilla sky:
amphetamines on dylan
and cognac's worth of monet...
                
   open your eyes...
      again... in spanish...
abre los ojos
     abre: open...   los ojos (hush hush)...
   los: i knew it...
even the spaniards have it...
los = the...
      if the spanish have a definite article
before the eyes...
while the english have a determiner: your...
which is... by extension of the pronoun: you...
which i will use...
you(я) - chewbacca-otter round of applause!
you-i... or you-you... yoyo... W!

eh... some languages don't even
bother with a definite article or a determiner:

they just cut it down to... bypassing
grammatical shrapnel... and how can you have
gender neutral pronouns...
when the nouns themselves: are gendered?
i just heard the hyper-woke crowd
of grammatical geniuses are lying low...
worrying about spaghetti and toilet paper...
i figured: leech on!

              otwórz oczy
well... i guess the point of )open(
   is implied... that word just gobbles down
any determiner...
a verb within a verb...
to be open: ****... pronouns!
otwarty: to be open (masculine)
otwarta: to be open (feminine)...
otwartość... to be open (as a quality)...

    but i thought that we could bypass the natives
and treat english like the medieval world
treated french: lingua franca style...
i.e. the language of tourists and clown-world
intellectuals: ahem... "intellectuals"...
the lingua inglese (l'inglese)...

    open your eyes...
    could make sense if it was only an english
****** translation:
   otwórz (twoje) oczy....
but it's already an intimate statement of wants...
who's who is beside the point
when someone says: open... and eyes...
so who needs: your's to be included as my
demand for your shut eyes?

and then... the spanish definite article...
open the eyez...
abre los ojos... it might as well be german...
rhien german: not vienna prone german...
öffnen ihre! das augen!

     a translation of german, as a joke...
never tires... from spanish to english or...
the saxons on these isles really softened and turned
themselves into oysters...
mingling with the welsh the picts and the irish...
but... that's "life"...

   it's all in a pud... or a pug...
or an 'pple pi'...           or a spud...
                  or the red herring...
                        attempting to tell a joke in german...
i guess the only jokes they do tell...
are when drinking and as SS-*****-heichschtig-herr-meisters
in some concen-trato-kampisch...
  uber... uber... cosmo-ZEX... trans-...
                                               6s & 7s... of a 69'ers roulette...
the pink-bollocking ladies of the agony aunts
of the tabloid press... what's that?
oh... right! METRO-ZEXXIES! or the usuals...

joint-stock company of fish & flattery...
**** me... that's a scalping...
i wasn't expecting that to hit me...
i the bird that passes a stone to another bird...
not in a rubric of shakespeare of a cascade...
you're sort of expecting it to latch-on to you...
but not... when it's wwwwwwwwwwwinding
                                                                          o
                                                                          w              l
                                                                          n    and then
                                                                                            f
                                "ƨbɿɒwʞɔɒd" bnoγɘd bnɒ Ɉʇɘl ɘʜɈ oɈ

and then back into a paragraph of cuddling
to a pillow... unexpecting... a near-miss of genius...
****-*******? Dickens' a worth a lot
more than ****-*******...
more like catching a ****... beheading it...
plucking it... gutting it...
poaching it a while...
before even feigning to attempt to roast it!

as is waking up to: everything is in (its / the) right place...
its by definition is not: it's...
and the... well... its can be a determine of yours...
but now we have at least three languages
to juggle...
and you're still the one sending me postcard
from Dover...
when i should hear the sound of:
piedlibre / piedsrelâché dans Calais...
so no... no postcard from kevin bacon
made homeless by Bruges or Strasbourg...
because... because of the ******* architecture!

i'll watch one commentary video...
after i have sampled some Dickens...
           and that's with an intro of some sip sip...
and afterwards... it's onto the maincourse
of music... and... counting the number
of bones in my hands... the ones that wouldn't
make me a professional snooker player...

would i even care to call radiohead a group...
passe? sooner or later pink void and floyd
the barber will be... dinosaur music...
                    and at least... this electric sunrise...
of... a movie i never starred in...
but somehow borrowed... because i didn't
want to be rudely awakened by the bbc radio 1
breakfast show... but wake up to a movie-cliche...
does it matter?
      
something subtle... perhaps it should have been
the....
                         DAS BOOOOOT theme...
or         teenzeitalterRANDALIEREN of sonic youth...
diese ist nicht vesternberlinerbranddeburaegean...
schimmenschimmen... izm:siemensiemen...

i swear... either me... or the "boomer"
monty python quack and prance choke.... joke.

OBDURATE...
it's either shooting up junk or drinking and acquiring
a purse of victorian vocab wealth...
never heard of it...
              as any word... with the onslaught of slang...
"out of fashion"...
hardened...                      he had an obdurate resolve...
er war verstockt! he was stubborn...

at a time when english still clinched to:
veriloquium ex latine -
origins of truth from latin...
or at least... the meaning of words...
apart... of course... from the odd greek -suffix
or prefix- "loan" worth of scalpel...
for technicality's sake ol' chap!

                         oh things could have been...
much much worse...
i could have been the drunk and the dunce!
         lucky for me... i found... conversations...
outside of writing... a... theatre with too many...
uncertain... chess-games of...
                        origins of poker... via... physiognomy...
and... at that point...
anything by the gnostics... would suffice...
sprinkle in a little bit of kabbalah...
  hell...                        those wise wise people:
who started to know all about the misgivings
of life... the same ones...
who never held a book at a leisure...
   nor later: as a variation of their work...
that work... which offered them but one relief...
to escape boredom...
and to later find further escape...
   in being... entertained...
                             my shadow already does that
for me.

Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging Aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.

Room and pillar
Let me be your guiding shaft
Atmospheric pressure
Let me be your natural draft

Atticus Finch
Let me be your inner last laugh
Cold determiner
Let me be your unsuspecting half

The sign in the window says
Closed until the light of day

Broken bone
Let me be your sling and marrow
Agitated Polaire
Let me be your tight-laced narrow

Confounded Plath
Let me be your children's tomorrow
Germ warfare
Let me be your biological sorrow

The word on the street is
Nothing's gonna change until the light of day

Open minefield
Let me be your measured step
***** mother
Let me be your usual suspect

Unwanted child
Let me be the tears when you last wept
Unwanted immigrant
Let me be the ground where you last slept

The writing on the wall signals
Critical times until the light of day

lumière du jour
Chérie

I fell in love with you without realizing it
I fell in love with you without planning to
My heart was all yours and I didn’t even know it
It belonged to you but at first I didn’t show it
I couldn’t
Or I wouldn’t
I was just being a scrooge
The timing wasn’t right and we both knew it
The day I’d leave you is fast approaching
And I’m so scared
I’m hoping and praying that it’s in my head
The deadline that our different paths have set
I love you and you love me please don’t forget that
‘Cause no matter what you know it’s a fact
The last thing I want to do is break your heart
It kills me so much that I’m tearing us apart

You’d never truly know how hard this is for me
But I want you to know that you’re it for me
And I’ll keep saying it
Keep reciting it
Until you believe that you’re it for me
Until you can undoubtedly see
The sincerity in my lines
The honesty in my lies
You’re a blessing in my life

I’ll never meet someone like you
Someone incomplete that completely completes me
With no cracks found where the lines meet
Would it be weird if I asked you to marry me?
Like seriously
I don’t know how you came to mean so much to me
I want happy moments with you
Memories to remind me when I cry
That I have no regrets being with you
Standing by you
Doing the best I can do
I’d spend my years with you if fate allowed me to
But it didn’t
And I hate distance for taking you away from me

I don’t want to hold you back
I want you to do the things you need to
Without me stopping you
The one my heart belongs to
I am madly in love with you
I pray that our relationship will stay strong
But it feels like a wasted prayer
Although I’d waste as many as I can
To make sure we end up together
When distance is no longer a determiner
When our situation gets a little better

Until you leave
I’m keeping you all to myself
I’m loving you in every way I can ‘til I can’t
I’m caring more than I should ‘til I shan’t
I’m kissing you ‘til my rights expire
‘Til I can no longer call you mine
I pray it gets better for you with time
Not just this but everything
I want you to be happy
To smile more
To cachinnate often
I pray that all that darkness
Is replaced with light even after I leave
I hope you find someone incomplete that completely completes you
That loves you
More than I ever could
‘Cause you deserve it and more
You deserve the world
Mi amor.

Keeper of time
Has lost his mind.
He no longer ticks.
He sighs.
He questions.
He swears a little.
Does he know who he is?
Not precisely.
I tell him he's a law, a sage, a determiner.
He's even the reason
I get up in the morning.
He says he'll get back to me.
When? I ask.
Ah, there's the rub...

Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.

I have chosen what I think
Will be the right course of action.
Then again,
I didn’t really choose it.

So before I wrote of an other,
And he has chosen his path, so it seems.
He hasn’t actually confronted me.
But females do have this sense
Of where something should end,
Whether or not we choose to listen to
The little man inside our brains.

This little man
Will eventually be quieted
Which scares us even more.

The trouble is sometimes the little man only whispers
In our ears and so it is easy to miss,
Or hallucinate.

I cannot tell what is happening with my little man.
He speaks of grandeur and ruin,
But which he cannot predict.
Of which I cannot predict,
Because the little man is me,
And I am the determiner
Of my actions.

The only thing I seem to be sure of
Is that I know what I want,
But not what is real.
Am I imagining chemistry
With the one person who takes me for who I am
And doesn’t try to change or shape me into a certain kind of mold?

But then again have I been molded
By life and experience
Into a new person that is not confident,
But arrogant?

I expect boys to fall at my feet,
Like I am a ******* goddess of some sort,
But that’s not who I actually am.
He calls my bluff,
But he still thinks I deserve good,
Just not a God.
I don’t think he considers himself a God.
But also I don’t think he considers me
As his romantic love.
Just a love-stricken,
Love-obsessive
Girl.

****, i've just ran out of drafts, good news:
this 15th Dec. suspension on ola poetry.com
is going pretty well...
               well: as any worth that's the worth
of dealing with jealous people...

   only today i remembered myself,
shackled in the edinburgh university
never close to the Pleasance courtyard,
St. Andrew's Place...
       oh no, i didn't wish to live on the main
university campus, with its own canteen...
i wanted to learn chemistry,
but also perfect my cooking skills...
every single morning waking up to the sight
of the Salisbury Crags...
    one wild night i stayed up all night,
to walk up Arthur's Seat... returning from
the mountain (in the middle of a ******* city)
to buy myself some cornflakes and full-fat
milk...
   why would anyone even bother
with ******* Halls of residence...
   a university campus makes sense,
if you're talking about a city the size
of Warwick, or Brighton...
         but Endinburgh? to live in a university
bubble, in the middle of the city
like it's some sort of fortified "defiance"?
             where am i, at university,
     or the ******* high school canteen?!
i would still bring packed lunch...
          i liked the nicknames i acquired
over the years...
               goldilocks,
                  the strange fruit man (pomegranates,
passion fruit, sharon fruit, etc.),
                            viking...
   at times i would really love to hate myself,
but i found the stoic alternative of:
just laughing at myself...
   never mind that...
        ah... sweet sweet 18...
having discovered a new prog rock band
outside the top 50 mentioned in the mojo
music magazine while still in high school:
atomic rooster: death walks behind you...
tomorrow night, the devil's answer...
     i would plug in my electric,
put the piecyk (slang for amp) on the windowsill
and muse, full volume, blasting solo after
solo outside the window, trying to see if i could
make the Salibsbury Craig crumple
just a little bit...
                   mind you, in terms of playing
the guitar - i clearly remember Anthony
introducing me to tablature...
                        i can't read music, i wish,
but i can't...
    you really don't have to start with
smoke on the water, or iron man...
               death walks behind you is pretty
easy to learn, even without tablature...
even black sabbath... let's see if i remember
the strings correctly

e
G
F
D
A
E.... let's check.... ****...

                     e
                     B
                     G
                     D
                     A
                     E...      i'm pretty sure i'd still
be able to tune a guitar...
    i.e. make A sound like E on the 5th (divide)
   make D sound like A on the 5th divide...
   F like D on the 5th...
      G like F on the 4th divide...
     e like G on the 5th divide... i think that's right...
5th divide? you press down on the string...
and play E & A together, if they sound the same...
well... you're tuning a gee'tar...

                     e------------------
                     B------------------
                     G-----------------
                     D-------3---------
                     A-------------2---
                     E--1---------------  black sabbath - black sabbath
intro...
   but the next tablature will break
the camel's back...
           it's so... so... simple... & therefore
so genius... it goes against all of punk,
the punk of the rhythm section with only
3 chords... well... this song uses only 2 chords...

free - all right now... i still don't know how
mungo jerry's - in the summertime beat
all right now to the no. 1 spot in england...
  
                     e------------------
                     B------------------
                     G-------7---------
                     D--7----7----------
                     A--7----5----------
                     E--5---------------

                      (obviously you have to find
the rhythm yourself ADG 577 yourself,
       bouncing from a 1-2-1-2 on the EAD 577)...

i really should have succumbed
to teaching my former marijuana dealer's daughter,
a paranoid schizophrenic with an obsession
regarding the illuminati straight out
of Kingston ya'man Jamaica the guitar...

________
.well at least the english peoples
got one thing right,
brewing,
            name me an ale that
doesn't hide a hint / accent of
specific, or an irish stout,
       and i'll show you a cross-dressing
nun riding a chimera
coming from some german
convent, alright?

i guess it's just the tale
of the said / "unsaid" times...
    it's about to crank up the use
of cipher...
   if i get one haiku in old norse,
i'll be happy:
since, as much as i favour
   grammatical rules,
   i'm not a big fan of poetical
constraints...

hence?
    ᚱᚨᚦ ᚺᛟᚻᛖᚾᛋᛏᚨᚢᚠᛖᚾ
    
rað
hohenstaufen
       (plan)
                    which alludes to
          ᚠᚱᛖᛞᛖᚱᛁᚳᚴ  ᚨᚾᚾᚨᚱᚱ

frederick annarr (second) -

some prepositional words
will be missing,
notably the / a,
   direct and indirect articles...
but some prepositional
words might appear...

mind you, if i pull this project
off,
   and forget however many times
i have to ctrl + c / ctrl + p
   my way through it,
how i will have to
                  consult the english v.
old norse dictionary...

how i will also consult
                 futhorc runes
of the english,
         and the younger futhark
of old norse
over an aesthic squabble
when it comes to

             ᛄ / ᛅ - j (futhorc runes)                (ᛃ)

(not to be confused with ᚾ...
which... already exists in a modern
tongue, mein zunge...
          Ł,                     ł -    wom-bat...
see...
             i once heard a scientist
say: 'why bother swabbing
the inside of your mouth,
sending off your genetic
                                signature to
a company,
   to find out your ancestry?
   you'll naturally gravitate to it
                                                   anyway!')

and...           "kaunan" (ᚲ),
   i.e. before the whole mathematical
greater than >
                    and lesser than <
    became problematic,
ergo?

younger futhark ᚴ - k
                 (anglo-saxon) futhorc ᚳ - c (k) -

this could somehow work...
all i'll need is enough nouns and verbs,
prepositions will be troublesome,
given that modern english
is littered with this sort
of shrapnel...

                     but it's about time
to start to elevate the cipher,
if all the youtubers are jittery...
you know something's coming,
and it's not good...

i probably will stick to english
grammar,
   i can't promise a haiku,
         but at least...
          it will seem like...
speaking a language
                  from, my,
previous, now,
                   reincarnated, "self"?!
i don't believe in reincarnation
to begin with...
   it's too NPC for me,
and that's not even a reference
to mahjong solitaire;
   dunno...
     i once sat down and solved
one... then solved another...
i just don't like
        the whole:
there's only a limited number
of authentic souls,
   and they behave in a benign way,
soul-parasites,
while everyone is just plain
outright zombie.
- so this is the plan...
   rarely do i plan something...
might as well give it a shot...

****...
            beside that...
i do remember youtube's algorithm
when it was intelligent...
oh... 4 years ago... maybe even 2...
it behaved like
a thesaurus...
          glory days of exploring
music, i never even managed
to come across these current youtubers...
i couldn't care less...
the algorithm shifted from smart,
to dumb, real dumb...
     and then exploring new music
became a hag, not a hack,
a hag...
                       i'm not even
surprised to say that i never left
comments...
      why?
      i can sort that **** in my own
head, i don't need to comment...
                  oh right...
and if you're reading this soliloquy...
i supposed i never asked
for money.

p.s. good thing that i didn't
desire to consult the paragraph...
if it's poetry or "poetry"
or, more of the allure considering
it a soliloquy...
  well... imagine the claustrophobic
optics of your standard
   piece of paper...
in a book, with a paragraph...

this would never work in a paragraph.

p.p.s. seeing how
i didn't find the old norse
for not...
   but no: neinn (ᚾᛖᛁᚾᚾ)
alludes to a "missing" Tyr (ᛏ)...
which would elevate
the modern word not
               from an adverb
to the status of a definite article...
no and yes are not determiner
words for me,
they share the same article
status as the aesir and,
                                           esp. Tyr.

p.p.p.s.
   red ice tv disseminating
   ms. beat-box gala
                       for the ultimate
stut-stut-stuttering contenst
winner.

more than just a fork in a road
more like a spreading of clouds

at a distance, they feel as if their lazily drifting from destination to destination
a sudden jolt though, and your with them
soaring high and finding that
they too are going hundreds of miles an hour

their peace, at a distance, was only because you weren't experiencing it as vividly or as up close

i feel this way now
at a distance
because not only am i now in the middle of the clouds, i have journeyed so long with them, i have become one

what i once said "some day" to, i now say "today"
what i once said would never happen, is happening
the surreal feeling of having become one with what was once distant and now distant from what was once me

i cant say i miss most of it
but i do miss my innocence
the freedom is welcomed

but what is what anymore

what is being a cloud, i cannot say
words never to help to clarify
they only confuse more

what is what
what;
(h)wət,(h)wät/
pronoun
1.
asking for information specifying something.
"what is your name?"
2.
the thing or things that (used in specifying something).
"what we need is a commitment"
determiner
1.
asking for information specifying something.
"what time is it?"
2.
(referring to the whole of an amount) whatever.
"he had been robbed of what little money he had"
adverb
1.
to what extent?
"what does it matter?"
2.
used to indicate an estimate or approximation.
"see you, what, about four?"

and yet still, i know nothing...

oh, well, it takes roughly
                   staying up to 1am
to listen to foxes...
     maul through their desperate cries
of existence...
       the persistent reiteration of
                   linguistics,
        the overt-subject matter of *** -
can the tongue please find the mouth,
then the head,
   then the brain, then the mind,
then the substance of soul,
and move away from
        the genital preoccupation...
i know some gentiles have been
circumcised in the wild wild west...
but... please...
               well: evidently this is a counter...
infringing on the freedoms of
others, is to somehow: feed
the inhibitions,
   of my already inhibited freedoms
that others share?
                rigidity,
that's what i've ever experienced...
      language this,
language that,
              genesis primordial english,
erasure,
                  like some sort of lapse,
amnesia,
                             remains?
a nodding approval...
                            or the leprosy haven...
more concerned with
a testimony of telling a bad joke,
than resentment...
          base fact:
   i want to capture language in
the anti-voyeuristic sense of transit...
it's not a people,
it's not a place,
english, is... very much a lingua franca...
a means of transaction...
      a language of tourists...
that's it...
                   which is why i feel sorry
for the natives...
   caught-up in this whole h'american
"debacle"...
concerning the integration
of immigrants / ex-pats for the "in crowd"...
so you want me to speak
the language, but you want me to speak it,
you want me to speak it,
but you don't want me to keep
my diacritical "bias",
entertain your lack of,
   you know...
    playing with a Ken & Barbie
would be much simpler...
you want me to speak english
without minding accent...
but then miding an accent,
you want me to make diacritical distinctions,
but not make them...
you want me to mind
"orthography", when "you",
     "yourself" don't have any...
apart from dyslexia...
                    
     the ****?!
      you: pronouns
         +r: determiner
            self: noun...
  ego: noun...
        
the english language,
      the mongrel that it is,
it sure as **** dictates
itself rightly as a lingua franca,
the language of tourists...
but is it a universal *******
                         arbiter?

"gender neutral" pronouns...
then they're not pronouns
to begin with! are they?
you think that resurfacing from
   under the eisenvorhang...
at least back then
        back in 1986...
  the soviets had power...
   what is this...
                a revisionism
               of the english language?
              
****... if you're going to play
the "gender neutrality" card,
might as well play
the "plural inclusivity" card,
given how some
schizophrenics might settle
the debate with: WE...
confusing, i know,
but given their hallucinatory
symptoms...
      
             we as i,
               i as we,

i wasn't even born in england,
and i'm supposed to be, inclined,
to have a share,
in this country's, "inheritance"?
so i'm supposed to
**** off h'america?
  because of the shared
   allegiance of the shared tongue?

ha ha...
             rewriting the strict
obligations to grammar,
   as necessary refinement to
approach communicated speech...
so no meow,
no blah blah,
   no growl will do?
    please bring back the soviet
intellectuals,
   the whole world is laughing...
i'm laughing...
     i'm laughing in a hysterical
venture of...
        minding "the" fact that...
there's a madman,
   and he sounds more sane
than some of these counterfeit
sanity respondents...
**** it...
this whole circus of en masse...
as nietzsche pointed out,
            is the                  oll-neu-norm...

bettering the cause...
what the hell is "bettering"
and what the hell is, "the cause"?
by now...
people are not even bothering
to reference the dictionary...
we're talking about only
sourcing the application
of the thesaurus...

                cue misnomer,
cue the interpolation
   of the general standard of meaning...
wrap up a **** in
the flag of conveyance
    and call it: choccy thursdays.

Everything in reverse,
Everything that's not me,
The source of frightening,
The place absorbing my daily death
Until death is my only existence.

Today I'm not outside,
I'm just things within a skin,
A placeholder of DNA,
In the limits of logic, knowledge and
Some sort of physics.

The medium of all encounters,
The existence of existences,
Producer of consequences,
Determiner of behaviors,
Limiter of freewill,
A cat over my belly.

A former of images for my eyes,
Flavoring for my tongue,
Stimuli for the whole me:
That's the outside inside.

The hardness to make me hard;
The world so I could not be alone;
The time whenever I have a choice to make.
The decisions not taken,
The spaces not invaded.

Outside is the living place of reality,
We're just so inside it
Our greatness get lost
That certainty that all is just the same,
Different proportions, different orientations.
Different recipes for the same ingredients.

The outside
Is nothing but another point of view
From the inside.

I turn my gaze in Your direction
Please turn Your gaze in mine
I take one step straight towards You
And suddenly I find
You take three secret steps
Inside my seeking mind
I continue walking toward You
And truly I’m amazed
You run to me with arms outstretched
The Determiner of Days
Tenderly You say to me,
“You were Born to Run always”

all the hard work seems to have been done,
not that any was done
to begin with...

   from the fountain of nouns -
   there's nothing...
   well there's no new new
   in the sense that
   a hammer was monumental
   a bridge too...
   when wine was first made...

i'm waiting for something spectacular,
like a Krzesimir Dębski
arrangement or a film like
American Beauty -
        or just tomorrow that can
be turned into a resurrected
dog...

         not that a life, this life is
somehow wished alternative...
      that it can be: the life... that life...
today i was at the fishmonger
eyeing up a lobster -
perched on a platter of dead fish...
more animated than alive...
animate thing -
   eyes like dark portals -
         i a puddle's worth of a labyrinth
in which an ******* could
equal genocide of my d.n.a. -
something a little horrid:
   just like that...

and of course...
      what is a george oppen poem...
what's a miroslav holub poem...
   two days prior i was in a w.h. smith:
in the classics sections
with the meagre display of poetry
on offer...
    and... well there wasn't much...
so here's to... doing it for free...
doing it for the cult-esque fancies
of a readership...
doing it for... best served outlet:
bypassing editorial qualms and
what would / might sell: eyes peeling...

what's a Will Alexander poem...
what's poetryfoundation.org even about
except: race, bad grammar in bio:
i they O vey you and my pronoun
whiplash: Aladdin's ditto to
               a Khan or otherwise a variation
of Ottoman...

pristine nouns - historical gravity
i.e. a receding pastoral version: today
yes and of a time: that's prior...
when written i'm assured:
not spoken -
  at least that's how i know when
i can relax a little from thinking:
or any other: moral-ought
should i still have any...

       to the source of ontology -
       how to be: prized culprit a nuanced
       deity of the omni-
       prefix rubric like 2 x 2 =

there are some places where only
a first Tuesday of January
at 2pm belongs to...
   i can think of at least three-quarters
of a dozen of such
places: which i will not name...

but at least here: i would like
to express how i relax from thinking:
or... not thinking...
between the structures
of res cogitans / the narrative ortho-physical
gob...
and res vanus / the empty vacuum
two eyes for periscopes
a sea of grey amassing -
     a variation of suppose: people
their own lives...
    placebo solipsism /
           it's like that 'the earth is flat'...
"theory"...
      it's not an 'ought experiment...
it's more a: because it might happen on
c.c.t.v. no chance for north.east.west.south...

exhaustion... fork in the road:
now more sketching than...
it was never going to be a conversation
or a script to... orate & plagiarise...
in the end: that's a beginning...
while in the middle
there's all this shrapnel and...
   a need to compartmentalize...
shove and sort and take a strong arm:
work a shovel...
not that you'd ever use
a shovel to shove...
or shoo / cuddle with a coo coo...
a flurry of pigeons...

    and that i was shat on one today...
years ago i thought it might
be deemed lucky...
  but the image in my 'ed was...
only lucky... should 'un'
                        take a diarrhoea "tot"
on a bowler 'at o' mine...

3 full glasses of wine...
   that's... 3 full glasses of wine...
       a cat sleeping in my bed...
and half past midnight to come...
also...
   had i discovered pinyin earlier...
no matter i'd still be
bothered about the eternal glyphs...
needless to say
i came across hangul and katakana
prior and i knew
they made sense...
            
well: sounds...
         back to the sound of ambiance
i.e. the "music" a refrigerator makes
in the middle of the night...
that there's N
and all the vowels...
       (ン) ア     イ ウ エ オ

and this is how N looks like
     when "mutilated" by, said vowels...
acting as a prefix

n.b. why ES and not SEE
                "C" but not ECK
                 KAY... TEA but not ET
                ZEEZEDZEZ but:
                 EN
                 EM
                           ME N'EH...
                  NA            NO...
syllables syllables...

(ン)ナ     ニ ヌ ネ ノ

MANNA
   i.e.                          マンナ         (1)
                                   マンンア    (2)

      (1) is...             (2)... isn't...

rigid structures of bull-tied-to-tongue
doy'ch:
           stier-gebunden-zu-zunge...
a name of a woman...
                         アンナ...

ナノ:                   n'ah "know":
   which isn't: now...
           ergo: n'oh...
                                laughter in
katakana: ハ ハ
                            ハ   アハ      ハ ....

bother:           cull the surds and then
"somehow" the sounds...

borrow / lend: apples and coal...
i.e. セキタン
          (sekitan)
          リンゴ (ringo) non essentially:
1960s anglo-ßaß culture: rut...
nostalgia... bonfire...
       crisp as: cutting in with words
it's not like there's a moral
backlog of cursed morose & dodgy
fabric... history sort of:
relaxed & ****** off...

           if i could wiggle in some
korean: Ta
                 Ke
                             the periodic
of keeping tables...
   having chairs to char a bias
on for bone...
  serve up the chisel...
    rough up: coincidentally
the brood of stones & stoics...

              hoops... which you could
dub bonanza for chitters,
jokes and jitters...
           variations of D        Z:
talk Fwench ****:
wan                   and qi    cue: K...

the "currency" of verbiage...
      
   otherwise: when a pronoun behaves
like an article...
notable example:
       mein kampf - i'll treat "my" as
a pronoun rather than as a determiner...
the way i see it... thus...
my struggle is...
      casually... my: definitely articulated...

ich / i(s)ch kampf...
                   "i" struggle... which is...
an indefinite article...
blessed jah! the grammar *******
have... cometh!
phi or theta closure?
both?!                  hey-ya!

   variations of:
     chew-tongue... slurp-bone...
  kauenzunge
                 schlürfenknochen...

    loiter-with-shadow:
                   "head" detached...

herumlungern-mit-schatten:
           "kopf" abgetrennt...

rigid like Trent and...
              heave the Rhine, Rodin...

ol' schwab...
    wine = sour-grapes
                                            wein = sauertrauben...

these fesseln these scharniere,
these schleifen: ernte... nichts...
             my godhead humming...
                      no play-pristine-good-fork
of a **** 'ere "now"...
language for the eyes...
language for the nose: K: cardamom...
before we: were never going to
sit it out in a Siberian work-around...
chasm such that the echo: spawned...
litanies in Byzantine...
     which was a precursor to
Turk & Ish...

                     schweinefleischhacken...
what a nice... nice bIG best...
rounded word with
not hyphens...
maXen m'ah mummy: noun that's also
a verb... alias:      schleichumfang...

ein / eine bursary für
                                    sechs ("z"ex):
          
           zitieren:
quetschen - unter alles die onomatopoeias
  (rigid ******* word...
hasn't changed since the greek's
eureka 'id it)...

           los los los...
               gargantuan only with
a glagolitic mmm...
   almost looking armanian...
ⰏⰀ
   マ...
                 Helmut gorun'd'tat...
heave!
              
   - and "they" thought i might just...
give up... tongue like ice-cream...
like easy like
low hanging fruit... like:
for the taking...
all the **** and ****
and she still has a superiority
complex when
i look at it as: collateral...
little o... pseudo-***                  
  
             (ch / č
                        hide a vowel / vowel-catcher...
      cache a vowel...
                    verstecken ein vokal...
                 vokalfänger - or pretend...
just pretend to laugh)...

and croat... down the corridor
of an arm-wrestle between
proto-prussian and pan-slavic
rus...
        tell me some more:
and i'll acute that S for you...

                                                if only:
details could be written in german
as: detallen detallen...
but is... otherwise... beiwerk / nähere...
oops is for: regenschirm -
and bloat is for: pilz...

         and here's for a *******
carousel!
   rotondo, kalimotxo... "jajaja"...
meow-up-m'ah crease of zzz of agitated
lazy of herr Kraz...
certainly...                 if that's how:
letters "work"...

                 arbeit: arrived at:
macht...               freedoms pigeons
and dolphins...       creases of paper...
           come 2am... it's plenty.