i have my share of labours,
that i wished become
collective signs of fruitition...

alas...

and only thus:
the last sacred word -
  the simplest of regrets,
the last remnant "regret":

     alas...

                      lucky you,
    now you get to write your address,
your street, your house number,
your authentic name,
   your zip code,
                  your RM1,
  4TH...
                      your virginia...
your whatever, that comes with
an overcoming of a tommorrow;

good-luck;

bless me with a chance,
   to forgive you, and forget you,
by kissing the forehead of
         your mother, goodnight;

may she find sleep, as comforting
as death, with,
or without anticipating it.

I'm a steamroller on a highway,
Unstoppable, and gripped by craze.

'Get out of my way! I'm coming through!'
My vision's blurred, I'm trapped in a haze.

I swerve to the left, then swerve to the right.
Through the windshield, I see the moonlight;

Bright and shining; shining, bright,
Everything is coherent in that bright light.

The bang shocks the ride, and the glass shatters;
It's that rare moment of clarity...

The weeping bark is my destiny,
And I swerve again to meet the tree.

I've broken through my shell,
And I stand exposed.

So this is how the levee breaks...
I can hear the river barging as it explodes.

My crystal barricade has been breached.
There's no escape, there's no defense.

The night's conspiracy is in fruitition.
And I rest my case, cease pretense.

The moonlight was a gentle kiss,
On this night, it wasn't alone...

You were the target I was destined to miss;
I'd lost the mortgage for my time loan.

--

My number was up, I was your slave
Funny how that worked out

On saving you,
My core reactor burned out.

The little boy in the moonlight
Was the reason for my demise.

Were you my personal demon?
Or my salvation, my prize?

--

You devoured me, I worshipped you.
Then up you got, and there you left.

Guess you were my demon then...
You abandoned me, bereft.

A neon advertisement of Elizebeth Arden was sparking in a wonderful 3D
Array
I was passing thru Shanklin, Heading towards Sandown
And beyond Black Gang Chine, Heading up to White Cliff Bay.
Walking thru a prehistoric night,
And Evelyn suggested that we liberate a boat-
I replied, Why don't we awaken our ghosts
to float on the still night airway ?
240 feet above the Chanel aqua-spray,
Aware of only night from day,
And however angelic my love is,
Her personality can revolve in a mysterious way,
She blessed my notion
And her first idea joined the corrosion
At the foot of White Cliff Bay.
Her eyes spoke to me.
You are only as conscientious as your persona allows.
We watched the angry coast, Coaxing and tormenting
Where the ancient ocean bows
And nature steps over a part of time
That tells of it's own decay,
And man has no part here to play,
As the wet chalk laments to the sky
And the Devil crashes into innocent pacified
Clay, Chaotic and ruthless against a naked White Cliff Bay.

This is how I came to be,
Shaped by the perpetual onslaught of endless sea.
Knowing that the harm that has been done to me
Can never be justified,
Just as childhood promises always have their fruitition shunned
As every story book lied in the same fixtures where faithful ancestors
Were betrayed
As they knelt in hell - Burning as they prayed
To a God who was now a witness here on White Cliff Bay.

But I feel a new direction is drifting my way
And she touches my forhead I feel okay,
And the whole unexplained truth of life is now unfolding
Like the relics and the fossils of White Cliff Bay,
And the new life I am holding.

cherub bones come, well defined, as the ones ingested, with proper digestive juice, making bones into marrow; man with the purity of angels, as man might take to offal, comes sanctity prone to claim bone within the framework of marrow, or the temple of muscle and fat, as that which resembles the beating heat, no inner be worth the whither, as no outer the "clue"... cherub bones be akin to offal... with neither temple for muscle or fat, served for a rhetorical tongue... mind you: it's worth stating that atheism only comes to full fruitition with asiatic un-inhibition of culinary "studies"... perfected socialism? 1 billion chinese... culinary un--inhibitions... it would seem, the study of economics wasn't enough to solidify communism, one had to reach into the culinary sphere.

i'm getting bored, mate,
don't ******* bore me,
i'm getting agitated
by your freedoms,
esp. that of "speech":
your little
****-pack of worth
within a:
i have a dream* dyamic
is really
churning the johnyy cash
in me to sing
the advent of all advents of
sorrow...
   you inconoclast *****
brigade....
                weep & mourn...
i feel the desires be long-lasting
derision...
    come! coke inflated
with the statements coming from
the lost cities of those known
by their diesel franchise
detroit...
            come, come to the servitude
of expense...
          let us see the face!
how showered in pity you
have become!
                grind the bones
to grit, and then grit to sand,
and then? call it time.
        i would have liked the affair
of being invited into
the akin die krupps manifesto...
and the shattering,
the welcome in seducation of
being:
  the men of steel...
                                   schtall....
now i live on youtube content
providers, turning
******* into ***-wipes,
   ***** that urged no notion
of a day of work...
                     the laziest naxis
of sorts....
                        xylophone
instruments, of cherub bones...
      + the banjos...
                   i pity
no west having lost its libido...
i jut watch within the advnent
of continually failed attempts
of regaining it;
             this scare-mongering
isn't the last ask
of the the culprit moon-grit...
                   it comes as the first:
lost scenario of the fist based imprint;
if this be peace,
it be peace, served up akin to
oyster,
                with naked fists.

nic nowego,
                   nic dziwnego...
  
                     nothing new
                                       nothing odd.

         ref. exactly! to what?!

the best prescriebed:
                       out-of-context;
i hope someone finds
the equivalent
    of *out-of-context
to the per se that
     automates itself
                      as thing-in-itself.

i guess it will have to be me
to coin the phrase in pig-latin...
        ex-ex-context?

   **** me, a doubling on latin
       prefixes?!
      that's asking for something
that's far beyond an ask for war...
i think that's asking for garlic,
or spanish onions...
something you can dice,
and not cry over...
    ***** whine *******
                         of gnaw pork;
         feel any better, mmm hmm?
                no?                          too bad;
we're going to tango;       nonetheless.

oh **** me, i need another drink...
     this isn't really a bothersome
topic of discussion for me...
              i'm not even 70 to mind it...
ever fulfilling a fruitition of
an essay's worth of weight...
       ****'s just boring the hell out of me...
i'm turning around asking my shadow:
you entertained?
   the shadow turns at me, and looks
at my saying: do i *******
look like humphrey bogart?
    oh oh, watch me...
        is this a kangaroo nodding?!
(                                                  )          
  ­   (it's called a time-frame,
   of hollywood imagery,
                so you get a chance
                   to imagine the joke).
******* ponce;
     and that's only
                 my shadow talking.

it's almost ball-breaking and heart un-fathoming to construct a basic realism that incubates a woman... god, can you even market a retaliating compass of ***, of wife becoming a mother?! without either taking up the fruitition of a man, being, or being itself, made: cumbrant? i could almost love, if i had not the chance to tease, and by teasing: call love, a quench for a furore of mother... that "thing":"bound to accomplish a hippocratic cull, i  order to convene a tractus: impetus non. death, is a flowering clue to a dead in life, better served to mark an impetus of deciding death, rather than life: king, hybrid clue of a jaw dropping coerce.