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Poets from all over the world are invited to submit their original poems to Mombasa poetry anthology 2016.These anthology is organized by the Kenyan society of poets and literary scholars. It is out of literary and cultural recognition of the historical fact that Mombasa and its environs is home man, it is an indisputable home to all types of people in all their capacities and stations. It is historically evident that, at least a European, an African, Asian, Indian, American, Australian or Chinese have a home in Mombasa. This has been the case from as early as 7 AD. When the Oman Arabs landed at the east African coast in the moon-son wind driven dhows.
This anthology will be published Kenya, as a print version latest by December 2016, under the title, ANTHEM OF HOPE.   The anthology will have a collection of 2000 poems, written in English, or written in any other language but accompanied with a translation to English, each poet is allowed to submit three poems, a poem must not exceed 500 words, all poems must be submitted as one document of MS word attachment, the font types to be used are times Romans, the size is 12. The poem can be in any style without having creativity of the poet being decimated by traditional literary canonicity, but as long as the poem will be addressing and not limited to the following themes in relation to Mombasa;
1) Mombasa city, other towns Around Mombasa like Kisumayu, Lamu, Kibino,Hola, Mpeketon, Bamburi, Malindi, Watamu, Gede, Matsangoni, kilifi, Vipingo, Takaungu, Mtwapa, Shimo la tewa, Bamburi, Likoni,ukunda,wa,msambweni,lunga Lunga,Vanga , Shimoni, Tanga,msofala, Dar salam and Zanzibar, as well as Mariakani and Voi,taita,taveta and Arusha,
2) Mombasa people, The miji-kenda,arabs,European, bajuni, Indians, and any other in relation to Mombasa
3) Mombasa features like the Indian ocean, likon ferry, fort jesus,beaches,vasco da Gama pillar, nyali bridge,Makupa cause way and any other feature,
4) Mombasa populations; Christians, muslim,LGBTI,drug addicts, the deaf, blind, scrotal elephantiasis victims,dwarfs,jinis and any other in realtion to Mombasa,
5) Mombasa fauna and flora, kilifi trees, mango trees, palm wine tree, crow birds, cats, flies, vultures,snakes,pythons Mombasa
6) Mombasa cultures,womenfolk,weddings, music, donkey-games, stick-games and any other in relation to Mombasa,
7) Mombasa city dynamics, hustles,bustles,Al-shabab, job seeking, youths and behaviour and any other theme ,
8 ) Overall themes to be addressed under the Mombasa city context are; Indian ocean and poetry, family, human rights, climate change, security , poverty, pollution, globalization,migration,corruption,cosmopolitanism,culture,langua­ge,war,refuges,natural resources and any other them pertinent to Mombasa
******, racist, prejudicial or any hate perpetrating poems will not be published, For the poets that will have their poems published there will be a ceremony of spoken word and poetry reading from the published poems in early December  2016 ( exact date will be communicated) on the white sands beach at Sarova hotel.
The last day for submission of your poems is July 31st 2016, the notification about your poem being accepted and yet to be published is 31st august 2016.
Submit your poems along with a bio note of not more than 500 words to the email mombasapoetryanthology@yahoo.com, along with a serial number and a scanned copy of the slip for payment of the handling fees of Kenya shillings 500 or 5 US dollars for the three poems. The account to pay in is Standard Chartered Bank (Kenya) account number; 0100310788200 the swift code is; SCBLKENX and bank code is 02
Five winning poets will be prized in the following order; the first poet will win 5000 US dollars, second poet will win 4000 US dollars, the third will win 3000 US dollars, 2000 US dollars, and lastly 1000 US dollars.
Each published poet will get two copies of the anthology free of charge. Further questions for clarification about the Mombasa Poetry anthology can be emailed mombasapoetryanthology@yahoo.com
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.alimony: basically? i don't like paying for something... that i can't keep; savvy?!

so "these" people,
have no problem in exploiting
your girls into becoming
their advert agents?!

the girl who advertises
free-lance style,
but doesn't get paid
for the advertisement,
per se?

no problem?
i have a problem...
  a real ******* problem!
so... you basically
reinvented the Marx / Engels
critique of child labor?!

so you have this advertisement
dynamic, with unware
children, pushing your products?
making the slightest mark
on the buck...
    
            you have children pushers...
you have children mmaking
the profit margins...
    yes?
             you, *******, ****-tards!
    so the children
you "employ", are doing the hard
stuff, to incubate your
bureaucratic employees?
and keep them in employment
positions of mediocre power?

you have to be,
******* kidding me!

   your type of people are beyond
fake news....
you're paedo-news...
some of us would care
to denote at: covert excuses...

   take ashley wicka...
a corporate pimped *****...
how old is she?
barely 15?
         looks like the advertising
community, really needed
first person advertisers...
   first person accounts....
esp. young people...
  because?
  the older generations,
"the gap": wasn't paying into
the gimmick...
    
i actually abhor what they
allowed themselves to do with
the young people...
   i'm sick, tired, and
almost feigning fatigue from
the list of excuses
that surmounts the excuse for
ethical practice...
   which is never was,
and never will be...

       i'm too lazy to give a ****...
give me a .gif contra
a **** movie extract....
          have your little siesta
of ******...
   have it, **** me...
saves me a gym deliberation...
not ending up a
gymnast...
          rather, a pivot for  bending
knee...
             i've learned **** the lazy, lax way...
when asked by a Bulgarian
*******,
if i wanted to girls for an hour,
i replied the Joker's reply...
comparing the differential
of, a world, divided
into men who ****** one girl,
and men who ****** two girls...

i'm like a dog chasing cars...
if i caught one?!
i wouldn't know what to do with one!
in this instance?
i wouldn't know what to do
with two!

           have your anti-****** boast-trip....
your ******* innuendo,
your ego / ******* sized over-trip...
****... let me stretch your *****
out for you...

           point being?
i don't have to own, what i ****,
or... don't ****...
but you do...
    your self-esteem is dependent
on a form of closure...
so?
     you **** it?! you own it!
hello! surrogate phantom pater!

where's your
elephantiasis
****-size glorification,
now?

        oh, right... sorry...
forgot...
now comes the alimony;

look at me, doing the Pontius Pilate
Houdini trick!
or showing you,
the disappearing, *******!
Now
Imagine, Jean du Scatmân
Xanax, give me more, man
Only the great scatting of John can give
Now you can live
Wearing tight-pants for the nation
**** irritation;
Stitch the jeans right
The kakis are white
How many kids did you ****?
Entire stomachs, hungry still
Burp during the call
Elephantiasis, in the ball?
Save us from the reds
The ******* is now Dead
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
a soft packet of Marlboro's seems ****
these days,
and can i be the flirting first
to give a **** movie critique?
three black guys,
a white girl -
elephantiasis thoroughly established -
no, not the ******* part, the thing you flinch
as to have said: embraced -
      i'd be called a knife-weaving loner with
that sort of dangle -
    and there's me thinking:
that thing is readied for a Serena Williams'
buttocks - it's doubly pelvic in terms
of gravity, how many more inches
do you actually need to bypass those
*******? 12" ain't enough!
              plus, given the size of the actual
thing, how much of it will you actually
get soaked in phlegm while she ***** it
off into an ice-cream? i'd say a third if
not a fifth of it - the rest is kinda lost...
you need an African girl with enough
**** to tickle the tip of that skyscraper you'll
never get to build.
hard looking at the truth, isn't it?
you sorta hope it were a Pythagorean sample
of lecture notes on a beach on Rhodes...
      **** me: and they told me i was naive
but there's still
that:
and all that Darwinism and white self-loathing
to eradicate colonialism -
those 12" chocolate extensions were there
with fat enough bums... 'cos' you had to
bypass enough third-party jiggles
to get to the opportune part of insemination -
white girls and their ******* idea
of a shortcut... well done...
if you have an *** that's bulging enough
to be called the double pelvic or what
geneticists call the double-helix:
then i'd mind singing: and i am a tripod too!
believe me: in 20 years time Kubrick will
not be relevant... **** on the other hand?
next to the apples at a market stall.
               and i am holding a packet of
Marlboro's in my hand, a soft-packet,
sexier than Kenyan Camels sold without
filters (in a soft packet also) -
                  i'm still wondering about the white
girls' shortcut... a ******* tried to make me
strangle her neck by saying: all the black
boys have it... inch for inch...
               i told her: i bought an hour of gymnastic flex,
not your opinions.
         then in dodo the theta goes missing
when everything goes albino crazy when stated
in: discotheque -      techno oceanic -
                         tec (as: shortened) -
odd, isn't it: we are perpetually stating the halves -
never really the blunt obvious,
      charismatic loss of dynamo of language -
oh i'm not jealous, i'm thinking of all the things
i don't have to buy: perfumes, jockstraps,
     daffodils, we're-strangers-type-of-dinner-dates:
        let's freshen things up: escapades Francais -
the new risque - pervert dogs ******* strangers'
legs in the escalator sort of: till death do us part.
                       i just have 12" of concept
in a Nigerian buttocks to define gravitational
                                            pistons when
           that excess is matched with a buttock that's
twice an armchair: and only half to the said, ****:
or what i like to call the onomatopoeia filter:
         it doesn't sound like i'm knocking on a door
and the subsequent opening -
it sounds like i'm knocking on a crocodile's cranium
                and the ****** thing never shuts up!
The Mashiach opened the Shamaim from the conception of the position of the Himation as an investiture of the Greek-Hebrew World that subsisted at the expense of the Tragigonia or Generation of the hyper-stellarization of the Himation particles. He did not stay alone wandering in the city of Kosmous, he would continue to fervently contribute to his Heroic Death that was already imminent. He structured his hereditary Submitology as galactic chaff; similar to the chaff of the Olympus Marble. Vernarth, before being invested, transfused as an exasperated Substance that teleported him to Olympo with his destitute feet but crammed with the chaff of the Kosmous where Orpheus and Dionysus received him, one with the chaff of tinsel and the other with the chaff of Eleusis, conforming to the metempsychosis where centuries became rectilinear of the immaterial conglomerate of both, but if in the liqua aura it would gradually refine from Britannia, which could be replaced by the patronage of hyperboreal islands, moving to the Dodecanese, perhaps instituted by the Romanesque Voice of the same Empire but with the dazzling Hellenic or Helleniká root in the Last attempt to approach the insular inheritance of other reverse islands called “Pretanniká Nesiá”, right there on top of Olympo. Suddenly by factions of immortality, they made tragedy and lethality, which implied parking for thousands of millennia trying to decipher the true identity of the ahistorical mythological beings, who now survive together with Vernarth in the ethons or screens that would reflect the composition of a living being. that instantly dies for its exuberance of life.

Vernarth, would go with his noctilucent Himation to the Krystallina monopathia or the Paths of Crystallization that made up the Olympo like a pantheon that was assimilated with rancid and weightless fungiform fluff, all this wild persuasion carried him on his decals by the crystal silica of the Olympo. The Himation was made of shoes and thrones that were not clearly related to the Olympic heights, and of not fearing with more heights that would exceed the interstices of the exaltation of everything that existed in front of its doubt that was clarified with the presence of the Souls of Trouvere. Everything seemed easy to explain in the hands of the circumlocution that Orpheus and Dionysus would make him in the luminosity of the Olympo, which is Ohr transliterated from the Olympus as the prominence that will be torn from the unstitched Himation, beating him with exulcers in the altitude of the Balkans. , and adhering to the tripartite relationship of the elevations with Delphi and Patmos. The quantum of time condensed the atmospheric hailstorm that had been decaying from Aurion, thus creating the orographic leveling of these converging quantum elevations as a flood subject to the Makryrema river, and as tributaries that will be activated with Delphi; specifically with the Kassotides and the Profitis Ilias in the concomitance of the Fifth Chalice of the prophet Elias who would come to challenge the glories, to mend the foothills that united them in this Monopathy or Pilgrimage of effort with essentials of superiority, which could be linked to the Agia Triada. Vernarth walked in complete solitude through the southwestern subterranean and bizarre mounds, figuring he did not feel that way at all since he did not measure more than a hundred meters in radius where Orpheus and Dionysus followed him, snooping in his Monopathia that would make him unreceptive before the advent of his A body destined to the method of objectively glimpsing knowledge that was extremely neophyte to its bustle, it was only motivated by praiseworthy essences that emanated from the Agia Triada string, which supported them with its beautiful channel by dressing what became lavish when walking and dressing naked, and also what made him ragged as he squandered his creed kits with dogmas that were instigated in his unleashed tragedy. His Purgation was an onslaught of his somatization that was renewed from his epidermis and that was totally transgressed by the Himation filigree that was unstitched in Golden fleeces, in the presence of some heroics who fought in the fallen fratricide of Olympo. Everything accused a brotherhood of Lineage that superimposed investiture or secular genes, over the science of accounting for their monopathies made by more than one parapsychological and Submitological regression. Undoubtedly, the factotum of the preludes of his Parapsychological end would be present before him, of what would **** from the ******* of the Renaissance after being subjugated by the Roman Empire as its decline, protocolized by the authorship of the scribbled hussar, trying to be the moderator with new castes that would reign in the surrounding Romania and Hungary for an extraditable rebirth in 1436, becoming resurgent reformed antiquity. From this perspective, the cursory Uttukus in the umpteenth parapsychology would appear in this trace together with Vlad Strigoi and Wonthelimar, who for so much quantum and excessive composure would let them know of a Reborn in the Olympo of the Olympos by knowing how to conceive that their heroes would have the life of its own and independent of universal mythology unified to the world, which in these elevations had great consonance with those of the Kantillana of Sudpichi, Kingdom of Chile and its Transverse Valleys / Regency of Horcondising with this rhetoric that would be strengthened in the placement of its Vampiromagia Automata Iconoclastic. All this heritage would lead to pastiness in all the corny monarchies that were intermingling with the eastern empires ..., specifically Hellenic and its perceptible quantum isomers, which were thrown from the veins with magnanimous elephantiasis masses that were falling from submithology Aurion.

Vernarth continues the intrusive internment of the suffocating aid of the Olympo, and of the profuse victimization that he believed to delight those who had only saved them from the axiomatic spark of beatitude and his predestination, which was only sponsored by Orpheus and Dionysus who were distant from him. , to see what would happen with his enchanted Himation, in the face of any setback that reinvented himself par excellence of the Vespers of his Triumph in the face of Death, everything has happened after that in some Brueghelian folios. This would testify that his leap towards the Renaissance was peremptory “And why not say it of the Kafersuseh of Ein Karem, that from where the stereotypes of a Mashiach would be based that would be reborn as many times as possible of the chained isomer of its quantum in Vernarthian parapsychology, being able to and to be warned from a virtual halter, to hold the infractions that consanguineously raged between life and death, and between the transgression demanded by the origin of error and naivety. Vernarth continues to transfer areas of the Olympo from which nothing could be ascertained if any shallow abstraction of its undeniable orographic height, perhaps a demiurge would make it, secreting par excellence the greatest mesocratic powers and the most abandoned demiurges in all their glories, lacking everything that makes his complete foolishness, and radicalized alterity due to the savage dominations of poorly contained wealth; That is to say, giving off the stunned Vine from where the monarchs would serve their henbane in vessels of the same servants, and their same harvests, and of their same vines that par excellence constitute the negligence of a right of territorial change with the basality of an inborn right that emanates from the vertical culture of the end of the Middle Ages, which is served in the same chalices that are the Kli or containment vessels for the eternalization of the Merciful Light or Ohr Hassadim. Behold, the Brughelian Death becomes Vernarthian in the unhappy planes of being born or reborn that is intricate from its Alpha and Medieval chaos ..., where nothing and nobody will be able to restrict the unbegotten Vine goblets to serve them in the original Servus Gleba vessels or Servants of Gleba, inborn with the Hoplites of Vernarth, who with large detachments kept vigil for him from a meager spiel from the Ohr ..., cheering their Lord on the Olympo directed to the tripartite, and towards the Delphic and Patmian.
Triumph of Death
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
i'm watching people in the internet
free speech rally,
of using the internet,
and i'm like... more than 140
characters, *******...
listening to a channel... akin to
the progressive voice...
and then amnesia kicks in,
and i listen to some new metallica...
and i'm like? (a) ***?
or (b) the roof the roof
is one fire...
let the ******* burn,
let, the, ******* burn...
         if i met you on the street
face to face, sure, i'e tell you where the bus
was heading...
but i have just drank 400ml of
*****, shots down,
chasers sly, cigarettes in between...
i have two options...
a full english breakfast,
or some Asiatic farce...
mingling fish sauce with chilli sweet
sauce... and noodles...
or the full English brekkie
(breakfast... fry an egg...
throw in ssme baked beans)...
*******..
       do i resemble a face
wishing to visit Africa?
i can't be English...
all days of the hour that encompasserd
daylight...
i was auxiliary,
searching for a ******* shade...
i hated Kenya...
too much... equilateral ontology...
back in Kenya i used to sleep
outside on the sun-chairs...
i hated sleeping indoors...
i used to sleep wherever the sprinklers
hit me...
         Somali pirates what?
once i woke up...
and found my cognac glass
missing...
  which one you ******* stole it?!
(i thought)...
         that was my Churchill's
breakfast... *******...
no, Kenya was fun...
i used to fall asleep on the balcony..
listening to the macaques
**** during the night...
the sounds of monkey in the night...
no wonder the English were hooked...
but the heat?!
the heat?!
   *******...
come daytime i was chasing shadows...
of people, or things...
no...
i couldn't be a colonial power
source individual...
i hate the heat...
and the lost equinox....
all around the direct fire of the sun...
a perpetual mingling
of spring-winter & summer-autumn
at the "height",
known as the equator...
  equator... no 4 season disparity...
boring *******...
the women were left untouched,
but much appreciated,
one darker Kenyan beauty,
smoking ****...
god... that was a hard-on...
ivory beauty i call them...
rarely a white man can be attracted
by a black girl...
but this one time...
it's like... someone rubbed duck fat
all over her skin...
she was the sheen that complimented
the moonlight!
as one Arab o knew pointed out...
came the color disparity,
the... oddity of contrasting colors...
white **** in a black *****...
what color am i?
piglet.
   piggish.
            i'm not white...
i'm... pink!
  so, what's it gonna be... choc-ah-bloc?
well... look at this pwetty pretty word...
eracercize:
          wanna know the meaning?
when people do no recognize
race as an identifier...
                   pwetty wowd, isn't it?
like said:
i'm pink, you're choc...
                                          'appy now?
who the **** sees pink as white,
and chocolate at black?
mind you, the way i'm drinking
the *****?
                   it's working...
now all my thinking is concentrated
upon, noodles...
fish sauce... sweet chilli sauce...
and how to incorporate beef,
a sausage and bacon in a drunk's
fetish of a meal...
                       i'll drink some more,
and then do the magic.
i hate these tropical places...
   there's no autumn, there's no winter,
there's no summer, there's no spring...
there's just this persisting
stasis, this persisting inertia...
no wonder i hunted for shadows...
the only jovial aspect of visiting
Kenya was watching
a pirate baboon raid
                the kitchen...
and attempting to sit down,
with the baboon's *** riddled by
hemorrhoids...
hemorrhoids looking like:
he was just ****** by a gorilla
struggling with elephantiasis...
bashed up to the high heavens
past cloud nine.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
so this... whole curfew...
when males do not go outside onto
the streets at night?
when... women... own the night?!
so no Dylan Thomas then,
no Dylan Thomas then, so?
go gentle into...
**** that... i'm charging at it
like a minotaur,
and i'm not stopping
for any, "frame of reference"
to slow down...
by the way... good luck listening
to something by prince
on the internet jukebox...
you'll be luckier finding
a mammoth farting than a song
akin to... raspberry beret...
     which is probably up there,
along with r.e.m.'s shiny happy
people
...
some songs are just like
toilet... ****** for their worth of
critique in allocating airs,
wearing shawls, and raising hairs...
but... you know...
really necessary...
when you're going to wipe your ***...
and how does, mr. keating
fit into all of this?
remember when the asked the stags
to stand on their classroom tables...
to get a better prescriptive,
an, alternative view?
  come night time...
me, pitiable me, only me,
like that opening scene in Vanilla Sky...
cars? sure... but they don't
count...
       and? walking down
the middle of the street...
not on the pavement, not in the gutter...
right, down, the, middle,
of, the street...
  ****! the world is so wide!
even in an / on a outer-suburban street!
you will never believe how
wide the world of the world in
the life of outer-suburbia actually is...
if you've never walked
down the middle of the street
at night...
    it's like suffering from
              elephantiasis or something...
no, i'm not making fun of that...
English humor is generally agreed upon
to be bleak, as it is also black,
as it is also subsequently prone to ridicule,
as it is sub-subsequently peppered
with sarcasm...
   which... etc.,
         but sure as ****...
no prince jukebox entry on youtube...
not a chance in hell...
look for dinosaur bones,
you'll be more lucky...
nope...
      i was gagging for the original
batman soundtrack?
how far did i get?
making quacking sounds
   while smoking a cigarette when
investing in his...
copyright quiz;
lucky me... i managed to buy
the best hits, vol. 1, 2 & 3...
  no. 3? never made any sense,
to be honest.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
could you ever believe being
chatted to
on the bus stop,
then on a bus,
by a very inquisitive woman
who didn't take the bait...
simply answering
'but you will not see
me ever again'...
sure... but it's not like
i have megaphone about
to join the speaker's corner
crowd in hyde park
either: when i'm going
to a brothel...
   and not to a fwend's house
to smoke a joint...
good thing from the whole
affair...
        she's flirting in public...
from what i've heard:
she does have a boyfriend...
i meet someone from
high-school...
a real bully prior to turning
16 and entering college...
we went to glasbury (wales)
together for a week...
   happy to know that...
i was the only white kid
sitting on a table...
riddled with... "elephantiasis"...
     while eating breakfast
and dinner...
all the white irish catholics
from east london excluded me...
for i sat with the "bambos"...
   me?
i think that ****** was
bullied at school,
    i have similar surname...
which no one bothered
to condense into
   E = MC (squared)...
           so we chatted along...
i was trying to slyly get her
off my back...
         i'm going to my "girlfriend"
lady... a brothel...
you know... that bourbon parlour...
it's not perfume...
but it'll do...
       only until i met:
Daniel...
      who i named Richard
in my lack of a nostalgia
and pretty much all the amnesia...
she let go...
        i returned en route
to the brothel...
and spent a decent hour...
having forgotten to trim
my ***** hair, to use my *****
objects...
   *** dolls and ******...
we kissed for an hour
until i felt like a teenager again...
lips numb...
            and no clashing
front-teeth...
   and i began investigating
a fetish i never thought
was in me...
           scent...
the hair...
           and the skin...
below the neck...
stuck within the collar-bone area...
and hands...
       so much more than
being able to grip a basketball
with one hand...
   i held in my hand...
  something akin
to the beauty and tenderness
of an origami swan...
a *******'s hand...
       but the scent of hair...
within the confines
of a bourbon perfume factory
of a brothel?
                        i was happy
to have forgotten to trim my *****
so she would perform
******* and climbed on
top of me, with her fat, cuddling
thighs...
                    it would never be...
hit-lear...
          or...               stall-lean...
i'm guessing the surname
bullying started in school...
             all the achtung, achtung
for me...
                   people do tend
to grow with a focus on
the most... mundane *******...
the girl at the bus-stop,
who decided to ride a bus with me...
brave little girl...
    she even told me that her
father walked... all the way from
africa... across africa...
and then took a boat to europe...
        yeah...
men objectifying women...
happened around the same
time that i would never become
much of anything
with a woman armed with
a *****, was i?
               thank you god
            that i still have a *******!
i don't need to hear
this crap...
   this...            "θινγ" of a...
             "φινγ"...
                                    dominance...
hmm...
      who would have thought
that all men were just...
sleepers... of instances
of a furthering of jack the ripper
instances...
         but it's good,
that i sieve through
a plethora of eclectic "biases"
     (how does that
noun adjective combo look like?
pretty awful,
i know, but rarely can you
make the "mistake"
in tautology seem...
               trans-categorically
"accurate"...
          i.e. a plethora is
                        eclectic by nature)...
a man is shamed
when *******...
must be a monotheistic
snippet-scenario...
but a woman...
*******...
     is given money,
give-go and a video
                          medium!
it's not like there's any
latex involved...
sometimes i just
forget...
     is it the grand canyon
cleft
   of the *******,
          or the buttocks?
chandelier ***
                      cow-tow?
ah... petty sentiments...
       to... know...
the difference...
        fudge-packaging
of a limp **** stashing
enough ****** to
emerge as a cut-off...
                      in ***** form.
books to be read
using only one hand...
ingenious!
Satsih Verma Aug 5
Did you make up, standing
with elephantiasis on the bank.
No reason. An invisible hand had pulled you.

Why is this pain, in
my and your eyes. In crippling light
the doors of love have been crossed.

How to worship the
holy body made of iron? It was not
an avenger after the fall of head.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
i forget who's who and a me in tow,
who's in the baggage of i...
and there's no blocked toilet
of grammar - there's no sun
coming up from above the horizon
come tomorrow -
there's the mother losing
her plotlines when she's not being
a housewife...

and the son - sort-of - steps in...
you search for a song
of the ol' juke... and it's not
the celtic paragliders...
   because ol' mama is not ol' enough...
and she's about to return to
the sort of everyday hell
i farm, i allow chickens to pluck
feathers from into
a gear that's
just about kippah tight...
15 minutes past
the 11 that would
be willing to don a tonsure...
i am the most...
self-evident faithful towing along
an evil...
drowning with a breath...
drowning with a trumpet...
chet baker or miles davis...
i never know which hand
is left or which hand is white...
or which hand is right
or is black... lefty towing elephantiasis...
and that's the anything and all
that's supposed to be "new"?
came a donkey...
with a libido of a goat's harem!

in between porky skinned
and mr. cinnamon from the raj...
boy-oh boy-up and swing
that cowboy scrutiny wheel
of dental floss:
a chance you come across
a bull full on charge
000000000000000000000
and the 0.01% of: if battery life...
is to be even smiled for:
to subsequently gain a turk
for a shave...

chess: jesus! yet another cherry bundle!
i'm torn...
is it better that i visit a balkan brothel
of romanian girls and bulgarian
girls...
or is it better...
that i visit an ottoman barber?
does it matter that i am the one thief
stealing kisses...
love lust forlorn...
and she was the elder daughter...
she had two twin younger sisters...
and she was my first kiss...
when i was a nancy sinantra song...
i was 6 she was 5...
i had a ****** surname to come by...
and she was... *****-and-bouting: KOT...
her daddy drove a truck full
of milk-bottles...

hard to imagine... but all i ever wanted
was to become a bus-driver...
now psychology and all those
mini-me psychopaths having pontous pilate
arguments for staging...
anything beside
the first attempt of dancing an argentinian
tango... or... sending a balloon
into the thinning of air...

dusty springfield - spooky...
tells you enough: run forrest run!

oh but i remember my first kiss...
i remember and it's not exactly
a catch-up catch-on pop song sing-along...
psychology and in that deity...
the mini-me psychopaths...
all those with a...
               pathology of the immaterial
concept of soul... base unit no ergo
no ego...

and we continue to love...
and we continue to love...
before... it becomes a tragedy of having
to learn into an inquest of
solispsism... that's must later when
the schematic of the atomised man...
the man under the scrutiny of
dissection... is ever fulfilled...

right now this world is not worth
the remains of what surprises
it comes up with;
am i to be subdued... waiting for a culmination
of failures?
i've come to expect the casual oops
and dross of a existential formality
that would never wager me with
a status: winner!

                     ****** argumentation...
the lesser father of the ****** son...
and skittles and all that's...
good-hope for the "forever alive"...
this... a hindering of base: thus begun,
thus bicycle racing...
and shadows to be solely left
with an arithmetic...
              pristine lady madonna...
to forgive, to forget...
                     as long as she toys
with a daddy-long-legs
and an attire of spandex...
                         and all that behaves
like a stretching of dizzy gillespie's hornet's...
when the canvas of the tights
would wallow in cobweb punctures.

— The End —