ever walk in a thunderstorm? the brilliance you never see?
near naked with a foetal fudge feeling of a
soaked t-shirt clinging to you? imagine it like
it's better than *** (and it is), there i, actor of
ᚦᚢᚱᛁᛋᚨᛉ - thump thump, a foot once stood here
with imprint - a message to the Germans,
i didn't like your Europe... was it Greek crisis
or the migrant crisis that precipitated it all?
ever walk in a thunderstorm aiming for a bottle
of beer and a bottle of whiskey? i was dressed, but i was naked,
that's the thing with the mandible nature of
the Cartesian arithmetic - therefore suggests it's
all: +, -, x and ÷: indeed there are two compound
interacting, i kind of rejected the 'i am' compound
outright, i concentrated on the compound 'i think',
it's a bit like getting dressed (i think), or already
being dressed (i am), but whereas with the former
the i is a naked body and thought the wardrobe,
the latter ensures others are stripped of a dress-code,
therefore mediating the two compounds is still
mathematically very much the tetramoenus -
but you know... tut tut... writing this is like adhering
to a dietary plan... empty, a yogurt fat-free
and packed with excess sugar, ******* empty...
i left me soul walking to the supermarket in
the thunderstorm - the feel of it, my t-shirt sticking to me,
the rain gelling up my hair, the lightning,
the thunder - i'd never write anything worth successful
artists' memorisation of their work, i'm quick to
recycle, forget... maybe that's why they make it,
the success stories Nero wished to be in some urban
slum when in fact being an emperor -
that's art, poets turn out to be bureaucrats by comparison,
what self-love is there when the page of
recitation is whipped out? i'm still confused though,
gång-åskväder - no speaks of deciphering a distinction
on the dicta, between the dieresis and the ångström,
write it English as is due without diacritical marks
and therefore sub-atomic "particle" punctuation:
aangstroom - well, you don't add -stróm -
Å is a village in the municipality of Moskenes -
a stream... right, but not a wheel then?
or a rolling-pin? but both symbols represent a synonymous
invitation to say something - i've been given t.n.t.
and told ****'s as stable as water without a kettle -
but i'm asking it as: so you see how they tricked
the populace into being "unlearned"? they added
stresses to letters for the donkey carrot and stick,
poking fun, laughing it off - there are plenty of variations,
but please, remind me why looking at . . or :
makes you think of 2? or prolonging like doing
arithmetic? so what's the millimetre difference
when noting å-skv-ä if the dieresis over the second
a does not somehow tongue twist itself with e
as suggested? it's as bad as me, yes, i've been to
a *******, but i paid, my work is worth less than a slave's,
meaning i work but don't have a chance to rest assured
as having a roof over my head and food, i'm below
a slave... what? you kind reader will pay me?
i don't think so, you're one of those people who
decided all art is to flow freely and unsupervised by
a payment... mp3... but there's the radio...
paintings... but there's the brick wall... how's that?
zhong - shu - yi - three elements of Confucius -
ever walk near-naked in a thunderstorm with lightning?
i have.

at non effugies meos iambos

If I were to wipe away the constellations from the sky,
You alone would shine,
There in that,
Devoid of all the light,
Which too often clutters
Your radiance and your mind.

And lightheartedly I say this,
While scrawling desires on yellowing pages,
Which I hand out at random
(et ad absurdum).
And throwing little glances,
Lost in endless distance
Or translation.

There is a grand complexity to sight and sound
Which I with my inherent limitations
Fail to grasp.
Depictions wrought by my hands
Could never do the forms of these things
Proper justice.
And instead of facsimile
They become ruined.

And so I blur the lines
Between the real and perceived
As done with paltry sketches,
When the artist has no more good to do,
And so becomes not a bearer of beauty
But a butcher.

I write dis
Jointed poesy
With you in mind.  
(No better subject could I find.)

And fill the lines,
And fatten the meter out
With syllables and sibyls
With diacritical marks and dieresis
And critical remarks
By means of
Playing knucklebones with words.  

But I’m no Anacreon,
Or Tibullus,
Or Sappho.
And though I may be just a boy reading Catullus,
Anachronistically,
My poems are just as good
Had I been
A wordsmith
Like Wordsworth.
(at non effugies meos iambos)