Loan me a pyramid
Methinks I’ll create a desert
And a few things laid to waste
Hamlet’s now been discredited
His girlfriend went to his head
And the bald bard is now dead
Put that in your jest good fellow
And play with it until’ it’s finite
Cos’ I’ve got a life of my own
Dramatists an’ their princes
I ask you; who needs any of 'em?
This skull will paint the town
An' the treachery of Elsinore
A deep and blood soaked red
Life's much better red and dead
At last this poor, poor Yorrick
Wants his rich an' cold revenge
The pink champagne's on ice
An Ophelia's really quite nice
Twice a maiden for half the price
Chaining daisies for her prince
Will she jump or shall I shove
It’s jolly difficult to determine
If she’s coming or if she’s going
With half her bunnery to a nunnery
Or all her nakery to a bakery
It’s all really quite *******
I must mismatch that doxy later
She's such a lovely little mover
An’ quite the mountain shaker
She’s wasted on that lunatic
Besotted with his hollow crown
And everyone loves the mad prince
The odd fellow’s such an infinite pest
And an absolute calamity of error
Now the loser’s love will love  
This fool who looks and acts
Like me, a prince with brains
That's my own unkind of justice
Laced with the sweetest contempt
Her father was a broken pawn
Shop keeping’s in his blood
He had madness in his method
But his ambition was quite flawed
Shallow depth betrayed his thought
He could’ve have been a contender
Not just a two bit part of a player
Upstaged by a curtain. How tragic!
Death by drapery; don’t you just love it?
His son is now a polished footman
And such an excellent head waiter
He spends his life in glass mirrors
Reflecting on his boney features
As I make sure he waits forever
So much better never than Laertes
That’s my motto for another day
He may count himself so fortunate
He was such a snappy dresser
(Do take me to your tailor
I'll deal with your leader later)
‘Tis a pity he was such an idiot
If brains were more his fashion
And skulduggery were his judge
He might have fared much better
Of characters faithful to a grudge
He could’ve lived much longer
I'll make him beg and borrow
At my very own convenience
Then dispatch him to his father
That eternally serial draper
Ashes to ashes and curtains to curtains
There’s a poetic justice in that
And it’s ever so sweetly prosaic
I might even copyright that
It’s so great to be (sic) on the up
And watch the shallow pale cast
And all their precious thought
Come tumbling, tumbling down
Life’s just great for a vicious close
Horatio; a name to conjure with              
Is now my personal skull dresser
His life is in his hand held mirror
And vanity was his saving feature
But not enough to save the creature
Vanished in the puff of a hairspray
Mist and then tragically unspoken
By all outside his fractured image
Hair today and bald tomorrow
More in boredom than in sorrow
That’s the way life goes in Elsinore
A place of lunacy and ditch fillers
Bedevilled by ghosts and spectres
Wearied by the mortality of trespass
But lovely for their dramatic effect
With dreary words in opaque coats
Whose only life was useless death
Haunted by their unbroken breath
Killing the living is as easy as pie
Deceasing the dead takes real talent
But some how I know I’ll manage
Burying them is a different matter
Perfect for the professional digger
Such simple souls with nice shovels
To gouge their own infernal trench
'Neath the crust of an all receiving earth
Their trade is part of my obsession
And their undertake is imminent
I’ll ditch them with an eternal trowel
And let them shovel hell as well
Isn’t that so me, generous to a fault
I’ll let them share a double vault
Two messengers and a message
Arrived in time for their departure
Later’s so much better than sooner
When your life’s the dying business
Overtime’s a bonus. Die one get one free!
Who’d resist such a generous bargain?
Certainly not a haggling fool like me
Most consanguineous with his deed
The King and Queen were in their dream
Before they met their nightmare      
Now they’re gone to match their deeds
And the kingdom is quite empty
There’s nothing left in their possession
A perfect state for my accession
The hollow hat suits this skull
At a jaunty and a rakish angle
And Ophelia will look great on me
Do bring that doxy closer to her maker
She can bring her chain of flowers
They’re perfect for the occasion
Tonight’s the night for her accession
Tomorrows the date of her departure
She can take her mad, mad prince
To that too, too solid earth
That gladly awaits their tenure
And I’ll be king of the castle
It’s so true; nobility fits me like a glove
And power is my one true love
Down the below and up the above
But alas and alack it came to an end
The doxy brought her princely friend
Who wasn’t quite full round the bend
Neither was he my best friend
With a daisy chain in every hand
And designs upon my scrawny neck
He stretched it ‘til it made that sound
Which left me crumpled on the ground
Rattling bones and kicking legs
Gasping for that sweet fresh air
Which forsooth was never there
And thus it was I met my fate
Both outrageous and unfortunate
The shallow earth consumed my flesh
And stole my ****** hollow bones
More in vengeance than in sorrow
They let me rot for all tomorrow
Perished by their flowery garotte
The precocious pair claimed the lot
Castles, kingdoms and a ****** moat
And all that rots in old Denmark              
All by the method of their madness
And I their puppet on a string
I do believe they planned it thus
To leave me squirming in the dirt
To take the blame and feel the hurt
A cat’s paw for the embrace of death
By the doxy and the scheming heir
My my, my, what a precious pair
Death by daisy chain, how pathetic
A comedy more tragic than divine
I’ll never be able to live it down
And they will never dredge it up
Alas, this last poor Yorrick’s gone
And all their ***** doings are done
Less in grandeur than in greed
The beggars planned the ****** deed
And all I got was this floral ****
Oh what a foolish fool dies in me
And oh what a pity rules in Elsinore
A greedy prince an’ a scarlet *****
That’s their lot, there’s nothing more
Except this one true final score
The bald bard knew the old trap door
Concealed a fall in the rakish floor
Is everything wormwood, wormwood?
That’s the question, and there’s the scrub.

Plumped rouge with pigment
her lip fills to graze the *******
intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade
autografted with ocular detachment
should a Marquis wish to harness
the song of the morning
within a bandolier of Seine
to ensnare any bustled Persephone
gilted by discharge of ions
into a ménage of torment
through the Porte des Lions.

Hers is the tincture of doxy
caramelized and debrided of naivety,
empowered by the eve of invention,
swollen to curves and grounded in Paris.

Illumination defies pervasion
down to every gear and pulley
she has hushed through mechanization
and lulled by steam,
swaging a cacophony of flickers
encased in glass by the Lady’s watch,
where every rivet of her plate glisters silken
reverberation in cascade,
elegant, caged, and towering,
outspoken in silence,
ever challenging the Champ de Mars.

"Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books.  Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528).  Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.

A yellow pill, and then into
The tender hold of Morpheus,
Surrendered to the warm embrace
Of things seen and unseen.

Under white sheets, and then amongst
The harlequins and Freudians,
The rampancy and innocence
Of false narcotic dreams.

Amongst the sailors at the dock,
Or naked in the thoroughfare,
Gathering to watch the lions
Stalk adjoining streets.

To speak in tongues, and find it well,
To call a rabbit 'Marchioness',
To draw a sword against the fray
Of marauding balloons.

Vanity but tossed aside,
A ghost with no reflected face
Walks through a foreign city
Where the streets do not have names.

In Port-Au-Prince that never was,
Truth wears a past love as a mask,
And speaks in riddles, strumming softly
On an old guitar.

One last caress, the god retreats,
Warm sun peeks through the lush blue curtains,
Subject wakes alone, the potion
Sifting through her veins.

there is cotton in my mouth.
my fingers become tweezers, plucking, yanking, culling;
but there is still cotton in my mouth.

it reminds me of the time the spooky man from the shadows called me sugar
and then called me over like I was a cheap doxy.
avoiding him was obvious, but then dodging him became obvious and
the moment I felt ***** hands brush my left hip,
I knew I wasn’t safe anymore.

there was cotton in my mouth.
fragile like a pretty doe with a wounded hind leg,
I could not scream or attack; for there was jelly in my bones too.

but tonight, there is cotton in my mouth, again,
for different reasons; though, the same.
fear.
and while there is no bête noire with a knife
clutching onto my left hip, calling me sugar;
there is this certain bête noire I had neglected,
to discover radiant lights dancing above
and rich, resplendent tickles and tingles coming through my heartbeats.

I found a black spot; a hole or tear; rip in the curtain; stain on the carpet.
a darkness, a moon gone missing; a reversion to autopilot; comatose, asleep.

there is cotton in my mouth and my fingers still
cull the plush barrier; but it grows like a monster
and I have nothing more to say anyway.

Darkness, hides a shallow shadow.
Hiding from bright light.
The shadow moves slowly almost
hallowly along the narrow paths.
Head bent in friarly supplication, but no
kindness or peace follows this hollow shadow,
the shadow follows a dim tallow light
candle flame dim, he knocks at the door
13 Miller's Court, as far from a court could be,
he enters the room, a grate, a kettle, a bed, a settle
a painted doxy, a Catholic cross.
He takes these things in along with the broken pane of glass
the pane of glass will not be the last pain, 13 Miller's Court
will see tonight.

just imagine
seeing the water jettison into the sky,
the spray bursting off clouds
mist glistening through air as colors drip between droplets
the base of the water-rise acting in place of the precipice of a water-fall
just before liquid jewels ascend towards the empyreal
and separate into a thousand small gems, each with their own color, their own purpose
to the surrounding Vleiroos at the summit

But We don't rely on water
we grow and bend and ebb and flow with the water rising past us
But we cannot rely upon it
it does not char and burn, nor crackle and conflagrate like our lover does
he is the one who burns us up and blows us apart and turns us from ashes to dust to doxy and expiry all through accouchement

blessed be the fruit
of the vleiroos in the winter
and blessed be the water
given to the vleiroos in spring
and blessed be the fire
that carries the vleiroos through pullulation

Presents the following slapdash
higglety-pigglety bupkis, whereby reader
experiences being mentally hogtied
perusing pseudo poetic perambulation
devoid of sense and sensibility
welcoming character assassination
concerning pride of yours truly,
who merely strung together
words sharing "arian"

as their last five letters
for no particular rhyme nor reason
quite aware that forced gobbledygook
underwrites storied reputation
of unnamed aspiring author
cramming nonsense linkedin
jibber-jabber hodgepodge fashion
deplorable basketed mumbo jumbo
giving pop slop a run for its' money.

Yours truly considers himself
(courtesy obsessive compulsive fixation
with alphabetization even when dreaming
counting sheep jumping
over figurative fence by first name)
drawn toward being abecedarian,
albeit hankers being agrarian, yet
I consider myself suburban simian
(a garden variety **** sapiens)
no more significant than alcyonarian

expressing his antiauthoritarian,
intolerance toward antiegalitarian,
antihumanitarian, antilibertarian,
agog over antiquarian tomes
replete with antitotalitarian manifesto
buzzfeeding ma (zee papa's)
sixty plus shades of gray,
cuz hive got news for you
courtesy doxy me, a generic erudite apiarian,
non-aquarian, once mighty araucarian,

(when during Jurassic and Cretaceous periods
our family achieved maximum diversity
distributed across almost entire
webbed wide world), nevertheless
one humble wordsmith
decries authoritarian, barbarian, Cesarean
segmentation of rooted centenarian elders
strongly resembling cnidarians,
who foster communitarian, contrarian
culinarian, disciplinarian,

disestablishmentarianism
decrees expatiating dogmatic,
emphatic, idealistic duly strict ethos
incorporating freedom of the press
documentarian, egalitarian
establishmentarian, filarian favoring fruitarian
disavowing jump/kickstaring futilitarian endeavors
administering grammarian, hereditarian,
questioning humanitarian
versus inegalitarian paradigms

celebrating progressive legislation
courtesy coterie as Democratic jubilarian
attributing insights to sustenance
comprising Diet of Worms
and laminarian, which boosts rock ribbed
lapidarian, libertarian, librarian lunarian,
who dons gay apparel and trumpets
majoritarian fly in the ointment milarian
espousing millenarian credo,
whereby absent free will necessitarian

forces at large effect staid
senior citizens, especially nonagenarian,
advocating nonauthoritarian, bookish nonlibrarian
nonsectarian, nontotalitarian, nonutilitarian,
beefy nonutilitarian, nonvegetarian,
and octogenarian brethren,
begat in part courtesy
ovarian haploid gamete,
which offspring could trend toward
ovolactovegetarian maybe collecting

parian ware adornments
pricey merchandise afforded
courtesy parliamentarian income
sessions conducted (without resistance),
whereby officials closely resemble
blood ******* planarian ceaselessly
patting each other
(and themselves) on the back
congratulating exulting,
gushing ala Old Faithful platitudinarian

attributing their foibles to postlapsarian
forebears awaiting salvation postmillenarian
bags already packed eagerly awaiting
deliverance into seventh heaven
as promised by divine predestinarian
a time analogous to virtuous age
of innocence re: prelapsarian
or lost souls peopling congress
and house of representatives
purportedly official do bidding

for proletarian class of population
once upon bajillion years
in the past initial life forms
similar to radiolarian
propelled themselves thru primordial sea
after lapse of eons diverse riparian organisms
with nary a hint of vocations such as
rosarian, sanitarian, sectarian seminarian
dedicated worker still going strong
as septuagenarian, or sexagenarian.

Sometimes I welcome her
the mistress to my forward face
only seeking for her time
beyond the grasp of masculine

that existence few suspected
even as the lady sought
to find a path to the light
drop the curtain to floor

behold the doxy of my heart
courtesan I’d like to share
if my clan could accept
what they believe is profane

the normative will have its say
exclaiming loudly in their dismay
denying unity in myself
when I dare equivalence

bless the souls who understand
forgive the woman at my side
all too real for many years
greatest secret hid from myself

totality is found mixed gender
sharing space in my cosmos
femininity found and then loved
stepping forward to welcome her.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180809.

off some sea-beaten shore,
riding crestfallen waves
propelling a long wooden
oar. His back is slumped right

here in his rollerblade chair. But
his body is limp as his stringy
grey hair. And when I talk it's
like talking to air. His cheeks,

sunken valleys, pale as the noon
day moon. His face wrinkled and
dried like a prune. His lips hard, and
closed tight as a clam. His belly

is soft as strawberry jam. And
to think I was his doxy back in
the day, when I was young and had
moxie, and his legs were a sleigh.

it wasn\t a fear of losing out working outside
the stadium
like a silver horse
wizened
and not a football safe atmosphere
of inside violence
and hate but beyond football
the old tribes of europe still walk from door to door

and now looking into
the repertoire of Beyonce on my own
the day after i drank a little bit too much
and what did Martin do when
he lived with him mumma
and i wonder why did he do what he did
that philosophical explosion of the mind
and thus in the body dwarfed
a state that only Death and call Nirvana...
while i'm travelling home
and on the way i picked up my father's fathers' fathers
bones
and i could not hear the music
because there was like an external overtone
to the live music: there was the American Anthem
medley breaking in
because i just didn't like Renaissance but
i tell you Cowboy Carter is a testament
of a solid artist,
and i'm pretty sure Martin retired working
in security
really lazy work
i think if he only thought of that work life path
and life of mine will go on
i will write about and bridge the distance between
river and the prism of the surf
greeting earth
like fire greeting air...
being able to breathe
but also rock that breathed....
and even cooler oh right covers covers
weaving a new breed of music
musicians making music listening to music
like poets writing poetry
after reading poetry
                              all my internal misery
i sometimes think about breaking into
tears spontaneously
away tearing away from everything sober
and sane
because it seems there's no longer a god
to be sought
      but a friend unto my self: in the distance
dot of ego somewhere in the matrix of god
like the search engine Caesar...

because there was the drudgery of work
but all that human interaction
from a para-police or something
how there are rules to the roads
and to places where people congregate to celebrate
now i'm choking
with the words with the stink of these pages
i need to find a point to relax
yes
a much better concert
i didn't miss out i worked a beyonce concert
as a steward before
i was quickly promoted to supervisor
without a SIA BADGE
which is the basic stage of going up
being promoted in a high-viz jacket
like it was anything but fixing the pipes
and the sewers in the end
with the grump of man
and all those riches elsewhere
or perhaps that memory PTSD
of Manchester
                                and the potential
i didn't miss much
i worked one concert on entry level
enjoying myself
with eagle eyes of the cctv movie...

well... it's clear...
Beyonce > Taylor Swift
i think that little miss R
could become a fan
when she grows up
maybe i should just play some Beyonce
on the radio over there
when doing something
like work
i didn't listen to any music when i was
working
i think that what stressed me out
the most
i think i was scary how i didn't listen
to any music
when i was there
               over on Kauai
like i didn't take that part of me over there
i think Grandma listened to music
the radio
but i mean we can't listen to Hawaiian
radio
we have to make our own radio
i wonder if Reyla could playlists
for us three
one mix tape with our favorite songs
and she could
but it just dawned on me i could have been
listening to music when doing
the plumbing
replacing the faucet
and working on the lanai
taking apart that massive cupboard
that just stood there haunting
but why didn't i listen to music when
doing those menial tasks
the menial medium of hands
and eyes and perhaps mind piercing
calm measured with a tanglement
of raw physical ****** or the frustration fruit
and now the GENIUS
RADIO INTERLUDE
RADIO INTERLUDE
then lightning a cigarette
a bit like when the Offspring
oh jeez i've been to the concert
and it was a perfect idea i was working so so hard
i was working working so hard
for the real honey i mean i need to get a--t-shirt
i'm a fan **** i'm a fan i'm a fan
oh **** me i'm a fan this album is like
me being 15 again listening to some prog rock
and wow i'm a fan

i was going to walk in on the concert
but then i got some good accoustic
outside
so i went and bought myself three hot spicy
wings and one thigh
and some mayo and ketchup with some dr pepper
on White Hart Lane....
Hart Lan... White Harts... Richmond F.C.
i would start Richmond F.C. (north) somewhere
in Enfield...                      just an imaginary
consumption
     but oh dear... there are 27 songs on the album

BODYGUARD is
my secret best song...
    i was the bodyguard or some sort of guard
but as a song... it's so pop it's so neu-pop
neu-pop amazing rhythm oh my god an ******
all these girls walking about but
i am now seeing with a filter of marriage
so just the groove of the urban jungle
a little mermaid event when Poseidon
comes to wrestle with Zeus over who has
the right to what season
Hades chose Winter
and where is Our Sister:           GAIA
there was Zeus Hades Poseidon and Gaia
because they had drawn the four
seasons between them
poseidon took spring and all the rains
to rain on zeus' summer parade at Wimbledon
joke... ******* on it...
the events of man in the warm months
unlike the winter months
where sports dominate our coping mechanism
with the banality of life
sports to survive in winter
but concerts in the summer
collectively: to keep ourselves sober and sane
and arriving at some point *****:
because the song bodyguard is just that...

well indeed it then becomes this gargantuan
realization that it's no longer a poem
but its own self i am only the tip of the fingers off of
because there's no more of that empty hurt
clearly a sharp focus because
i thought i told you i was bemused
by my pay raise without changing uniform
you know like i am a secret manager
a hands on
in security i think that the roles security
don't work hand in hand with the "underclass"
or the logistics men
i greatly respect
but i mean a mix of the two roles being the brawl
i can show you how i can work with objects
please don't put me in charge of response units
let me show you how strong i am
don't bring me into crab fights and ape farts
i don't like those emotions
but you get what i mean
i was working two matches in april
i worked one sitting back like a security supervisor
but second day i had a revelation
and incorporated parts of logistics into security
a joint role
                                 i know those guys probably
have records but i can't be too sure
so yeah point being
i took care of the arches and batteries
and the fencing...  
and today my idea came to fruition and i was thinking
about inverting the ratio of cueing queue
ing  
                           i'm sort of working for a contractor
let him become a sub-contractor on our books
we like working with him
he has good ideas and how to implement them
he has become a changed man
so i mean i can't explain the
up on my wages i was on $18
but now i'm working for $27 an hour...
i am working as a sub-contractor for Tottenham
and that contract was fought for on my behalf
by some manager at the company the other company
i'm working with:
like just please explain it
why i am "working for tottenham"
but actually working for a different company
it would seem but thanks to them
i must have got that raise and no one even told
me about it... but it's easy math
for 10h i am getting $270:
they are those kind of hours
but that's sporadic
like 4 times in only a certain month
whether june july or august
depending on how the concert season operates
but couldn't you possibly be told about a pay rise
no one tells you?
but you see it on paper              hmm:
could it be that pay rises
well this is my first
that's covertly in my hand and wallet
i wonder
                                   because prior to whenever
i got a pay rise it was only a numbers game
so not really of the matter
and told: oh just a little pay rise... either $2 or $1 or $3
per hour depending on "qualification"
an SIA license costs around $1000 so get a $1
pay rise...
but                an NVQ certificate
    well... that's a pay rise of $2-$4 and sometimes
even $7 i was once a quadrant manager
     at Wembley                 and i think i worked for $21
but that was a one off and someone called off
an hour before the event and i was pushed into
it...                                      but that was like speedy
gonzee and Gonzo journalism as they call it

because i don't think i ever wrote poetry about work
and working and money
and a literary realism beyond prior known about
the nature of work and how writing is yet more work
and in that work there can be work
that has nothing worth containing art poetry and learning
language
                            away from children
but indeed Bukowski               about but merely licked
the topic
                      but maybe it was that sort
of time and that sort of work like being a postman
but i can't imagine being a postman today
unlike say captains of container ships travelling
across the seas
    or those strapped to lighthouses and madness
                 but of work it can be said:
that...                                                  wh­at
a strange eerie and stranger forest
    inscribed in it the words arbeit macht frei....
                               this album is illicitly making this
allusion in its grandeur...

SPAGHETTI
         SPAGHETTI              oh yes: this is where
it came from the African-American
lets face it whenever European came walked hand
and chain to the African
                            at some point there were
kings and queen of europe and africa
but how many monarchies are still in africa?
Morocco Eswatini (Swaziland, formerly known)
                                 Lesotho
and all that African-American energy of a woman
just a specific woman like her
in the voice and rhythm
yeah                                           so much appeal
i remember being asked by a friend in our early
20s why didn't taylor swift type
tiny girl
had no feminine vibe i understood i could
have translated
i have stuff to do tomorrow so i am not going
to lounge around:
i can't just stay at home:
i'll probably just go out walking so i spend more time
outside the house
but only because i have an aversion
to cycling
because i remember dreaming of thinking
that using your legs for swimming would
be the same as the very cerebral experience
of driving a manual car
i mean:
it seems like an ancient art these days
maybe that's why i waited so long with my driving license!
maybe that's the secret why i waited so long
so long to get a driving license!
to have enough drivers out there only being
able to drive automatic cars
and here i am                    a manual driver
i get the feel of a manual car
and it's so amazing it's a drug
i mean it's a drug when you get it just right
and try to pretend the driving instructor
is sitting there with you
   when you just get the gears in proper motion
and you get to feel the car like
you might a super horse
and how different
the horses used to be steered using our heels
but now we have horse or rather the four horses
and duck feet... flat under the fingers
the positioning of the feet on the three blunts
is like prepping your hands for QWERTY of able to
look at screen and not at the keyboard
seeing the words and not really the letters
seeing the words but not really the letters...
and here's to giving up smoking again
maybe this time for real
i think i can do that
if i can stage such a good shift
i mean i felt i was central
and the manager worked with me
and sort of taught me so maybe next time
i will have that spot outside the Coliseum
truly that can be a yay moment

                            thought it was Miley Cyrus
but didn't want to say it
so a duet it is and                how many words can
drop in between songs and thinking
about the breaks thinking about the breaks
recovering from all that:
but if i could focus on work yesterday
so the excesses i could find in Manchester If
a crazed testimony of hero could
have been so a downer on the poetry unless it
became more and more obscure
for that too is very relevant: because of
shotgun shotgun
being a downer
   a real downer of a song

SHOTGUN < skipped skipped never
to be found on rewind
                                  back to the theme of cougar
cowgirl and cowboy
but i was in the role of actor in a role
                         because i don't think i was an actor
because no one seemed authentic
but rather prolific                               rxage
                                    solid ink of naked rage: in a cage
some return to form with the lyrics Levi Jeans
i think that's how the song goes
but i didn't fall in the garden i just kicked the light off
i didn't drink to the point of not remembering
if i fell into the trees and breaking them:
no, i kept form because i knew i would have to
write
oh boy boy
Beyonce can admire a former older singer
but all her duets with women are ugly
but when beyonce does a duet with a male
oh boy boy all the best of her comes out
but i didn't get the older sister vibe
                              with                        "Meryl­ Streep"
(look-alike)
                
              maybe an hour has passed
and in it
                                              all that is contained in an
album
        i wonder how the album translated into
a live performance with a meddley
of past youthful kick-starters
the youthful pop anthems that would be
only crowd and radio pleasers
but then the personal experience of Beyonce's
music: with actual knowledge of entire
albums... the gem of flamenco
i don't know because that voice range
is from a classical education
it must be:
funny fact: most musicians in Poland have
had a musical education
or at least did in the past
not all but a large majority
(if not factually correct
then i'm thinking of Sting and some band
from Poland)
like Myslovitz or something like that....

oh YA YA and this is still the same album?
was this a double album?
tomorrow i'm going to the bank
and i'm going to the music shop and
sobering up and finding happiness in life
trying to maybe think
about buying a cheap car
i mean i have an NPKK number
so someone can check my file
well: and my provisional i think maybe
buying a really cheap car
but then the process getting insurance
oh jeez:
there's that aspect of owning a car
oh crap... it's not just about the driving
it's about the maintaining oh man
and feeling like:
jeez... she's talking about getting a new
car oh jeez i now see it really
oh i see it
but honestly that's it i can't have those
days off i will have to think of something
to do
i mean yes
talking about it but what sort of job
is out there that might allow me to work in patchwork
i wonder
but this can't be the one album must be a double-breaker
double-deck-er
                                      at least in my
mind's eye the sun is shining on the corridor
in my house
oh louisiana i don't know how else to describe
the sensation as an idea on the album:
this is a beyond concept album this is unlike
anything i've ever heard
and i'm pretty sure: it must be under 2h and i wonder
if she followed the album live
                               i'm waiting for the song
this lady talked about and jiggled to when she overheard
it coming from the stadium:
from atop: down down down              i'm \
"creamy in the middle"
                                      doxy
doxi                                                 then onto
RIVERDANCE
                                         oh what an open world
out there when you give yourself some focus
and say: yes i will give up smoking and drinking
yes
the combination can only be like this
a remedy prescribed not a tool to sleep
they only allow me to deep sleep in excess and
in return i get also short pointless nights
so there is good use remedy
or to tear open in celebration
                                    because you get the best
night's sleep when in the same bed
with her
                                and that was very
healthy and i can't really excuse:
                                               but yes:
if that person doesn't become contained then
you get paranoid eyes
you think because it's so easy isn't not going your
own way and giving away time
to pointless poetry
                                         because i no longer....
let me save and observe the concept of time
7:38pm and
i think i started at around 6:30pm but i can't be sure:
i simply made myself coffee and

.............................................................
i­n..........................................................
te...­................................................r......
l........­...................u...............d.............e

.............­................................................
...........s....­..........ee..............m..............
...........s...........­.....................................
l..........................­............................egit

(II hands
   II heaven)
                                           praises o praises
perhaps making my peace with jesus
i think she wants that the most from me
that i have to make my peace with jesus
but i can't imagine being a convert to christianity
away from catholicism
i know that Catholicism isn't any sort
of Christian denomination in America
on whatever the scale is and not organised
i think that's where we are conflated
in that realm of life
                                                  
tyrant
sweet honey buckin'
amen

                                        a poem written in the time
it takes to listen to Cowboy Carter
the full album
                                   a poem of that kind that sort
i don't think anyone has yet written a poem realistic to
the time it takes to listen to Cowboy Carter
i don't think music was referenced like that
tyrant tyrant
                             is she singing about her drinking habits?
i wonder i think
sort of cougar rapper              a cougar rapper
she sounds so much better with age
i think that there are women like that who
become better with age
and **** at least i need to think about August
because August is going to be completely empty
so i can have my two months of summer
like pretend boy
                             but what if i buy a car in poland
and drive across Europe?oh jeez... didn't think
about it... that would be proof of my self
i think i will need to think like that...
travel across Europe...
from Poland
i would only miss 4 concerts
but i wouldn't because i would have to drive
back
and i would need a phone plan
maybe cheaper
                   with calls abroad... from Poland
i don't know i'm thinking i need to plan
ahead i'm not thinking about a writing career
in the bedroom i finally get it
but that's realistic if i had to cancels
but when i will actually know about
the pay raise? on the 15th of July
i will know about the pay rise on the 15th of July
i don't know yet
i think they made a mistake or something
why i was paid more:
is that how working in large companies works
like under communism
no one knew what they were earning
some people earned more
                                 the misconception that
there was a standard wage for all
kind of jobs...
would be stupid
                                             a nightmare of stupid...
but true:
                   that would be money well spent?
a car in Poland?
       what a wild idea...        a young boy dream
i think and the idea of passing past Amsterdam and
staying there: some wild fancy dream
not for me some youthful daydream....

buckin'
buckin'                          buckin'
                                      buckin'

at least a Sunday saved
Amen...

                                    go to the bank
ask them how you're paying off your credit card
whether it's debited from your account
immediately after the date
i will give up smoking but i will also have another
coffee
and i have to get rid off the idea that i would
get me 2 more bottles of cider
now i have a sense of hope:
i now have a sense of hope with Amen and it's
a song that sort of repels the whole album
a thank you to god
most certainly: and having completed an album
oh the joy with Religion
and wow...
                                        Oh jesus indeed when
because to say his name
jesus - after having appreciated some sort of art
like an album: ends with the sound of a drop of water...
p[ing! the end...

                    amazing.