Quack went the duck.
Who ran constantly into bad luck?

Quaff went the bartender.
Who complained about the drunk?

Qualification yell the employer.
Who he saw the empoyees limitations?
Although they warn him they wouldn't have experience.

Quietus holler the boss.
When he realized the employee had quick.

They all was queing instead of fueding.
They all was complaining instead of helping.
The way we all seems to do.
When we see problems that might aaffect you.

Sometimes this world can be so cruel.

there is something so lovely
about the ignorance of one's youth

the time when bliss is your
paramour,
and age your best friend.
when life is a promise to be
fufilled,
with all things,
wonderfully crystalized and distilled.
that brief shining era,
when all is gold
and you keep forever,
what you behold.
when indeterminate of color or creed,
you make friends with
curious ease.

it is the time before,
you learn how,
to bleed,
to mourn,
to grieve,

the time before,
the era of discovery,
that within you
and all others,
there is an ocean of tears,
a hurtling freight train of fears,
an everest of desire,
a krakatoa of rage,

it is the time before,
you are forced to turn the page,
on stories half written,
on dreams denied,
the time before,
you can translate the trillion meanings of sighs,  
the time when, regrets begin to collect you,
the time when, worries begin to tatter and rent
the fabric of your soul.

youth, it is the vibrantly
hued years.
after the warm fuzziness of childhood cuddles.
and before the comfortable grace of adulthood.
it is passion and fumbling and finding and fueding and ecstasy of knowing,
it is mistakes and victories, woes and triumphs,
it is needing and it is bliss.
it is horrible angst and it is loveless loneliness,
it is what cow!
it is is'nt he lovely!
it is standing out in a crowd.
it is standing alone in a crowd.
it is  knowing everything,
needing no more lessons.
and it is ignorance,
blind with no descretion
it is hating your mum,
it is wanting your mum.

there is something quite lovely
about the ignorance of one's
youth...

             .......when the world
is there to be  conquered....

oak and solemn foot: intrinsic in all its deviations
from the footstep:
such rooting in purpose
this breathing schematic of inanimate formulae...
replaces concern for good
such that the concern has replaced concept
and i'm so lazily obstructive from performing
the basic intricacies of identifiable processes:
language of this sort of intricacy is no necessary
it obstructs it
what once was project veritas
now becomes project vitalis...
but not enough people are alive
to quest for A beginning with Q
questioning intelligence: prompts
i feel this cruel condescending average of my own
and everyone else's humanity
and it's a wish to cultivate out of spite and spasm
but it's not that this: this: i will readily make
all this solemn growth of a sickness that
has limbo in a pendulum guise...
       such little flickers of sweat and sweetness
because i am this grey demonic
understudy of competitions that... O what the hell:
it's not so much as it is so little
and so little as it is so much...
             i am the burden of a grey light that
wants nothing more than to gobble down a grape
and wants reimagining it the size
of a watermelon...
        this cruel crux of a self-satisfying progeny
by now words are like peacocks that find
not monstrosity of the rigid fuel of the fueding few
but all this grandiose sidestepping guillotine of
sh-          -ort
        and                  glass... furnaces of oops
and ahs...
                        because by now poetry is a Limbostan
or the quenching of thirst without a:
a splendid afternoon all sun drizzled and i'm
having a picnic of panic attacks
next thing i know i will curl into a foetal ball of sorts
and disappear and my disappearance will
be like a pneumatic blindness...
                         and that will be my zenith gravity
till i fall like a forehead guised
in augmentation of prayer and
all will stand received without a hindering...
or some other... that i failed for the 2nd 3rd and 4th
and other obvious times...
that somehow evil will usurp my minor flaws
and exasperate them and call them total...
that good will be this puny imp
and evil some other exterior
born more noble born with the truest reality
such licking of the wounds
is like having no wounds at all.