I golfed with Byron yesterday. And no, he didn't "kick my ***" as promised. It's always an edifying round with Byron. On the links he looks more like Dorf than Frodo. Sometimes I glimpse the top of his head when he's in the rough, or see a cloud of sand, like the Roadrunner hitting the ground after the inevitable fall. Our conversation (his conversation)  gamuts from his re-constructed porch to life on Mars. He'd like to build a porch on Mars. He is an Everyman almanac. His back swing is like a tilting windmill, and I, his Sancho, suggesting which club to use. In fairness, he makes some remarkable shots. Here are some I've heard:
"To pinch one off, inhale, then cough." This sums up Byron's intestinal fortitude. He takes heavy doses of codeine and morphine for his back.

"Don't swab your ears with asparagus spears." This is the extent of Byron's relationship with veggies. He's more a plant man.

"During ***, if she wiggles her toes, she's still wearing ***** hose." Byron gives a full belly laugh at the double entendre.

"If you pick your nose choose the best plastic surgeon." Yeah, I know. Cute. Byron himself sports a double car garage.

"Men who manscape must **** or go ape." Pure irony for Byron. Nothing sharper than the bearded axe approaches his iron.

"Ladies, when you quin manicure, design it with a touch of *****." That's Byron. Discrete, gentle and quizzical.

"If you *******, get to the point. Don't hesitate." Byron would never admit to such self-indulgence.

It was a gorgeous golf day. Byron seems to make the sun shine a little brighter. He promises, next time, he'll kick my ***.

geschwaderwenige:

squadron-few...

imagine my "disgust"
at finding myself
a germano-philiac
in the english tongue...

aber, "sie" konnte nicht
jemand sonst...
andere mit schlimm
deutschegrammatik...

dis eine *****-wunderalles,
like the time i'm
supposed to **** a blow-up
sheep for like
quirks of:
in the village, of the village,
that doesn't exist?

ja!

in der dorf, aus die dorf,
daß existieren tüt nicht!

blick anderswo schlenzen
nein schnüffeln!
      ja: ich verstehen?

nein?
       wir können fortsetzen...
hinter ihre arsch
                  nein mei:

sie nennen mir vater:
ich nennen du mich:
          ein lieben...
                   nei vater:
   nein fürwort...
           alles für alles ist güt.

i heave to allocate myself
the strip of metaphorical
children,
while my grandfather,
wished: upon dying,
to save a last breath
of life, for the word:
p'ah... p'ah...

    there is no h'american dream
given this...
there is no:
likelihood worth
a tomorrow...

   i have, what i heave
a worth of today...
and... no more...
no more...
no more imbecile's:
beyond the village's
cradle...
i heave the world:
no more!
when the world
doesn't visit me,
why am i,
to visit, the world?!

i have been broken
by you once, before...
and before,
toward a now...
to are...

             a figment of
god's imagination,
and my the complete
opposite of activity...
to be entombed for
a worth of agitation...

i am a village person,
a god can stomach
a world, a city,
a: added crucibles count...
i? i cannot...
   god can have the city,
i am no more a man
than the man i will
ever be,
confined to a village
and troop of:
the scuttling baron
scheme of the escaping
baron from the body of
self-esteem...

i am not the world's worth
of expression...
the day and the world in
it can extend to the world
in a day of a 365 divided worth...
i'm not greater...
i can never be more...

i want to live a life,
with a sort of death awaiting me...
with which:
i did not live to
have lived,
         to have to heave
the breath that priors itself
to: the taken breath.

you get me?
i don't want to...
have to...
               make my life,
as if a death:
a consecrated ground
of...

   and as many words i could
end up writing
but never having written...

i did not live to
have lived,
         to have to heave
the breath that priors itself
to: the taken breath -

as being the taken life;

you understand me?
i am not
beyond a sycamore tree's
worth of poker...
in what...
brutally continues
to be recycled...

whether i, mind source,
or i, body disembodiment,
ghost...

                needless to
say,
i much preferred myself
in making a post-humous
stature's worth
of a birch...

         but... who am i...

scout's honor?

                   unto me:
thoughts are less verb-incentive...
and more...
leisures:
not yet undertaken;

        like...
                    who is to be,
who isn't...
            and...

                   a skyve's worth
of unused punctuation marks.