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Clay Face Feb 2020
Wasting my life.
Cause my time is so precious, ha!

Walking through my room,
the stench actually slows progress.
You feel it on your skin,
it thickens the air, increases drag.

They squirm on the floor.
I wipe them off my hands and stomach.

They might have had dreams, aspirations.
How ridiculous they’re just ejaculations.
I posses a value for life. But my children here.
I don’t feel anything for them, or without them.

Time ***** by.
Instinct, greed and something else win again.

This addiction doesn’t leave track marks,
***** spoons, or empty lighters.
But it does leave a stench, and little time.
It’s a **** I can’t get rid of. Literally.
It’s attached to me, I use it everyday in one way.

But **** it.
Whoops, phrasing...

I mean ***** it, school is in like 6 hours.
I feel relieved in one way. Now I have it onboard.
A nice big hit, of dopamine. Instantly.
Ceida Uilyc Aug 2014
And,  I smiled at my own nakedness.
Pouring down my thighs,
With the *****,
I stood stark ****.
Unbounded of the brassieres
And support of the *******,
It was a plain freedom.
But, I.
I felt the air quench horror down.
The tingling of the copulation
And, its sweaty remnants glued the ***** soil,
Onto my tender body,
While crouched further into the ground.


It was very dark.
And, two limelight.
I could see me in one.
Bare.
Shaved
And dripping.

And, in the other,

A he,
Was not there.
Two dozen men stood
In front of me.

All those acquaintances it seemed like
The new age resultant of a dozen
Photoshop-ed faces reflecting the crimson of  
Familiar intimacies of all the swallowed *****,
It seemed as if.
Well, I could recognise all of them.
I had slept with each, once upon.


The beautiful ***, the sneering *******,
The-neourotic-awesome one, the pro-marriage one,
The sweet one, the afraid one, the older one,
The browny,
The passionately wild and genuine one,
The drugged one,
The fat ****
And the **** guy.
All in front of me.
While I was nubile,
Begging in clasped hands,
A tear of joy.
Of thankfulness.
Of a heavy thankfulness.
For having worshipped my innards
My ejaculations, perpetually wet vaginal facades
And escapades.

For the li'lest that time they did.

But, then.

Yes.

Ya, I was grateful,
I was simply grateful
For having been objectified.

For having been indebted to those zillion
Dissolved and
Disposed tissues in their garbage bins
That was blotched with my vaginal smear, ***** and mucous.

Time never felt necessary
A romantic forgetfulness!
For love had,
Taught me co-existence.
And only,
Co-existence.
Which, would come to use only if I'm shipwrecked, alone.


I stood up.
Yes, I stood UP ON MY LEGS.
My ******* panted off
the last bit of sweat,

The wind was pleasant,
But strong.

I couldn't feel the cold.
My fingers Icy cold I wrapped against the warm elbows,
And nails,
Gushing with an ablaze of bloodiest red of
A life so dead white.

And, the sweat had disappeared.

The ***** too.


I was drought, clean.

I was done.

A heavy tornado of misandry
Came buy,
And I jumped in.

And howled with the wind.


Loud, clear.
And, red.

And, howled the world to howl with me.

For the celestial lesions up above,
to buy my rage.


Because the effervescent stake was
Too holy a scent
For my scanty dermis.

I Howled,
Through my rusted lance
And swamped hips,
Too dry.

To Spike my cramps
And howl into my knee-caps a full blow of pure kush for the empty cavities.

Ha ha.

Entrap the last ounce of warmth
Of a paranoid agony.

And howl the misandry.

Around. And around.
And around.

Around.


Till it comes back,
Around n round n round.
N round.



Misandry, my toska.
My final Toska.
Toska is a Russian Word that is inexplicable to translate to English.
nivek May 2016
created within two waves
two *******
tsunamis washing away all before them
Arcassin B Apr 2016
By Arcassin Burnham

While I continue to search for the purpose
I should have possessed along time ago
While I was still kicking and screaming
Fading away and took hold of my soul,
Now I have no idea where I'll end up when
I die,
Probably somewhere in hell fire at the end
Of a chain and a whip begging God to give
Me what I deserve,
But as a mistake I deserve nothing,
Why do I have to be any different than he or
She,
Why can't I just be stronger than both parties,
Dark , depressing, and lonely like premature
Ejaculations,
Born into a world that teaches you it's wicked ways,
I pray,
For all that have to live in the so-called "ghetto",
I pray,
These bad memories will disappear in time,
I pray that every single bad thing I've experienced
And wasn't good at will advance and make me into
The human being I need to be,
But the Lord doesn't hear me,
At least the Lord I'm praying to will agree,
Most of us sit with our mouths shut,
And bathe in this indecency,
But no one is listening.
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/04/why-bad-memories-featured-in-new-mep.html
zebra Jan 2019
the worm burps crasanthyums
like hypnic ****
matter becomes metaphor

thats how the beast works with in us
we are a book of masks
and i'm up to my neck in
mirrors of the marvelous

midnight music beguiles like a blizzard of whispers
flaming candles heat like ovens
burning finger by finger
i melt flabbergasted in dark linoleum clouds

blood gluttonous
tender bites
lips like red rain and trussed thighs
she grins
a face of needles and mice

i think she wants me

this old man, soggy eyed mop
linen wrapped
before aortic aneurysms
i'm a living tarot card
the falling tower and the lovers
break downs and break throughs

my groin a slobbering clot
dreaming ******* drenched
straight jacketed on her knees
***** willow shadows
drooling exacerbations
a caffeinated candy
licked thickly
twitching blinks; rem ejaculations

her face; a tattooed ****
**** mouth smiles
brown one eyed gnome
**** the stinking cyclops
*** talk lubricates
a raspberry crumble
looking for god

omniscient
even in *****

the white swans utterance
incoherence's
dressed in a ****** negligee
her belly a thousand ******* mouths
and i press into her thunder
shattering dawns gravity
a pinhole of empty cups
Tessitura, psalms, and songs of praise, they branded atheism when singing Christian psalms in the streets making ineffable groans, where the exordios looked from the back with Delphic prose, where the dart that opens the curtains of the hallelujah tormented, with darts that rubbed weathered in the tentative to rise of the stores of Sanequerib. They are relatives of Incipit Psalm 69. " Saint John said as they continued to climb the Calvary of Profitis Ilias, but this time in the company of the Help of Isaiah, with a great spirit of being from the cavern of Elías in Haifa, at a flat point at the time of the Benedictus. Already the Assyrians were returning the same way they came, as Isaiah prophesied, in the morning with ejaculations that ended with the crass rottenness that could end the day without a step other than an anti-Jesuit one. Prayers go and implore the Omnia Vanitatis, the moment when the sun honors, taking you towards the close of the day with the perpetual antiphon. The vigil was reaching the lines of Isaiah does not rest, in Trinitarian doxology. Where is the darkness, where is the glory to see you...? If the stars collide with each other in Baptismal frowning, and in the mystery of Vernarth that lies a complex, tied to becoming that never begins, and what was Christic history of a morning introit.

Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth express in the Trinitarian doxology: “Through Christ, with him and in him, to you Almighty God the Father, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all honor and all glory, forever and ever. Amen"

The triangular taxias of the Hetairoi made faunas that came cutting themselves with the wind of the "incipit" of Psalm 69: "My God, come to my aid;" Lord, hurry to help me ", by the Keras or wings of the site of Arbella; or Gaugamela rather said…, sonnetized by some Pazhetairoi, made up of 32 Syntagmas, as units of sixteen revived Falangists from Court V of the Helleniká Necropolis, bilocated on Patmos, a few feet from the Mandragoron project. Thus the triangular spellings of war were formed again, to the astonishment of all those present. Alexander the Great, already graceful, was over-trained in irrigation and supplications, he was consisting of 128 Syntagmas, with 62 Falangists covered by the Cinnabar that subdivided them into bones by sixteen of the Lochoi or guides. The Syntagma bipartite was enlarged by two Syntagamatarchos captaining two units, all with their semi-open belly, re-liquidating their viscera by the Ghosts of Shiraz, the Saltimbanqui Hydro comes from Roknabad (also known as Aub-e Rokní), from an underground channel which carried spring water to the city from a mountain located ten kilometers northeast of Shiraz. Here he has to mend the propellers and water ropes to do his acrobatics on the water, with greater songs in the poems of the Poet Hafiz. When he bites his tongue, they repair it with the verses of Hafiz's Koran, there are three hundred creeds, three hundred hectares to irrigate with his wheel the sadness of those who cannot have the gift of the rivalry of Montenegro and Monte Blanco, to overestimate the liveliness of the caravan that trembles with uncertain doubts here on Patmos "

Saltimbanqui of Bascule says: “We are Epi ghosts, green in reverie with tutelary ropes, to jump through the trapeze of the photometric units of the heavy Almeria of the highest Mirror of the Sea. Will take you back to Limassol. Curiously to the same ship as the Eurydice that sleeps in the swings of the sea, and in the arms of the petulance of Dionysus in a new awakening of lethargy of theorization of the superstrings of Anaximander, here is the intrinsic speculation of science, already that this is not just purely empirical research. "

In between them, they form even and odd rows. The horizontals were tinged with the Red Blood cells that became volatile and surrounded the Xyston lances, for thirty soldiers of the Diloquia, with their dismembered arms that began to take them back with their hands tightly girded by the song of the Theological Shemesh of San Juan, which subsequently rescinded last in the sum of two taxiarchies, constituting a Syntagma. The units rose with the sickle that cuts definitive death, to reconstitute it in five thousand that should tread through the hierarchies of formations, amid the frolics of the Phalanx, where Vernarth protested to all “Khaire, Kalos irthate apo tin kentriki, Welcome from Hell !"

Thus the Phalanx was constituted among the Syntagmas in metaphors of the Falangists. In this way this antiphon was revealed martial, denoting synergies of the Sybilla Herofila that conferred to the world of Trinitarian Doxology, among ashes that remained by a solid cobblestone witness of the reluctant troops that testified to the sense of interpreting the law of bringing to the world what to their lives it owes them. The prophecy shone from an intangible Isaiah before all in this concomitant episode, and to the degree of the reign of Judah, here together with the prophet Elijah, they faced the hardened fragrances of blessing as oracular teachers of so many goods, and of the benefactor that protects by inspirational mandate, making laws for the end times before closing his own eyes without having prophesied them.

The rows in “V" contrasted with the corridor friezes in the crowned troops of the Hetairoi, and in the syntagmas that became appressed from the triangle that opened the three-quarter proportions of Athenea's physiognomy in Pergamum, subjugating Alcineo, so that finally it was forged in constellations of equanimity in the fifth courtyard or "V" of the Necropolis of Helleniká in the allegory of Vernarth, stopping the plausible dogma of the initial that glosses the Law in Vernarth's "V". This in turn in double syntagm of the Syntagamatarchos guide, in the high sky of Patmos, and in the medrones growing on the antlers of the proclamation of Wonthelimar, which made them a twin "W" in the star that shines in the medrones of the Ibix, in the Cornacabra and in the Cornucopia, with certain docile movement, adhering to acrostic and prehensile preliminaries of the Isaiah saying.

The Phalanx Alexandrina Heterochromatic of Alexander the Great volatilized between the villi of his Falangists, climbs the Holm of Zeus and causes a "Gore" or horrifying reflection, allowing the rhizomes to become a hundredfold, which will make the nominal order of five thousand, for each member of the Syntagma, in an astonishing quantum that reproduced itself to materialize before Him. Then he tied each one of them as Prometheus chained to each of the oaks, from an Akane grocer, incontinenti withdraws a sharp dagger and opens each one's veins to free them from the isolation of so many years settled in their last heterochromia of the War Iridium that he conferred on them, to endure the visit of the spirited Grim Reaper. This causes liberation, in this way they re-install themselves in their bodies, with Iridium or iris that made them see before their optics in two biases of Hoplite alter egos, impacting half of their body. Alexander the Great, being the philanthropic heir and of Platonic legacy, made them superfluous in the melanin that fell from the Epíchisis or libation vessel, to taste the effluvia of Dionysus with the maenads, with wide ambivalence filling them with viticulture, so that they would flow through the veins of his soldiers, and to revive them with the Dionysian must of melanin to the left eye of the Hegemon King Alexander the Great, with Jasper in the left, and the right with ultramarine from the bottom of the Ionian, on the banks of the washed banks of Patmos, in high swells of Greek alcohol that was distilled from the Mosacism of the stones when unraveling the peripheral forces from the prefectures of the great native of Pelas. They ordered areas of all Greece under their heterochromia flow that gave life to the Perifereoaki, or periphery for Central and Western Macedonia that came with great vigor, with Epirius central, western Greece, Peloponnese, and Crete. East Macedonia and Thrace, Ionian Islands, North Aegean, and Thessaly, later they would go for the Aldehyde alcohol that summarized and epitomized Dionysus taking him with four eagles that distilled the unprisoned Syntagmas of the lines of 16, 32, 64, etc...., for purposes never to start on an omega all the way to the Ionian Islands from Corfu.

Alexander the Great, went near the pre-urbanization of the Mandragoron towards Vernarth, somewhat dizzy, and before attending to him he presented himself first to the Zefian; who looked at his iris like a foreman who re-divided his visuals, by prevailing in eagerness to restore his soldiers, to help in the construction of adventures of life, and to assist in building the Megaron, which still rested in the myopia of mythological vision of the Gods tied in animosity with the Titans. Overwhelmingly, he highlighted the clouding or turbidity that was seen beyond the radius or visual field of two realities, found in visual refraction and interference with refractive statisms of the periphery that led him to the other world in Babylon when death imprisoned him...? Here the root revived, it became parallel in a unique world with divergent lights, which entered his Akera or right-wing of his soldiers, bringing visual acuity that brought the perchlorate volatilizations that hovered in the boots of his soldiers, when they marched in awareness of the retina and of the mean light, that for the first time was clarified in true holistic and political from a Parthenon with the musk of mortals and immortals of neo Hegemonic ophthalmology, which he was already re-leading by his command, where he was going to invest his greatest and most spiritual elemental Commander Vernarth, with his Himation.

The rays of his eyes seemed distant, but they were diffuse and alternate, they wandered through the lens of his clouding, which blinds a partial of the left Akera, or flank of the Hypaspists that dazzled Parmenion. Here the optics of Alexander the Great, remained in the diatribe of the small eye next to another that was enlarged, being hyperopic of a mysterious confine in the severity of Dionisio when confronted with him, in light effects of the high liquid vineyard, refracting meridians in his troops next to the Hexagonal Primogeniture who observed them behind the magenta image, which was the one that flashed from the Clouded holm oak and eclipsed by calm heat movements, and rising air masses that were in the opportune station of good sense. When being aided by the Maenads and the Herophile, they were teaching from a parent, who now sponsored the entire political and spiritual will of the Hoplite side, made up of the King of the World Vernarth, together with Alexander the Great, after receiving the photocoagulated lightning bolts. of the officers, under redeeming and reduced of the metabolic, and of the oxygenated preeminences of new lungs for each devout consecrated body, towards Saint John, the Apostle, pigmented and mechanized with aggravating heterochromia, and extensive in the bodies raised in new parallels that have to confront an anonymous or semi-god by turning for his own.
Antiphon Benedictus III Isaiah / Syntagma
Graff1980 Oct 2016
You ask in a moment of affection
afraid of any sort of rejection
but your desperation
is volcanic.

Your strangled *******,
mangled flesh
is stressed by
over handling.
Blood vessels
over expanding
till there is a little bit
Of blood in your ****
and it is a little sore.

You are tired
of those lonely ejections,
messy ejaculations
that shoot up and over your head
making it hard for you to ***
then go to bed.

Not to mention
you got to be a ******* ninja
in the bathroom or your bedroom
hoping no one catches you.

All that ****** frustration
you’re facing
if you knew ahead of time
perhaps you would find
chemical castration a
more preferable option.
The twist of the Rainbow caused the labaros to mutate in each disseminated color, an incident is already descending in the chromatic and snowy Era, fading in the entrance Antiphon that says: “I will give you shepherds according to my heart, who feed you in consciousness and experience”. O God, who has raised up in the Church Saint Joseph, Mary and their Rabbi, wise priest, to proclaim the universal vocation to holiness of the Duodecim Evangelii, grant us their intercession and example, in the exercise of ordinary debit, disposing of ourselves to our Messiah, and Let us serve with fervent passion in the Redemptive work for our Lord Jesus Christ.

This great event takes place from the Sima del Apocalypse, where everyday inhabitants bound manuscripts and ancient treasures of Sakkelion-Sakellarios. They worried about conforming a new resolution in their scriptorium, in the Byzantine period they administered gifts and tributes. Interestingly related to Zacchaeus appearing in the New Testament verses - Gospel of Luke, 19, 1–10, when Jesus Christ enters Jericho. He was a publican, chief collector, and very wealthy. The tax collectors worked for the Romans and also asked for more money than the Romans demanded, thus becoming rich easily, for which they were doubly hated. Zacchaeus was short of stature and for that reason, when Jesus entered the city of Jericho, everyone crowded to see him and he stayed behind and did not get to see him. He then went ahead and climbed a kind of fig tree, a sycamore (Ficus sycomorus), as he was going to pass in front of it. When Jesus arrived at that place, he said to him: “Zacchaeus, come down quickly; because it is convenient for me to stay at your house today ”. At this, the people murmured that he was going to stay in the house of a sinner. Zacchaeus replies that he will give the poor half of what he has, and if he previously defrauded someone he will give him four times as much. Jesus responds that salvation has come to his house because he too is a son of Abraham. From this antiphon arises the Twelfth Evangelii, it appears in a record that concelebrates the haughty morals of tributes that have to be motivated by tribal crowds of Gaugamela for the presence of God, for whatever his will and No!

The wind tunnel tessitura transfigured the next level of the 103, posterioris of the lace and mercy of Abraham muttering in his tent, to generate altitude over Israel in Jacob. The sprinkling sinkholes evaporated the matter that was transformed into celestial plasma, with ranges of coercive metric, from what that up to is down and lives versa, for the hemispheres of the Sefirot, and for the Shemot or name of the beginning of the origin, transfiguring in Idolotraía of Creation in the Universe-Duoverse.

From all corners, they will leave to read this great incident that is not easy to read, hear, or even feel in its vibrations once happened by the immortality of the memorial events of history as the regent transporter of the meeting of all the frivolous voices that sin. Of ignorance, and those who know to become exalted. That the scrolls will be quadrupled to the combatants who end up alive or dead in Gaugamela, each one carrying one of them bled in their hands. All the crossroads of relationships of an ancient society infused parallels of the sustainability of Faith through generosity, almost transferred from an essential charism praised from the esoteric nucleus of the same dogma, becoming confused on the path that will transport it without being aware of the destination. That will take it, and it comes wrong from the limen of doubt from the beginning. Ever since an impious king Manasseh was imprisoned, imprisoned, and exiled, called the impious king, he lived in the depths of the heat of Hell. For modern Christians, Manasseh is an icon of Divine forgiveness, from which the traditional orative prayer of Manasseh arises from the ejaculations of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob since after being one of the most bloodthirsty and pagan kings of the Jews, he forgave him and he was even buried in the city of David, a pantheon reserved only for faithful kings, with which it follows that God completely forgave him.

The Delphic sibyl bears the crown of thorns of the Coronation of Jesus, which also happened in the Praetorium, and as in previous cases to the scene that is represented in the corresponding neutral. In the Eritrean triad, rather Herophile, if chaste and Delphic clairvoyant and apologetic, her vernacular artery made her a native of Mar Peso, Troyana-Troade. As in fantasies of being the daughter of a Nymph and a Shepherd. Her elegy escorted him to the Duodecim Evangelii, from Samos we are docking towards Patmos at the foundations of the Megaron. With the same polygon of the Sistine Chapel, in the quattrocento, where Vernarth had assistance in the parapsychological Regression of the Quattrocento Duodecim Evangelii, announcing that Vernolatry would be part of his Apologetic life, inspiring prophecies with the Iaspis Parables, praising scholarship after the grave that he was in the forest of Apollo Smintheus, returning to his origins in a sinkhole in Mount Coric.
Codex XII - Ultramundis Duodecim Evangelii
David Barr Jan 2014
The Gregorian calendar has evolved from insular Celtic languages, whilst the epitome of death is witnessed by desolate tree-tops of silent and haunted hills.
As we bask in the radiance of harsh winter precipitations, I acknowledge his birthplace in Ayrshire. We are asked to give credence to the important lyrics: Haste Ye Back.
The national party has pronounced Brosnachadh Bhruis, whilst partaking of the offal pudding at the address of the laird.
Our sectarian intercourses are ceremonial ejaculations in the bedlam of staunch affiliation.
I can feel the spirit of damp historical ancestry on this Presbyterian eloquence which surpasses Hogmanay by a mere 25 days.
One more thing: Don’t be a stranger.
Rayénari Das Feb 2015
I Remained silent vacuum
without daring shapes
to show unrecognizable parasites
sleeping in your ******* and your smiles.

I said that no matter,
who despairs,
that incinerates,
that choking...

is flawless silhouette of your everlasting forms
of your solidarity equine representations
doing frills over my magnetism of heat-dog
corrupting my virginal research
and breaking the enthusiasm of my seaquakes.

It has fallen  thy angel of the thousand forms,
masks jump over spaces of infamous digital corpses.
shadows refuse to remain shadows
and the big destuctor starts to devour 12-penises little girls.

The actual search of thirst

-Sobre, hombre, cumbre, hambre...

ride furious over my back
spur my libidinous thoughts
memorize my pre-meditated ejaculations
break your ***** against my gloomy loser fingers.

We are alone
lost
but
i
have
said
that does not matter
that choking...

who despairs your absence ...
translated from the original in Spanish
Rayénari.
Ceida Uilyc Nov 2015
A hand that was ****** by the untouchedness of her life.
A hand that had just too many crevices,
Because she never opened them.
She was always seen with clenched palms in the streets.
She sat in the dimmest corner, every day joining the dark a little more.
Her hands were moist, tender and almost a liquid,
With the years of the sweat that had finally copulated with the blood, flesh and the phalanges in her palms.

She really,
Never opened them!

She was born with a fist.
She never did any work with her hands.
She choose to be one of the sisters of the fist.
Practised by the moonshine to
Spread a tad bit more pleasure.

Or despair.
Or pitch dark moans of the holy communions.

She walked with the drunken sweaty silhouettes of the watchmen at night.

They never knew her by body.
They knew her as the torching darkness that gorged the light on their paths
In  voluptuous silhouettes.

She curled next to them on their shabby beds through the night.
They never knew the stranger strangles of the nightmares they had …
Every night.

To them, dreams did not exist.

For all she did was to appear in them as a rage or vendetta,

Amidst a chore in the daylight.
They vent it all on the shiny awls to ******* the green meadows.
And then, go back to sleep,

To be in the shinier brace of an dismembering nightmare,
She copulated evermore.

They never knew they were pregnant with her potent ejaculations inside. Well, every man is if you ask me,
one of the ...
daughters of the Sisters of the Fist.

They never woke up to her.
They never found her on their bed.
Their streets.
Or on the *****-dried poles in their taverns.

But she always accompanied them.

Perhaps in the sudden whiff of a fragrant **** that lingered in their sweaty cribs in the morning.
Or in the whiff of the ***** from over their shoulders,
When they wrote a plagiarised letter to their new sweethearts.


No.


She appeared only when their nightmares resurfaced. In the broad daylight, between the walls, breathing through the claustrophobic walls that are one within her.

Whenever they shed the blood of another,
A burp of yesterday’s nightmare,
She appeared.

And faded.

But dissolved.

Sisters of the Fist are undying,
The daughters born to the dark,

Are the fists of the dark.
Since the beginning of mankind.

Till the end of another race.
To be the purpose.

To impregnate the bittersweet elixir of Evil,
To every living soul called a man.

If waking life is a death noose at the neck of a gurgling volcano,
then you might as well close your eyes and enjoy the evil delicacies that the sisters of the Fist will consume into you.
Yes, consume into you …

Till the day you die,

And become one among them.

On the day after your death.
Je ne sais pas!
Yeah once I received
A revelations from meditated at a  higher elevation
Became mental ejaculations
Then came a new creation
Cells was in gestation
Just waitin' to battle
The minions of Satan
Who better than
Me & my flows
Be hotter than dessert sand
Words is swords slicin' up rap veterans
These boy more fruit looped
Than Toucan Sam
On the pavement I slam
Then watch your spirit deactivate and
Your body start decomposin' sinkin' faster than quick sand
Understand
My words put together
Equals the perfect letterman
Formula of concoctions
No **** options
I go for the jugular
Loosin' ya sight swift as strike
From the tail of an iguana
I got stocks to bonds
You couldn't assist me even if ya had John Stockton
Lost from my unclaimed kingdom
While you sitting dumb
I became succumb to the sun
But not burned
Beamin' my intellect to carefully select put rhymers in check
I'm complex like chinese arithmetic
Can't you innerstand my dialect
Brains get dissected then tested
They only livin cuz I allowed
Them to be resurrected
My brain shuts out hate
Like sealed window pane
wither shine or rain
I'll shatter your brain
Leave your cells strained
Like aneurysm
Soon to die from all the blood stains
Rockin' cerebellums spread belladonna
Once I drop the bombs on ya
Turn up the degrees hotta than a sauna
Feedin' on spine rentin' ya nerves
Like a piranha
After emcees like Conner
Terminator originator dope animator
Styles so contagious they had to create a
Clone when I was in an incubator
Spaced shuttled feeling
Lies told within' reignin with sin
Which eventually made me a debater
Minds like an engine you need a starter and an alternator
I be the alpha and omega hate betas
Who try to debate us conform us
Only ourselves we trust
Cuz once we show
We bust temples
Like solar blast nuclear chemical task
Spells in cast take a sip of my mental flask
I keep two masks for alias
One for my personality and other
For my ego rhymes en fuego
Black inferno pops on ya like a kernel
Beef is eternal everlast
In the house of pain
Where most don't wanna last
If ya had half of the
Skills that I amount to
You'll still wouldn't get a pass
I be the galaxy protector Hannibal hector bone collector
Break through any sector
Killer instincts like Raptor
Thunderous with Thor hammers
Make em jam us two sides as Janus
Conjure spirits like cursor spells from Ouija boards
So pull out a clipboard and jump aboard
Stack rhymes til it becomes a hoard
I'll stretch ya vocals chords like an accordion
Spinal leakin' from all the blood releasin'
Like traveling thoughts of
Ya mind I'm your conscious
Intertwined
Silence competitions like mimes
By the time they got to six
I was seven and ate nine
Emcees that try to take mine
My retaliation sublime
Once my third eye shines
None believers get behind
Thought ya had power til I showed
Up now you have to resign
Empires got decline
Black as ruler and a golden Shrine
Couldn't decipher my demigod design
My mind travels a million times
Infinite  times a billion times
That's just a microthread of my cells
Castin' processed lines
The black sun the only one
Reignin' as the only champion
Made a don connect rhymes
Like voltron big as megatron
Lap around emcees like a marathons
That means a hundred to one
Miles soon to pile
All emcees into a crate
Predict the death date make bacteria
In it's natural state
Shift the game 'til the earthquakes
Not to worry
Its just the triple six darkness takin' it's stake
Heatwaves risin' soon to leave bodies to radiate and bake
Turnin' them into ashe flakes
Adellebee Jun 2013
Sometimes the world shatters
And I fall underneath the weight
This balloon of wonder
Crumbles me at the brink
Life is a game
Of there’s and now’s
The future and first times
Of I definitely know how
Our generation
So used to “I want’s”
Premature ejaculations
And notorious taunts
Life is a game
That we all must play
Roll the dice of luck
And sustain the pain
Be the greater good
Something for our children
And cherish the world
That we were given
Àŧùl Sep 2016
Compared to your savoury silence,
All my loudest shouts are simply vain.

Compared to my frantical madness,
All your boldest talks are simply sane.

Compared to your sensuous whispers,
All my milky ejaculations are simply rain.
For my last love forever even though she doesn't love me anymore.

My HP Poem #1139
©Atul Kaushal
Dictionary in hand Bobbies
     manned state of the spy craft created
strategic peripheral outposts
     a comma dated,

(sans syntax garnered monies) equated
justifiable to build galley ma free
     Highland Manor wing - feted
via "FAKE" glitterati

     creating surreptitious hated
surveillance monitor ring, which insulated
decked out starry eyed Starship
     Enterprise surprise rated,

as an unbelievable well Spock kin
     Duplicated Star Trek venerated
popular culture science fiction set piece,
     where elderly residents waited

this other worldly architectural phenomenon
     didst immediately outshine by alight
year among the original seven wonders
     of the world prominant
     as a buck toothed over bite

yet, didst camouflage top secret AngloSaxon
     incognito missionaries delight
upholding correct language usage,
     Thence trumpeting amidst

     nonchalant onlookers as excite
mint hinted grammarians with listening devices
     some flying unseen
     as period size drones taking flight

other more sophisticated
     electronic accouterments
     dolled, gussied, issued with apostrophe
     shaped flower buds scaling height

     of cerulean sky, where blinding light
of a solar ellipsis, thus
     arousing no discovered night
gallery suspicion during

     feted occasion rife with polite
"FAKE" markedly questionable legatees quite
suitable asper The Art Of The Deal during
     ribbon cutting ceremony,

     and after words right
ting up citations slyly
     slipped under windshield wipers
     as the madding massed crowdsource,

      would take dispersed out of sight
nonetheless echoes plenti chutzpah left
     English figures of speech
     uttering unstinting (quote unquote)

     premature ejaculations,
     eh so blandly trite
non-sequitur visited
     by thee epic of Gilgamesh
for a dangling participle
     during the split infinitive Sumer season
     (exclamation point) no more to write!
aviisevil May 2016
I get some satisfaction
when I'm feeling down

ejaculations in imagination
education profound

Inclination to temptations
sipping tears of a clown

back to the same question
as to when I'll be found

so many laws of attraction
flaws wear the crown

I don't know if it's suffocation
but some minor distractions
have found their way around

my head is filled with explosions
heart torn in so many portions
and yet nothing makes a sound

numb with all these sensations
I'm feeling drowned

I get some satisfaction
when I'm falling down
Qualyxian Quest Mar 2023
I've tried several times
Many times!
To stop writing the poems
I just can't do it for long.

The mesmerizing power of the Dark Knight
Long live Heath Ledger!
The infinite power of belief
Australia! Australia!

He says we all have a death wish
I sometimes miss Sage Ridge School
Sent John Markson
The desert is empty and brown

The mind cracks, breaks
Her curves!
Her charms!
Marguerite Porete no fake

                     Fire!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
there might have been perhaps two other New Year's Eve
to match this years,
of these only one was actually magically youthful,
between 2004 coming to 2005 or perhaps it
was 2005 coming to the year 2006...
i was still studying at Edinburgh (Promis, Alicia),
that's when Promis lost her virginity
to me after Hogmanay, becoming irresistible...
seeing Fiona slobber me...
at the same time "drink me, eat me"...
**** drink to puncture her virginity while
Alicia was left cold, Lebanese reading that book:
The Hours... leftover in the communal room...

i didn't have any fun with these girls that time round...
what i had fun with was... my flatmate...

with Tristan from Bristol,
running around the streets breaking car side-mirrors
reenacting scenes fro Fight Club...
Bruce decided to become this middle-aged
man aged 18...
he bought a "bucket" of golf clubs...
one night we took them out...
we took out some golf clubs...
a few golf *****... and a few glasses...
we stood in the middle of the street...
pretending to... AIM... at... ha ha.. AIM...
we missed all the golf *****...
but! we managed to hit all the glasses!
it was... spectacular...
we were golfing in the proper Scottish sense
of the origin of golf...
       we had golf-clubs... we had golf-*****...
but we weren't hitting golf-***** with golf-clubs...
we were using golf-clubs... to... aim at imaginary
pint-glasses... sitting on top of...
shot-glasses... or... perhaps the reverse...

then that one terrible one circa 2003 or 2002...
going back to Poland, back then trying to romance
Katie (Kasie) - being invited to a house party...
being surrounded by teenagers hornier than me...
small-town mentality of getting hitched-early
and i was having trouble to breathe and find out
anything about whether i was already
the foreigner that still spoke his native tongue,
smoke, ****** music,
   the past part of the house party was helping with
the preparations with the host i only met that
evening...

this other New Year's Eve i was sitting alone
in my grandparent's house... alone in the kitchen...
both of my grandparents decided to go to bed early...
i watched the fireworks alone and felt
a solid stone of melancholy: a reflective sadness that
is not some reflex-depress or deflect-impress...

before today i promised myself change my habits,
how i would change everything,
quit smoking or at least cut down: i would most certainly
not smoke in the morning and on an empty stomach,
i would cut down on the heavy bourbon or whiskey
*****... why?
  heavy ***** has ****** up my digestive system a little...
irritable bowel movements and...
sometimes the inability to take a **** in one go...
rather... having in splintered...
   in sections... well... easily prone to sometimes vomiting
or rather: needing to ***** to feel at easy...
that was three days ago...

      i just wanted to stop feeling the also hightened
blood pressure...
             these "headaches" that weren't headaches but sort
of pulsations... as if my brain was dehydrated,
spinning, almost feeling death-tickling...
squeezing of the throat...
i told myself that i would stop drinking the heavy
duty liquids even if that meant i would have more sleepless
nights... well... new year's resolutions begin
two days before a new year's eve...
but the old ways have to come around for just one
last time on new year's eve and then:
with the intended plans...

    prior to the 30th... on the 29th i said to myself:
promise me this you-i, you will follow-through...
so i drank four ciders, took some generic painkillers
to ease me sleep and hey presto...
perhaps not a healthy 8 hour lapse into the Land
of Nod - but at least i woke up relaxed at 10am...
i had 5 hours spare until the shift would start
at the London Stadium...
                       i ate enough food smoked a cigarette
starting puking... right... you're not taking an cigarettes
to the shift... on my way there these
high-pressure "headaches" kicked in...
again i thought i was constipated but i had already
taken a shift before leaving...
no... these were not high-pressure "headaches"
anymore... excitement was kicking...
    i was again promoted to a supervisor: **** it...
here's me taking care of the east-wing with 15 stewards
under me...
i was excited... why? West Ham fans have the worst
reputation of all the clubs in the Premier League...
27 arrests in the season 2021/22...
i was excited... i was expecting something to happen...
i had 4 stewards on their ****** shifts...

in the middle of the match where West Ham was losing
to Brentford 2 - nil, Martin on gate 141 started gesticulating
with his hands in the middle of the second half...
i walk over... he tells me something is going on...
i look up... oh ****... about 12 guys, some of these guys
were fathers who brought their little boys along...
haggling with punches and grabbing and ferocious
tongues, children crying... a woman in the audience
starts glaring at me with hysteria and screaming
at me: do something! do something!
        calmly i turn on the radio and communicate
to Head Control: Control, this is Papa 2.3 -
i need a response team to be at gate 141 immediately!
the woman is still screaming,
the situation is escalating.... the children are even more
distraught, the blokes are more ferocious
(and the funny thing is, it's West Ham fans
fighting West Ham fans and not Brentford fans...
because the team is close to relegation
and i guess one fan knows better than another
fan about how to turn the situation can be
overturned) -
                           so as the pitch-side manager
Joe once said about contacting Head Control:
'i try getting through to them, they ignore me...'
well... i go at the radio again...
    'Control! this is Papa 2.3 - i need a response team
at gate 141 of the Billy Bonds stand! turn your cameras
onto what's happening! the situation is escalating!'
hey presto... persistence paid off...
    in about 20 seconds about 10 bouncers (SIA licensed)
rush in and break up the crowd... take some guys out,
comfort the children... i'm just happy the hysterical
woman is not looking at me eyes of scorn as if i'm
some impotent radio-holder...

the shift finishes at around 10:30pm...
   i still manage to catch the tube to Gants Hill and the 66 bus
to Romford, the petrol station near the police station
is still open so i buy three ciders...
    get home just after 12am, drink two ciders smoke two
cigarettes, take some painkillers and try to sleep...
oh ****... oh right... no chance of that happening...
i'm already sweating from alcohol withdraw...
cider can't replace bourbon or whiskey...
                   but excitement turns into post-panic control:
the situation was contained...
but that's not why i couldn't fall asleep...
i tried to... maybe i did for about 30 minutes in between
listening to Heilung's album Futha...
   i must have snoozed off for about 20 to 30 minutes
maybe less... turning side to side...
                                       but i knew that there wouldn't
be any point given i finished drinking the cider at
around 1:10am and i had to get up at 6am...
               to eat some porridge, shower, get dressed...
which i did... weird... ever see a fly casually flying
in a kitchen during December? heat makes flies crazy
during flight... in the "cold" of December (13 degrees Celsius
is cold for December... i experienced about
a week of promising,, authentic cold and snow
a week or two ago) - now this stinking damp and mediocre
cold... ate the porridge standing up contemplating
the lazy flight of the fly... so big... so juicy...
thank god it was one of those black ones and not
those green-belly that **** out dormant larva so quickly
the larva that turn to maggots so quickly...
black flies don't have that capacity...
because black flies... well... you associate black flies
with pestering cows... ergo? they feed off ****...
the blue-belly flies feed off dead meat... cat food...

6am wake up, wash, get dressed, and *******
to Putney Bridge for a 9am shift starts at Cavern Cottage:
Fulham vs. Southampton... New Year's Eve...
i have done a shift on Boxing Day last year...
double pay... but doing a Boxing Day shift is not the same
as... doing a New Year's Eve shift...
      it's like that W. H. Auden quote about
New Year's Eve:

the only way to spend New Year's Eve is
either quietly with friends or in a brothel.
otherwise when the evening ends and people pair off,
someone is bound to be left in tears.

ha! i have a third option!
    
so on my way to Putney Bridge, since the Elizabeth
Line is on strike until the 2nd of January...
****... this complicates my travel in London a little...
i can't take the simple option of taking the 103
bus to Romford Station and head to Paddington
and then a short walk from one Paddington (train)
station to the Paddington (tube) station and
like... 6 stations from Paddington to Putney Bridge
(Stamford Bridge, if you're interested?
that's at Fulham Common, or Broadway,
one of the two) - i could have complicated matters
by taking a longer walk from Hammersmith...
but i like walking through Bishop's Park...
as i was once reminded by one co-worker...
that's where Gregory Peck meets the priests
who gets killed in the film Omen...
it's a beautiful park: it's right next to the Thames...
so the route changes... i have to get the 103
bus to the A12 and then get on the 66 bus to
Newbury Park... then the central line to
Holborn, then the Piccadilly Line to Earl's
Court and then the District Line to Putney Bridge...
i truly tried all the alternatives...
e.g. central line to Oxford Circus -
Victoria line to Victoria and the district line
to Putney B.
     or... central line to Notting Hill Gate and
district line to ditto B....
     but i found that... there's too much walking
involved...
          the shortest route is the one i found out...
sure... it's a bit long changing at Holborn...
but changing at Earl's Court is the shortest...
plus Earl's Court is the interchange
between Edgware Rd, Richmond, Wimbledon,
Upminster and Ealing Broadway...
and the station is almost open air... so sickly sweet
underwear drying in the underground
during the Blitz sort of sensation association
with waiting...

                          ah... well... i managed to get in
to the sign in area for the shift early, i was probably the first,
said hello to the owner of the company,
who's name i always forget... an imposing figure...
former-military... but i still forget his name...
Scott... Scott... hello hello... i didn't shake his hand
this time round because i'm not left-handed
and i noticed he was holding a cigarette in his right...
signed in...
   ooh... the grand comedy of being early...
some perks come with that...
between Putney Green and Putney Bridge i realised
that my halting my drinking and elevation
of insomnia left me without any of those
high-blood pressure headaches... no excitement...
not this time round...
               i was cool as a cucumber...
i didn't feel any constipation... but then after signing
in... ooh... that porridge really helped...
as did that ****** chicken, sweetcorn mayo and
salad sandwich and Monster watermelon drink
did too... sign in at 9am... shift starts at 10am...
irritable bowel-movements...
    the staff toilets sub-standards... i tell someone:
if anyone asks... i'm going to the public toilets
in Bishop's Park... but there are toilets for staff?
you see the cubicles mate? cubicles without doors...
i'm not here to ****... i'm here to take a dump!

fidgety i'm walking back to Bishop's Park...
i enter the toilets... i enter the toilets... then the cubicle...
i peer in... wow! no animals were (yet) here!
the toilet seat is clean! it's left down!
there's toilet paper! there's a coat hanger!
wow! wow! am i just about to "******" as if seeing my
favourite ****-star from when i was 15?!
i take my coat off and all the elements of accreditation,
high-viz. and stadium passport...
undo my shirt a little at the collar and sleeves...
undo my zipper and clip pull down my trousers
down sit down and: PHOO! i **** out both
a gold nugget of firm shirt and a subsequent
waterfall of the looser stuff... my god...
i know that i'm supposed to find some sort of relief
in *******... this... this is better than *******...
ejaculations happen in private...
this is inverted *******: taking a **** in a public
toilet is more of a relief than ******* in private...
after all... it's pretty much the same, isn't?
i might not be looking someone in the eyes...
my member might not be in someone else's body...
but... Bishop's Park was organising their annual
run around the park for jogging enthusiasts...
i was already done when this one jogger ran
into a cubicle next to the one i was sitting in
finishing off my "taking a ****" counting time
solving a Mahjong... when i start to hear him puking...
i just took the most glorious Hiroshima ****
and here's next to me separated by a flimsy screen
that can't sort of discriminate the existence of sounds...

we waited for the shift to start for so long...
Stephanie pulled out... i saw her at West Ham and she asked me
whether i'd be with her in the Bishop's Park...
she turned in sick... so... i was back with Toni...
on the Hammersmith end of the stadium...
well... Thames-side and Hammersmith end...
i just implored her for a favour... i'm tired Toni...
can you put me on the outermost position...
last time i curated this position the weather was beautiful...
i spotted the bridge after Putney Bridge and
i thought: oh... the Kew Bridge...
what a glorious sight... but no...
the bridge that comes after Putney Bridge is
the Hammersmith Bridge... but that's when the weather
was good...
i just didn't want to work with Mark...
    citation needed: 'with my 12 years of experience
as a steward...'                      the ****-joke of the profession...
it was barely a year since i worked this job
and i was already supervising and yet he...
yeah...                               i can understand flies...
more than these busy-bodies of deluded semi-half A.I.
projects of hurt humans...
Francis Bacon paintings are grotesquely beautiful...
but this? this is reality-par-excellence...
interacting with it is: this incomplete human sort
of a joke... that can become a sly group-think of
being comfortable with a specified discomfort...

so i asked her... stand me there... next to ol' Father Thames
and let me admire that bridge i'm not sure about...
so she did...
     what i wasn't actually expecting was the weather...
i took the ******* position...
but as i soon learned... the best position...
the wind came with the rain and the rain came with
the wind...
                      there was this dog-walker with 4 dogs
with one being a terrier ADHD prone spaniel...
running rampage as if having seeing the godhead
of Anubis...
                      
          i was directing Southampton fans to the Putney
stand to avoid the Hammersmith stand...
just talking... hello, how are you, good afternoon...
smile... more smile... choke on a ******* biscuit
and a peppermint...
                   old men telling you: you're not getting paid
enough... lovely weather, oh... not as lovely as if...
it might be staged in the dark...

more about Mark with Lyndon and Toni...
pestering three women Chill (that middle-aged Turkish
woman... oh names... apples: Melanie... Nile? pears?
verbs?!) talk gets lost... on details...
joking about jumping the tide-out Thames...
i was just looking at how crows scared the seagulls...
one swan swimming alone...
metal-pickers in the mud...
                         i'm not myopic or the antagonism
of myopia... L.S. Lowry's stick-paintings...
                                 sure as **** metal-pickers...
in the mud i noticed what i first thought was a treasure
chest... turns out it was an old computer disk...
what was that even called if it wasn't a monitor?

oh and the weather truly broke me...
the rain came at an angle...
i smarted myself up by asking for a second... water resilient
jacket to put... i wasn't going to put on a flimsy potato-starch
pancho...
but that didn't stop my trousers getting soaked...
then once the rain stopped and the wind resumed:
getting dry... then once the rain came back getting soaked again...
but my socks were already soaked beyond getting dry...
walking the pavement in wet socks in leather shoes
is like... skinning an alive pig...

soaked feet.... although my upper body was kept warm...
talking with Toni about the proper attire for
winter... waterproof overalls... from Sports Direct...
and combat shoes: Magnums, used by police officers
and the army and all manner of security forces...
she asked for a cigarette, i gave her one,
she wasn't expecting a Camel... we walked...
looking each other in the eyes and subsequently
at each other's shoes...
in that instance she told me about her life...
she was living with her father and her stepmother...
how he biological mother kicked her out...
i just forgot which of her "mothers" was
the bipolar one... oh, right... her stepmother...
so i inquired about her stepmother's bipolar disorder...
so is that like manic depression?
no? split personality disorder? what's that like?
are all her personalities integrated or are they,
each to their own, loose canons?!

but there were these other two girls... Naomi...
who looked like a more pristine version of Will Smith's
wife... Jada Smith... i was... looking at Jada Smith...
with more hair... a nose piercing and a piercing
like a freckle where my moustache would cover it:
to the side... two kids... living in Richmond...
totally irresistible... this is how i always wanted
to spend my New Year's Eve... stoically...
at first in a gradation of pain...
pain from feat turning into the flayed beast
revealing nothing but bone, prone to accepting
the elements...

           this other girl... nice... cannibal looking teeth...
bound to braces... plump in the face... wearing a beany hat...
also mingling with Mark, the negate,
she touching him teasingly... once ***** was mentioned
i gave her some advice... oh... but you do know that
the only way to drink ***** is to drink it frozen, right?
so it resemble a sickly sick syrup... no ice, no mixer...
at best a chaser... she peered at me as if i belonged to
an ethnicity of a people that knew how to drink the ****
stuff... quizzical eyes... i forgot to tell her about
spending some time with the Russians:
being myself of a Slavic origin: ABSOLUT VANILLA...

i already knew it was the sort of New Year's Eve i was waiting
for when the shift was coming to a closure...
i was back in position admiring the Thames...
admiring the fading dark Green of Hammersmith Bridge
when the supporters were walking out...
one recognised me saying: so, you're been here,
all along? pretty much...
more passed and i just started spewing the casual:
have a good night, safe journey home,
and then the seemingly comical:
happy new year!

                 happy new year echo!
happy new year! happy new year!
            this precautionary tale of when Gandalf inquired of
poor Frodo: will it be?!
what? a happy new year?!
am i wishing a happy new year to you in advance
hoping, or perhaps wishing, or perhaps knowing:
that it might be... a happy new year?!
the phrase itself is about as meaningful or... meaningless
as licking a post-stamp and sticking it to
a postcard... wishing or not wishing: a "you"
to be "here"... no?!

                                   how about... happy new year
could be replaced with: MAYBE NEXT YEAR...
i.e. when i and you, are still alive...
we'll see each other again... i think that just might be
the summit of what happiness entices mortal creatures
such as ourselves to, from time to time: actually: believe!

the shift ended, i was soaked from feet down...
the trip back from Putney Bridge back to Romford was
sort of... giving CPR to octopi and walking on borrowed
legs... and less than sleepy eyes...
i got off at Gants Hill... ordered a spicy chicken burger
and three hot wings... gulped them down...
went into a Tesco Express... bought myself
a 70cl bottle of Jim Beam, a bottle of Pepsi...
3 cider bottles...
                     got home... said hello to my parents...
sorry... i'm ******* off... climbed into bed...
pretended to sleep, or rather, relaxed with naked feet
under the bed-sheets from them not being soaked...
"woke up" after about 2 fours... hours...
greeted them... sorry... i'm not into St. Sylvester's
celebration...
but i sat down with them...
as i have done for the past two or three years...

Jools Holland's Hootenanny has become sort of:
10pm ITV news in the household come this time of year...
what wouldn't i do without it...
Cat Burn's song Go... i never heard of it until then...
i ate some traditional tripe broth...
to warm the stomach up...
i hanged the bottle of Jim Beam and the bottles of cider
on the garden fence before coming home...
i was going to pick them up later...
to drink... well... at least half...
but it was so worthwhile to be so physically exhausted...
wow! these notes i wrote about that month
last year where i spent almost spent £1000 of prostitutes
and in the meantime lost two of my greatest
lovers... of 30 minutes' worth...
i.e. Khadra and Mona... who... the Madame of the brothel
told me would never return...

we watched the ******* spectacle of the fireworks...
wow! great! crowd!
i just retorted... if i were the people between
Westminster Bridge and the Embankment Bridge...
seeing the fireworks... i'd save up on t.v. memory...
i'd record the collective spectacle...
but got before the massive wheel
and stand there and stare... oh... but look...
who what or when Londoners? Chinese tourism...
the inescapable flu: chick or flex pork chop infections
but no rats and flies are the wholesome friends?!
standing there... with technology spread-out *******
third-eye non-experience...
the technology saw it first...
                                ugly humans non-humans
robots seem lovelier...
                    
                     that's how i learned about Cat Burn's song Go
thinking: didn't Ed Sheeran write this?!
doesn't matter...
once this supposedly spectacular night ended
when i heated up my feet and regained some flesh
in them...
                  i started drinking with my usual standard
of toxicity... looking through old notes...
ooh! an unfinished joint! wow! i had a premonition!
i will not want to go to a brothel i will not want
to go to a depressing house-party...
i will want to go inward...
into myself and starve anything already established...
i think i must have met about 3 girlfriends
tonight... possible...

now i'll finish a bottle of 70cl of bourbon by myself
while writing and smoke that joint...
finally! a new diet of music!

and the odl rekindling of an alliance....
perhaps placing conkers might put off spiders
from aligning a household with a disapproval for housing
spiders... but flies... that's a different matter;
i'm going to smoke this joint
and dream my hazardous of this years first and last
breaths.

where is that ******* fly...
i hope it's still alive while i'm alive... if i swallow it in
the night... i'll pretend to be a Pontus Pilate...

no other New Year's Eve has been so benevolent to me...
i was fudge packed between commuters not trying to
entertain the fireworks on the Thames...
me? go home...
       tired old young man....
                         why are there suspicions of me:
by simply being punctual as having any sort of association
with any nation's army?!
i like sunsets... i like sunrises... i adore the aloofness
of the aloneness that's: otherwise missing
in the claustrophobia of interaction with the other...
WOJSKO...
                        
            this has certainly been the best New Year's Eve
to meet all others...
before me stand's King Lear and Lot's Wife...
i wonder... who is... the Pillar of Sugar?!
Sugar = Salt + Water... no?!
so who is... the pillar of Sugar?!

   ah... ha: hermeneutics contra etymology!
          there's only one history for me...
   that being etymology: the origin of words from words:
to use words is not to use anything beyond words themselves...
which excludes my original assumptions that
letters or geometric shapes akin to letters or vice versa
could ever be utilised...
verba ex verba - non verba ex figura, numerus vel littera:
verba ex et enim verba!
meaning for meaning...
not meaning borrowed from either the associated
or dissociation...
or dissociation and a(n) association...

   well... it just so happens that i have... something of a...
half-wit... canvas of artificial-intelligence
to work with... it's basic intelligence...
                           just what i need.
zebra Jul 2019
come towards the bed
winged loneliness

her thighs
arches to the garden
a purple mouth flower
with pink steps and tears
for a priestly *****

this crying queen
whispers flimsy secrets that gnaw
that gnaw like malignity's orphan hood

her hips
a wigwam sanctuary
coagulations of crossed paths
fantastwatia - child of Aphrodite
stiff with threads of milk
like vast groaning plumage

and a soft kiss cantata
aborts sorrows
with red **** hammers
and acetylene ejaculations

butter fingered ******
point to heavens
silver eyed wet mouthed harlots
taste pumpkin cake
teeth white marble
gag
*** spit

biting her blood crowded shadows
bikini trim hangs
from timber thighs
***** and mouths
rushing ambulances
for a **** emergency
to orchid ***** aviaries  

split grape gape
and sugar red throat tongue dance
with a smiling swallow
drooling mourning flower
and the violence of desire
like leviathan intestines
that drown the sun
For poetry was all written
from 'The Poet' by Ralph Waldo Emerson

for poetry was all written before time was,

and whenever we can penetrate into
that region where the air is music,
we hear those primal warblings,
but we lose a word,
and substitute our own,
and thus
miswrite the poem;

for
the all-piercing, all-feeding, and
ocular air of heaven,
that
man shall never inhabit.

The religions of the world are the
ejaculations
of a few
imaginative men. The history
of hierarchies seems to show, that
all religion's error
consisted in making the symbol

too stark and
solid,
and, at last,
nothing
but an excess
of the ***** of language.



Transformation
from Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore

the soul    Thomas Moore said    is fostered
in the many turns of the labyrinth
making intimacy with the heart
a profound coupling of ego and soul
in deeps of intensity
deeps of fear
and
deeps of bliss

metamorphosis with artful participation
blushes the ivory to gold-tinged flowering
transforms by imagination
Narcissus


c. Roberta Compton Rainwater 1995/2017
zebra Dec 2020
i just read your poem Anne
about your desolated masturbations
after you fell through
into that atomized monoxide
dream of pantomimes glittering
vague shapes and black holes
where slumber sinks
and silence rolls

we couldn't follow
you into your
receding suicide labyrinth
of timeless echoes
past those dire meadows
of serpentine fires
and shrouds you saw
where life eclipsed
by cosmic law

so i read you
one of my black little pieces
of erotomania
headless Barbie ejaculations
all Marquis De Sade
shadow fantasies
of dead play toe tag
and spilt milk
kisses' true
under Habeas Corpus
sweet dead you

you made me giggle
like jumping jellybeans  
and *** honey
I'm so glad you liked it
and your cute comment
about how my poem
made love to you
like multi chromed
teensy weensy
**** candy throat ticklers
at a careless Halloween party
where everything forbidden
in troves
is hidden by the hidden


how you loved
dancing with Night-gaunts
from temples of the astral
past those incessant ruffling whispers
past shadows flesh
somewhere high up
beyond the glimmering headlights
of muttering pastel colored boulevards
that flicker contorted images
of the resurrected living dead
still warm
in your dreadful toxic bed

so tell me dead girl
till the day i die
is it better now
beyond father time
no more words and wounds
no more toothaches
and lunging depressions
pulling you helplessly
into gloomy vortexes
shadowed cups
of looming spacelessness
with no downs or ups

instead you say
you're published
in the Dead Leaf rag
where words like shrouds
blur ballooning solicitude
of indecipherable
mirrored reflections
under tongues of crystal ethers
where life lives backwards
and you just
write beautiful
white
nothings
like flat eyed Phoenician ghosts
beyond the ages
in windless skies
on empty pages
Innocuously incubated kindled
imperceptible dire strait
restlessness like tinder
with pinterest Deutsche agitate
barreling like a freight
train running so much
faster than an eight
track uber twittering,

rumbling, quickening and inculcate
dissension among dissolute
rabble rousers, who
do obediently initiate
rank and file will not abate,
boot re:reed out (bus) soon,
thence coalesces into ablegate
insidious encroachments

no longer patiently await...
ideal conditions to hatch
schism within parched
soil perfect for hate
mongers of democracy
breeds anarchy to facilitate
chaos, which quickly spreads
like kudzu, or wildfire Arson

Welles immediately forcing leader
of free world to abnegate,
(heard to trumpet "FORGET
THE WALL" mate),
(despite being caught in his
pink frilly underwear), to late
for Mar a Lago escape, where
formerly great wealth did

pool lightly coagulate
elite class heard faint stir of echoes,
then earsplitting clangorous louder
than an ICBM din (er bell)
rent asunder forcing
freedom of "FAKE
MEDIA" to abdicate
all the while pointing beringed

index finger to accentuate
his Taj Mahal ululation
interspersed veni, vedi,
veci stopping for spate
to coif (died in the will)
hirsute and aerate
said wind swept hairdo
pausing every now and again to snap

selfie portraits, plus
instagram loved ones to alleviate
that pompous, outsize,
and humongous ego fast deflate
ting into a shriveled up POTUS
float hissing boilerplate

hot airy premature ejaculations,
he would not capitulate
(sooner be rocketed
to Pyongyang and cell bate
good times with Kim
Jong-un to emasculate!

I now absolve myself
that aforementioned jest,
a tongue in cheek diatribe belies
my means to predict any forecast,
yet if any resemblance

of chance events
materializes between
my pablum childishness at best
there could arise fruitful market
for kitsch sheen collectors items
high as Mount Everest!
Enshrined for all posterity
mine benediction for reverence,
whereby conflict resolution
ameliorated courtesy peaceable solutions.

An adulation, concatenation, encapsulation,
gratification, introspection, et cetera
encompassing poignant episodes of mein kampf.

Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line
state of the art COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive girls
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledger
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.
Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with

attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Philanderer,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2022
Indecision is a       left vacant for confusion

and, as uncertainty won't fit, it is a paradox.






Ps.

Made up minds are the pre mature

       ejaculations of escapade.
got what he wanted at my expense.

Said crack fast talking
hacker and scammer
pulled figurative wool over my eyes
going incognito and speaking a clipped
English mien his disguise.

He appeared (rather sounded) genuine
after yours truly experienced computer snafu
(the Macbook Pro essentially hogtied
courtesy virus that disabled any activity)
even turning the laptop off then on
only wrought frustration to boot.

An out of state Apple computer
technical support person impersonator
(imposter invariably linkedin
to aforementioned fraudster -
most likely brother in arms)
answered telephone number
provided on the screen.

Admonitions against sharing details
about case in point, whereby cyberpunk
donned many hats to convince me
serious computer virus,
malware, trojan horse, et cetera
counterbalanced with voice on other end
affecting sedulousness to "listen carefully"
and carry forth the following commands.

Yours truly trustingly,
passively, meekly, et cetera
(though feeling jittery)
carried out the repeated instructions,
which charlatan inveighed against
speaking softly (in retrospect,
I ought to have carried a big stick),
indicating (as if held at gunpoint)
to headout off to the Trappe branch
of Citizens Banks and withdraw cash
all the while recording verbal dialogue
with small, medium at large criminal
(the scam artist(s) in question).

Upon retrieving legal tender
(quite a ***), thee next entrapment
entailed driving to closest ATM machine,
an MP gas station/convenience store
in Collegeville to convert
high denomination bills
(a considerable number
of money crisp Benjamins)
into bitcoin cryptocurrency
then hightailing back to where I live,
an assisted living facility
named Highland Manor.

Finally, the schmegegge script
(incorporating ejaculations that
questionable hacker convinced me
to swallow hook, line and sinker)
alluded to strong likelihood
scam artist lurked in close proximity
to above named banking institution,
which divine comedy bumbling
Ace of spades, an inept card shark
anagram name Meg Found
left as crypto clue told.
when somebody dies in your life
you take a little sway
you dance like you’ve never danced
you obey desires of withdrawal
the sickness wins and the walls comes close
the average becomes over dramatic
and the awkward things becomes forbidden
the holidays turns into funerals
marches, parades never gets meaning so as
marriages, reunions, celebrations, vibrations, ejaculations
receding hairlines and frail weeks and years
the failure in your genes
the desperation in your eyes
the grasp for air
and the seriousness to continue
you lose it all
ran out of cigarette
will sleep dealing with withdrawal
the last stop
soon enough you die too
not too much
not too little
but enough to live and witness
how you lose the entirety of it all
Drowning dreams

The lake in this landscape of stones and sky is dark, forbidding
Alluring, like hypnotic eyes coming nearer and see me.
My depth is endless it murmurs, all your illegal dreams rest in
               Me, come swim in me, dive and I will show you the sensual shock you have been denied, you will see your parents in a ****** embrace
floating by, your lust to join them is''  unbearable and out of you
ejaculations. There will be no respite, no hiding place for dreams
you have refused to see.
Has morning light rescued you from the truth?
As you sink further down the hell of your existence shall drag you
Into the flagellation of desire, and you'll see bones of those who
gave in to yearning, forever living in the hell of the impossible desire.
The lid of the dark eye shudders, turn back now, let me embrace
the forbidden, and your secret will go unspoken, like the shifting
Sand in Sahara where only silence survives.
Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system no less,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive gals
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledge er
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish,
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.

Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with
attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust hypothetical fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin down on miscreants
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Phil Ander er,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debsauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble
methinks ye uttered vamoose,
hence best make a bee line and hastily scramble.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
i knew this was going to happen,
for three days i was beside myself after having met her
at work, the way she smiles...
she creases her face like someone might
crease a piece of paper...
there's nothing menacing about it...
but she does it in this most splendid of ways...

oh she went out of her way today,
she took out her earrings, she didn't have any
rings on her fingers...
i abhor any metallic additions to the body...
i esp. abhor earrings,
i esp. abhor rings on fingers...
i'm fine with a necklace...
but anything else is a massive turn off...
today i found that beside the hands being
the most ****** part of a woman's body...
closely second... are their ears...
and she's a petite girl... 5ft2...
when we finally said our goodbyes i only had
to wrap one hand around her to bear hug her...
we didn't kiss the cheeks upon meeting
so upon saying a long goodbye
i had to do it twice, before ******* off...

she said: between 5 and 6pm...
she first texted me: is it o.k. that we move it for 6pm?
sure... no problem...
so i ate a brilliant salmon teriyaki
noodles... tarted myself up...
the housework was already done,
i stocked up on whiskey for tomorrow:
Bolton Wanderers are apparently going
to be a rowdy bunch up in Oxford...
put on my butcher boy's cap...
dressed in my per usual attire of...
how did my ex's younger sister put it?
oh... 'Matt... he's always dressed in earthly colours'...
yep... anything brown, green,
i'll be wearing that...

         it's a good thing that i use my mobile
when i have access to the internet indoors...
and when outside? i only turn on mobile data
when i need to call someone,
otherwise i switch it off...
      i'm travelling... whether that's by car,
bicycle or merely walking...

she sent me a text...

   Matt i was fine til about 30mins ago... now i'm
doubled up with a belly ache (crying emoji face)
probably trapped wind (sad emoji face)
might have to put you off for an hr see if it subsides x


there's no hindsight with that...
i arrived five minutes prior to six pm...
bearing... the promised bottle of wine...
some banana loaf i made for her son:
at one point the dog was barking mad about sniffing
it out... she had to tell the dog off...
'no, it's not yours'...
and a bottle of Franziskeiner Weissbier for myself...
i asked to be topped up with a glass
of wine: my throat was getting dry...

she wasn't going to stall me...
oh, you want to know what teenage butterflies feels,
having them in your stomach?
it was silly of my to have felt them for
3 days after meeting you?
you're not getting off so easily...
if you have feelings for me?
you're going to feel them...

and she was all ready to begin with...
scented candles in the house, the house tidied up...
incense in the kitchen...

now i see the bigger picture...
women only love men by the women feel about
themselves around certain man...
i mean... i dated a 6ft girl once... but this one...
this pretty red-haired ****** has me all fired up...
and it now seems... she's reciprocating...
we're still at this nervous stage of out-thinking
each other...

but when she opened the door i could see...
ooh oh... something's up...
she tried to not be nervous...
i gave her my home-made wine in
a wine bottle from South Africa: Arabella...
i just sent her a link to a song
that inspired me: the Arctic Monkeys' song
of the same title...

i came at 6... left eleven minutes past 9pm...
she wanted me to stay longer,
but i said to her: and you know i have work
tomorrow... plus you said you came back
from work and Freddy came back from school
and you really haven't spoken to each other...
plus you just said you're going to run a bath...

my god, how she elevated her beauty without
donning any armour of rings and earrings...

yeah, i know there's a kid in the background...
that's why i brought the banana loaf with me
and i'm not thinking about sleeping with her...
i need to elevate the tension in her...
until she snaps...

          time... precious time...
and as he put a chair in the kitchen for me to sit on...
and as i watched her prepare a meal for her son...
my god... how happy she looked...
she played all the songs that spoke for her...
we exchanged a like for Dua Lipa and Mabel...
what?!
she danced, she laughed, she sang...
she has a beautiful voice...
she delighted me... with her new found happiness...

she danced, she laughed, she sang...
she almost looked like a teenager once more...
i just sat there before another face emerged
when my voice suddenly dropped lower
and became more husky...

come on, what are my options?
she has lost a few children along the way via miscarriage,
she only has this one boy,
i tell her: i'm the only child myself...
her older brother is living with his parents
and he's a bully,
i tell her: i'm rather ashamed of still living with
my parents, but i do all the cooking,
the cleaning and if the garden needs work...

she's super excited about having a hot tub...
i have a hot tub... not one of those inflatable types...

she illuminated her vinyl player today
when i sent her a photo of my rack with books
from the floor to the ceiling and a bunch
of vinyls: oh, you should have told me...
i would have brought a record over...
blah blah...

i don't know how 6pm turned into 9pm...
well... if the dog is barking mad about sniffing that banana
loaf... i hope the two of them will be as mad
about it as the dog...
but it's only fair... if i'm getting butterflies in my stomach
after initially meeting her...
she should feel some of that herself...
see if she likes it...

i didn't... we gently touched hands while she showed
me a book of pictures of old Romford...
i told her: i'll bring a copy of a book: similar
from where i was born... famous in the 20th century
for its metallurgy... all those metal poles
at that Paris stadium? they came from my hometown...

Edinburgh is as dear to my heart as Paris...
believe me... that city has ghosts...

it's such a perfect storm...
     she has her period pains and psychosis...
i've had my psychosis and ejaculations...
you know: mad meets mad...
all her past relationships were with violent
alcoholics... i'm a drinker that makes his own
wine... the only person i was ever violent to
when drinking? me... i put out cigarettes
butts on my knuckles when i say to myself:

ENOUGH, OF THE *******, BUTTERFLIES!
i need a higher experience...
none of all this mushy-mushy *******...
i need a penetrating sensation...
something that goes into the territory of
the nerves...

my god, how she danced, how she laughed, how she sang...
i'm pretty sure her son was like:
who's this guy that's making my mum
feel so good about herself?
she literally ran outside of the house
and started dancing in the garden...
yet all the while trying to stall me... ghost me...

no... i'm not having it... you're getting this wine,
you're getting this banana loaf: whether
you like it, or not...
i'm not going to drink it, i'm not going to eat it...
i really don't care about your past...
sure... you ****** up...
anyone who hasn't ****** up...
is about to **** up...
but, see... it's not like she's even remotely interested
in what i have to say...
she's so high on herself that i fall back...

why am i only child? well... you know... Chernobyl...
women in Poland had to drink iodine... blah blah...
she's not exactly interested in me...
i know that... because she's regained a focus
for being re-interested in herself...
she's found herself, once more,
but the self she found... oddly enough:
she didn't expect to be so young!

she looked like a teenage girl, she behaved like
a teenage girl...
   it's very lovely to see a woman nearing her 40s
behaving like she might be...
oh... i'd say in the range of 8 through to 14 years of age...
let's get real...
i'm not going to be looking for women in their
20s... all geared up for their anti-racist
black fascist ****** escapades...
o.k., darling: you do you...

                n'ah... i'm not having any of that crap...
give me a: cougar...
a puzzle-box of a woman...
let me see if i can fit it... into her life...
i don't do anti-racism...
after all... all the Jimmy Carr jokes wouldn't
be funny...
why would i want Jimmy Carr's jokes
to not be funny...
point blank reference... stand-up comedy:
the monologue approach to jokes
is a very English thing...

in Poland? you have satire... satire staged
within the confines of a... cabaret...
you have cabaret comedy...
which involves multiple actors...
rarely... almost never will you have
monologue stand-up comics...
stand-up comedy is an exclusively English
"thing"...

but the English are not really prone to
enjoy satire... beside... a newspaper comic strip...
that's about how much satire as
the English public entertains...
not to mention... "us", Polacks...
are a very self-deprecating people...
comedy is very self-deprecting...
but the people who enjoy it...
take themselves very seriously...
weird, no?
maybe because the theme of satire is only
allowed for political "concerns" and is never
made omnipresent in an English society...
bad translation...
everyday people can't be satirised in
the satire of everyday situations
for the simple reason that there has to be
a comedy sketch of: someone appearing / thinking
they're smarter than the other person...
therefore? the comedy of one...
rather than the satire of the many..

i.e. the situation is funny... therefore everyone is
in on the joke...
no... in England... this hyper-inflated gut *** of
emotions of non-feeling...
the personal joke is more important than
a shared joke... satire via the cabaret is of
the latter category... the former? eh... solipsism...
autism... whatever you want to call it...
it takes... a whole lot of specifics to get it right...
but stand-up comedy...
from what i've seen...
doesn't translate as well as you go further east...

a bit like THINKING... English people are too
pragmatic to think... in Europe: "thinking" is either
done by the French or the Germans...
pragmatic... egalitarian... unitarian...

ah... now i see why she was bothered about...
why i used G... instead of J when writing down
her name... the daughters of Job...
the other two were Keziah and Keren...
little dove...

and i subsequently sent her an explanation...
blah blah... well...
there's that... now i can return to drinking
and rubbing my hands together
like a fly.
(unsettled conscience beckons expunging)

Upon espying aesthetically pleasing lass
(considerably younger than me),
middle aged ma'am, or classy older woman
impetuousness overtakes rationality
courting acquaintanceship constituting

aforementioned type female
these premature ejaculations
blindside yours truly
upon comfort level
of unfamiliar lady recipient,

(especially years gone by
with then young daughters in tow)
oft times lacked conscientious wherewithal,
how embarrassing offspring felt
at their buffoon papa appearing,

intimating, kickstarting... rapport
at first blush evincing politesse,
yet keen eldest progeny
adept to discern in apropos overture,
despite being well mannered

couched foray, an unconscious insinuation
discerned, hinted, leveraged...
unspoken ulterior motive,
yet honest to dog overt blurting
complement toward veritable stranger

essentially, intrepidly, overtly...
stated genuine pleasantry
attempting to recoup losses
from utterly abysmal
socially withdrawn adolescence

could easily be interpreted
as ****** innuendo
(particularly witnessed by
acutely perceptive first born),
whose reverence, asper in this dada

plummeted, especially cuz
similar instances occurred,
where ambiguity
to formulate unfavorable conclusion

tacked on her growing
list of gripes against dada
loosely analogous to Martin Luther,
whereby his “95 Theses,”
which propounded two central beliefs -

the Bible and central religious authority -
humans may reach salvation only
by their faith and not by their deeds -
was to spark Protestant Reformation,
which essentially kindled

figurative fuel to the fire
incrementally cleaving paternal dotage
undesirable, no matter *******
never goaded what in mine mind
amounted proving daring do,
since suppressed infatuations

decades past, this then
extremely reclusive knew
nothing about powder milk biscuits
to give shy people the strength
they need to get up and
do what needs to be done.

Thus, an apologia without exception,
whether or not these words seen to deux
darling daughters, plus
other gals who experienced discomfort
at innocuous attempt
to get linkedin with
whirling wide webbing of women.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
72 rottweilers...

          any un-circumcised
man would have
72 virgins on their
bucket-list?

          72... 72...

אין סוף

                  ein soph...

  99 names in the muslim
vernacular,
   99 - 72 = 27...

             ever churn out a
post-scriptum "kiss"
with a dog,
grinding teeth the canines?

no? only *****-*******,
sucky-sucky sort of *******?

comes to mind,
my idea of heaven...
   72 rottweilers...

when a teenager girl,
as this is required
of pretty,
is wearing a metaphysical
veil...
          practically a nun...

i stop, and forget the promise
of virgins...
   and the "untamed"
scenarios...
            72 virgins becomes
replaced with 72 rottweilers...

i always wanted one,
the closest i ever came was
owning a doberman
(at a time when you'd still
apply the pointy ear
aesthetic procedure)...
   and an alsatian shepherd...
the closest i ever came
to a rottweiler?

         while walking to
the supermarket at night,
i passed this woman
on multiple occassion,
walking her rottweiler...

     i chance the opportunity,
thinking: **** it,
can't be worse than a swarm
of piranha...

  landed my hand on his
tender bulwark worth of
a cranium...

     you know... that's almost
"weird"...
      and i kept up my methodological
"scrutiny" of time
whenever walking the night
to the supermarket...
after shyly petting her
rottweiler?

i've never seen that lady
every again...

   i guess: was the rottweiler
supposed
to bite me?
          i once lynched
my dobermann pet for having
bitten my alsatian shepherd
*****... almost taking my eye out...

72 virgins is seriously
a bad idea...
  72 virgins...
   no viagara...
no ******...
   no eunuchs...
      no alcohol, just grape juice...
a really bad idea...
you'd be left dry after about
three ejaculations...
  so... where's the remaining 69?
oh right... it never existed
to begin with...
        72 virgins...
a common peasant jihadi...
promises, promises...

            can i have those
72 rottweilers?
i just feel more like wrestling
with a dog
than ******* a woman;
                  seriously.
My motto comprises to exalt in this moment rather than delude myself with any grandiose illusions.

PREFACE: PREPARE TO SET ASIDE A PARTIAL ETERNITY
TO PERUSE THE CONTENTS OF THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE.

Ohm my...volt a mort...
coalescence of coaxed friendship
analogous to miarculous birth
whoa there lovely reader,
no doubt without resistance,
your smile can generate
amp pull power to light up earth
noah matter this totally tubular stranger
unknown to thee as Adam,
evokes an aura, charisma, enigma,
patina, persona...wis spurs this note
to kindle courtesy tinder warm
fine companionable individual connection
exuding sheepish mirth
per intuiting your wool e worth.

I enjoy making accessible, convincible,
evincible, gullible, intelligible,
kissable invoking comments
perhaps on account oof a cerebral dent
though many respondents rage at this gent
sans his playful wordiness leant
only genuine acquaintanceship meant,
and their valuable time spent
to decipher my gibberish,
which binary logorrhea might rent
asunder unsuspecting cyber surfer
evicted out the human league

since possessing propensity
for presenting ambitious, burdenous,
conspicuous, disadventurous, onerous,
and tremendous cerebral task
necessitating hours decrypting
blurb subsequently forcing
whatever gender appended recipient
to an anonymous he/she,  
forsaking their precious time
maybe even unwittingly affecting individual
impacting his/her employment
ending result they/them live in a tent.

This poet knows a mew lion
ranges of feline artful dodging cat skills,
(especially when cavorting among comedians
associated and linkedin with Borscht Belt - ha)
concocting incomprehensible confusing trills.

Some of these claws pickling skills include maintaining mouse sized dignity muttering cheeses crust (while under fire from Stuart little), kibitzing, nibbling on self crafted bon mots, and rubbing dead giveaway crumbs (from double entendres) using all faux paux into thy maw paw cent less whole foods masticating mouth, where commestibles enter without choppers.

Sanguine at one hundred minus thirty six, or two squared + three squared + four squared + five squared + square root of one hundred = an apt and pithy phrase to matt's matrix labyrinth best characterized as a twisted maze (along a boulevard of broken dreams) lodged deeply inside this dutiful dada shackled to an endless role of scullion, but silently gesticulated for salvation.

This spruced up fun guy (and not unduly coy -- see) pines for friendship to cure nostrum from domestic plight i.e. living like a caged rat in cell bite size state.

Just a spoonful of sugar (hummed to that classic mary poppins melody) will most definitely help this medicine go down.

Mine current existence like a modern Henry David Thoreau.

After perusing this rambling prose (from mine being psyche feeling walled in), you might judge this personal struggle more on a par with Oliver Twist.

I sincerely seek salient gallant wings (with or without dish pan hands) to take this humble human being who can (ha) bring a fairy tale ending to my Cinderfella patterned existence.

Away I want to soar no matter such fantasy a fool's paradise.

An extra ticket to paradise (actually four powerball tickets bought today – September 7th, 2023 for that reason) just needs to be made manifest, and thee could be a boon, balm, salve, and tonic plus receive preferential treatment to travel in tandem with one stranger in a strange land.

Only upon surrendering to a deep and peaceful boss ah nova heavy metal sleep, (which dream state will take place soon) does the fictional world (within the wide wedded web of this wayward thinking wanderer) take hold and serve up a brief hiatus to a life devoid of contentment.

This amateur baker would cook up a souffle or rhubarb ken pie if willingly processed from mine own personal lake woebegone awash with raw bits of flotsam and jetsam and empty boxes of powdered milk biscuits, the one with big blue stains on the outside.

San sol invictus served ancient civilizations as their com-stock load.

Like a modern day icarus this wedded warbler mulls the possibility of finding a real live likeness of what constitutes a hologram of his mythic muse, who exudes able bodied confidence donning every filament.

Keep on dreaming cyber buddy, an anonymous reader might think, telepathically communicate or even communicate via email, which idealism goads me to broadcast the following fanciful (and perhaps not so far fetched) feasible find among the frequent purveyors of this website.

The vague nebulous barely perceptible kernel of a fictional account per my own conjured up vision (as pertains to what might comprise a companionable buddy to me) could conceivable materialize into an actual arch de triumphant revelation once landing this wistful nugget of an idea into the conscious of unconscious mind of an unknown galivanting fellow writer, who just by a fluke (of the worm holes populating the universe) finds themself piqued with curiosity about me.

Not a whit of information yet exists about this dabbler of prose, who envisions himself in seventh heaven (no matter he in truth really admits to espousing an atheistic outlook on the cosmos), where fickle finger of fate (usually the middle one raised by an obstreperous onlooker) ideally finds me all in the family within human species able to articulate in a civilly (disobedient) and democratic manner emotions, ideas, sentiments and thoughts with an unpretentious air of sophistication.

Said **** sapien (meaning balsamic scented hominid) would also possess a cosmopolitan demeanor, yet clear of all any modest knotty suaveness, but also able, eager, ready and willing to allow, enable and provide quite an ability to get into an amazing tangle of literary profundity.

This older fellow seriously believes he got borne in an in apropos century and revels in another illusory consideration - aside from trying to summon forth a living gal of flesh and bone from this overactive imagination maybe an accompanying bipedal hominid within medium of time travelling.

Frequent farcical notions flit to and fro inside the biggest *** ***** triggering bonafide premature ejaculations of bonhomie. Case in point hair with not an immensely large head.

This wordsmith would feel at home if transported to the renaissance or medieval ages, or more recently that war between the north and south.

If hedging bets with yours truly being a reincarnated union soldier of yore, you no doubt already can infer, where thy political and more pertinently national federation of me as singularity amidst webbed wide world would get cast.

Okay, the original aim of (what many might hashtag as yahoo) really wishes to explore make believe world, and just maybe ***** inquisitive online browser, who although she might not be seeking male relationship just by happenstance or circumstance experiences some inexplicable necessity to reply.

In the event should lady luck liberate yours truly would be like a divine guiding star, I know best to tamp down any precipitous illusions of grandeur, but would let the natural course of familiarity usher the chap a roan of sacredness to be cherished for however short or long such a friendship might endure.

Oh yes, an ongoing (specifically offline) interaction motivates this doubting thomas fool hardy spurious posting to be ransacked with absolutely total consent in an effort to be plucked from this (utterly difficult to describe) morass of contemptuous husbandry discontent with self, yet consideration to stay faithfully married with wife (since July 25th, 1996) would be a moderately strong consideration.

So, now with a zing
or an unexpected
gold plated invitation after yodeling
hoop ye kin be a yang 2 me yin
Asia step into the digital xing
via summit da fall low wing
written *** jest byte ting
tongue in cheek unsure if phone will ring
in an effort to hear pleasant,
yet discordant musical ka -- ching
for cherished pennies, nickels, dimes,
et cetera from heaven to bring.
Mother would patschke
early that day in the kitchen,
and recruit any guest, who
blindly ambled thru front door
suddenly trapped unwittingly
squarely (triangulated) into kitchen
forcibly impressed to help

set up buffet tables
and/or given carte blanche to prepare
some mysterious dish,
(a hodgepodge of ingredients),
that suffered no shortages of compliments
unfortunately could never be duplicated.

Guests harkened far and wide
word of mouth boastful rantings and ravings
superseded culinary Michelin Guides
to dole out seven stars,
which wordsworth meant "exceptional cuisine
promised hungry visitor
a special satisfactory journey."

"Time to eat" (usually bellowed courtesy father)
generated an orderly stampede to jostle in line
and commence maximizing capacity
testing sturdiness disposable plates could hold
scouting, shoe horning, staking...
place to become comfortably numb with satiation.

Amidst various and sundry masticating jaws
(with each respective mouthful
of food glorious food -
cue said Oliver Twist song title)
followed by draught of spirits
ejaculations of delight issued,
and punctuated the sound of silence

when not additionally interrupted
courtesy sibilant crackling
popping, and snapping
wood burning stove,
which aforementioned heat source
lulled well fed tummies
whereby heavy eyelids drooped
while heads sank into chest.

No matter hunger pangs quieted
evidenced by casserole, glass, pyrex...
scraped clean rumors heralding dessert
quickly awoke wine weary souls
analogous to sluggish animals

awakening out their hibernation,
when self anointed maître d'
showcased good n plenti desserts
(pies, ice cream, cookies and cakes galore)
she made house special
comprising secret ingredients.

Upon being stuffed to the hilt
(dear kith and kin mother
all counted as family
think taxidermist specimen
readied for mounting)
all pledged a unanimous
New year's resolution
vouchsafed to start on diet
come January first.
Mine feeble efforts pale in comparison
to a kid scaling El Capitan
of Yosemite National Park,
nevertheless me, a dry witted husband
self emasculated milquetoast
of late ofttimes yawps imprecations
against fickle finger of fate.

No way would yours truly
utter maledictions against the missus,
who espouses unbridled love
toward (me) the groom she married
approximately two and a half
dozen ***** dancing years ago,
yet I experience winter of discontent,
where married life appears ideal,
when she happens to sleep,
or shops for food at supermarket.

We comport ourselves
with considerably less contention
versus half life ago
of our connubial covenant,
when verbal and physical altercations
the rule rather than exception,
linkedin with severe domestic chaos
exhibited courtesy helter skelter
incorporating ejaculations of divorce
despite the lack of monetary resources
(essentially livingsocial in squalor)
within hoity toity MainLine
drawing the ire of snobbish neighbors,
and the attention
of Children Youth Services
since two innocent daughters
caught in figurative crosshairs

triggered by emotional fallout,
whereby family of four members
experienced abominable pitfalls
fostering bleak wretchedness
associated with penury
and mental health challenges
severely rupturing and impinging
the impressionable psyches
of both female progeny,
but especially the eldest child,
who bore the brunt of
absolute zero guilt,
suffering scathing savage
indelible psychological wounds
that kick/jump started
her search for life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

We (two proud parents
admire successful survival
and success of adult offspring,
whose dogged attainment
of ability to support themselves
credited with countless supportive services,
particularly intervening where the welfare
of youngest warranted tender loving care
earning deserved commendable
meritorious kudos extricating herself
out the escape from maws
(and paws) of poverty
and achieving remarkable highmarks
earning adequate, albeit healthy wages
to support herself
with disposable income
to establish a nest egg.

Mein kampf an exposé
of stagnant emotional
physical, and social starvation
otherwise characterized during
prime time when boyhood
regarding manifestation into manhood
which anorexia nervosa undermined
and even of crafting latest poem
telltale spindleshanks (skinny legs)
constantly remind me
muscular development sabotaged,
though I dedicate a portion of each day
pedaling a stationary bicycle
brand name Cleverlife Pooboo W258
acquired free of charge off Craigslist.

Time waits for no man
or woman, nor child,
and quickening orbitz
around planet earth
reminds one mortal specimen
of **** sapiens
to wrench free and clear
dwelling upon unattained potential
constituting countless opportunities
aborted before even testing
mine latent ability.
Ohm Papa Charge Within Me

I quietly loathe gleaning
headlines detailing exotic designs,
     asper crafted by some young
upstart individual, or
     thermos sharing couple

     snagging limelight adulation
     (their supposed fifteen
     minutes of fame)
     linkedin to an ordinary,
     or extraordinary accomplishment,

regarding the latter -
     wooing or being wooed,
sans sweet speaking tongue
exchanged between betrothed,
     who in due time

     signal holy matrimony,
celebration yielding psalm uber up
lyft ting lyrics sung,
where in concert with
app peel ling tintinnabulation

     qua melodic bells,
     which noteworthy
     carillon cam ping dost harken
     joyous delight, when tune rung
betokening, express
     sing, and inspiring

     giddy good cheer,
     whereat such August
     chiming delight analogous
     to drunken stupor upon
the bubbling, gurgling, and warbling

     two fountain heads yawping, spouting,
     and courting merriment aligning,
     while atlas blithely, delightfully,
     and favorably shrugs ecstasy,
fervency, and gaiety,
which ambience doth lightly overhung

delivering heavenly leavening,
     proclaiming mazaltov, and
     accessing primal "yea"
lowing ejaculations, whence
there be peace on Earth,

and goodwill yoked upon
blessed nuptials, who if
     one or the other hamstrung
both trod upon terrestrial firmament
     as one soul utilizing

     access sub bull,
excel lent, and powerfully pointed
     heart felt love favorably,
honorably, and gracefully
evoke plenti full guests, gung-

**, whose reverence plainly flung
during fete full occasion
witnessing gelandesprung
to celebrate smooching, smiting,
     and smarting bridled, declared,

     fancied love, to clung
in a manner healthily,
     holistically, and humanely,
     whereat maintenance
    of everlasting union
by the...,for
     the...and by the...pea pole  

     (and capstone, epitome, cornerstone,
     et cetera of, viz
     joie de vivre generating conducive
     amp pull quasimodo  
     (Oh Henry), water longfellow
     iz worth stretching bremsstrahlung.
Oft times zee spouse
     lingers at select
     supermarkets (Landis, Redners,
     and/or Wegmans) without me
(figuratively) taking
     all the time in the world
     allowing this mister to reflect
alone (imaging tubby

     a Norwegian bachelor farmer)
     toying with this, that, or the
     other writing project
sitting facing this
     Macbook Pro laptop
     within this one
     bedroom apartment
     comprising a quite

     satisfactory unit, sans
Highland Manor Apartments
     in the heart
     of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
reveling in solitude meditating, reading,
     or trying valiantly to connect
continuity of words,
     always pleasantly surprised

     at finished product
     (predominantly, asper
     hashing out a poem)
     with unpredictable captivating aspect
letting thoughts flow as they
     may burst asunder
quickly keying
     thee elusive threads,

     albeit unconcerned
     making a typing blunder
     mainly focused on
     barley distilling, coalescing,
and brewing alphabetic dunder,
when over zealousness
     frequently setting wing
to literary creation, which
     smug modesty, nonetheless

     finds this scrivener to sing
(unwittingly premature
     silent ejaculations)
     joyus rapturous threnody,
     whereat ring around the rosy
     abruptly ends caused by
renegade doppelganger quisling
shell shocks yours

     truly wear re: eyes
     mimic pinball ping
experiencing short lived
     (dramatic beaming effusion)
     to plummet giving
little attention to proof read,
     versus when I indiscriminately fling
an unpolished epistle of Matthew

     riddled with glaring mistakes,
     aye suddenly feel
     embarrassed like a ****** ding
bat reprimanding myself
     and wrathful madness doth bring!
Computer technology a dog send
boot also a source of woe,
cuz prohibitive costs charged by technicians
to troubleshoot Macbook Pro
just recently sought out
self teaching methodology
perhaps oddly enough
even tapping into pantomime lessons
(mastering "art of silence"
such as the estimable Marcel Marceau)

found yours truly accessing youtube videos
replaying tutorial(s) until I experience
cognitive understanding like ya know
geared for the common
government issued Jane or Joe,
whereby I would not need
to dish out plate fulls of dough
to help improve functionality of said laptop
subsequently kudos to crow
perhaps acquiring understanding
to acquire knowledge
and subsequently purchase a bungalow.

Rather than succumb
to frustration or angst and allay
premature ejaculations of anxiety
(telling myself Rome
didn't get burned in a day),
I must constantly stave off dismay
allowing, enabling, and providing
yours truly (me) to learn
and not drive analogous

to crash test dummy
(potential dire straits mindset
of foo fighting beastie boy
incompatible with central
processing unit of mine
in tandem with heat sink)
need be synchronized
regarding adjusting learning curve
aligned with pinpointing apropos
online lesson plan

amidst plethora of youtube videos
constituting information super freeway
so as not to career
into zone of discouragement
pacing mastering concepts
without feeling rushed
to make headway
lest rage against the machine
or worse yet inveigh
against accursed limited aptitude

heredity decreed, though still smarting
courtesy poor academic track record
I decry still struggling
and most likely will forever hold contempt
toward Matthew Scott Harris
experiencing horrible education
within Lower Providence school district
such maddening sentiments maintained
until mein kampf finds unnamed mortal
on his deathbed, where head doth lay.
Oddly enough even
when frolicking in the autumn mist
with seasoned super tramping
cheaply tricked out goo goo dolls
some resembling Indigo Girls,
one foo fighting beastie boy
unable to adjust snoozing
on the left bedside.

Don't ask me why,
cuz we (all the barenaked ladies
who gifted me
with their uncommon
sense and sensibility) did make
a conscientious effort and try
behind closed doors to pry
ourselves loose from convention
impossible mission to modify behavior
indelibly etched in consciousness
since being knee-high,
each of us sought safety secured
snuggled in the ***** of mommy dearest
in an effort to thwart the bogeyman,
whose breastworks did protect and electrify
with severe shock
aforementioned unwanted intruder.

Even as an older kid shelter sought
against adversity climbing into bed
particularly our favorite parent's side
to skedaddle away from wild things
roam'n the hallways
nightmarish creatures prowled
even bravest in the family did dread
of course when lights flicked on
they (scary fiends) fled,
no matter monsters

solely residing in the head,
especially if male offspring
sung at length about courtesy
Eminem and Rihanna
and christened Jed
(which from the Hebrew
translated means beloved of god)
the second or "blessing" name
given by God
through the prophet Nathan

in infancy to Solomon,
second son of
King David and Bathsheba,
whose steely mettle
exemplary existence he led
I prized, honored, coveted,
et cetera his as a newlywed,
when me and the missus our troth we pled
unwaveringly, unstintingly, unhesitatingly,
and unconditionally accepted
the marriage vows read

to us courtesy Henry J. Schireson
a Pennsylvania magisterial district judge
for Montgomery County Magisterial District
nevertheless yours truly
violated sacred covenant,
and traipsed, tiptoed, and tallied
with **** wacker through the tulips
(analogous for illicit extramarital liaisons),
where angels feared to tread.

Courtesy William Congreve's
'The Mourning Bride' (1697) I quote
"Heaven has no rage
like love to hatred turned,
nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned."

The permanent contra dance partner
accepted viz justice of the peace
legal asseveration as thee wife
July twenty twenty fifth
nineteen ninety six
none to pleased to discover visa vis
her husband prided himself
on discreet rendezvous,
which multiple escapades
donning Lothario role,
nevertheless found yours truly
inexplicably witnessing himself,
albeit non verbally communicating
courtesy tactile pillow talk

while I situated myself
er lied supinely as Phil Anderer
on the right side facing
nexus, lexus and lectus
which last mentioned word
could be single bed for one person
or double for a couple;
sometimes made of bronze
and often made of wood
and decorated with moldings
of mother of pearl or bronze,
and animal-like legs:
the more simple ones
constituted of terracotta.

Said aforementioned experience
being Casanova went awry
major adjustment to appease
and whet appetite of paramour
lost moxie to do the wild thang
after premature ejaculations
plus fount of endearments went dry
guilt riddled conscience
(people who have been chosen
from the general public
to listen to the facts about a crime)
**** read hung jury
namely cuz ******* consummated,

which unbridled ****** fricassee
clamored to alleviate celibate state,
an August occasion even
during dead of winter ~2010
frisky antics betook me,
(who convinced married gal
I met thru Craigslist personals)
to infamous “**** rock”
at Valley Forge National Park
schlepping over and across
knee deep ice and snow,
one ***** goat
to attain ******* Harris fulfillment
didst precariously vie.

Although adultery, cupidity,
felicity, infidelity, et cetera
undermined, ostracized husband,
hijacked harmony, and
aggravated twenty seven years
of potential wedded bliss
(even harder to bring to fruition
than conceiving offspring),
neither the missus nor myself
(the mister re: man, an android at heart)
could not succumb to our slumbers
baiting, counting, dreaming
of electric sheep futile

upon testing, jump/kickstarting,
experimenting, et cetera
whereupon I lied supine upon
the left side (facing the bed),
and she attempted
to await the dream weaver
comfortably sprawled out
on the right side,
yet both of us wide awake
after the bewitching hour,
henceforth we resigned ourselves
as creatures of habit
to reclaim zzz land territory.

— The End —