"havana" poems
Juicy, sweet, hot chocolate skin...black girls are black goddess
**** black girls For guys and men. The most beautiful, attractive, seductive, **** and exciting in African and African-American women is their sweet, juicy, chocolate skin color. Honey caramel mulattoes. Sweet brown chocolate color. And inviting, savoryly pure black-sugar skin color. This is the most delicious, beautiful, sweet candy in the world. You feel like a sweet tooth in a pastry shop when there are a lot of them around you. If you marry one of them and get her children from her, and live with only one of them all your life, and you will be faithful only to her alone. Your life will be the sweetest. Skin of black color and color of dark chocolate are the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion. The skin of dark-skinned girls seems to be radiating the heat of *** burning sweet, sensual passion, this color of temptation, attraction. There are drums of ethnic, traditional music, it's the sound of *** . The black skin of a girl with which sweat and moisture is flowing, as if she still radiates ardent, hot, passionate, and a little stuffy *** in the sauna and her sweet moans are heard. This skin color is like a powerful aphrodisiac replacing ******
The skin of black and dark chocolate is the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion.
The women of three races are beautiful: the sultry, torrid, hot chocolate of hot passion of the deep passion of black fire of love and *** a paradise oasis of tenderness of the east, and snow-white, sensual pearls.
For guys and men. The most beautiful, attractive, seductive, **** and exciting in African and African-American girls and women is their sweet, juicy, chocolate skin color. Honey caramel mulatto. Sweet brown chocolate color. And alluring, relish pure black sugar color of skin. This is the most delicious, beautiful, cute candy in the world. You feel like a sweet tooth in a candy store when there are a lot of them around you. If you marry one of them and get children from her, and you will live only with one of them all your life, and you will be faithful only to her. Your life will be the sweetest.
Your skin is the color of one hot, unforgettable night, your libido is the word lava in your hot body, burning passion, only your photos can excite me, only your beauty turns off my brains, you have a **** ****** tune in my head, you are like a hot bath after a hard of the day, like an ****** massage, like a soft pillow with sleeping softness.
Dark skin
The black skin of a girl with which sweat and moisture is flowing, as if she still radiates ardent, hot, passionate, and a little stuffy *** in the sauna and her sweet moans are heard. This skin color is like a powerful aphrodisiac replacing ******
The skin is black and the color of dark chocolate are the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion.
Dark-skinned beauties are a deep passion of black fire - this is a hot safari, a wild savannah, an exotic havana.
My new love poem, i hope you will like it.
For my dear light brown girls
Captivating honey caramel is like a shining dawn, life with you is like a sweet ****** dream. Juicy sweet fabulous fantasy beautiful. From your sexuality, the glasses of the captured ****** force in your eyes are sweating, this is the amazing magic of charm concealed in them. You are my depraved temptation ***** temptation. The sweet temptation of a tenderly roaring passion is a breathtaking juicy caramel berry, sometimes pouring with a picturesque modulation, tender sensual shades of red sunset, incinerated with the burning heat of passion. From your hottest, sultry beauty, the brain seems to turn off and faint from your sweetest kisses.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 12:56 AM UTC
The infamous Cuban fog
Roll's of the ceiling
Arroz on Pollo
*** and ice
Flamenca tunes serenade
the
crescent moon
Decadent
bites
Celebrating
Havana Nights
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
warthogs for men singing amen
i ink my scars with a ball point pen
buffalo grass and ******
they want *** but won't die
i want *** but it's not me
they tell me that I'm pretty
i smoke **** in a blazing forest
i feel as rubbery as a curious tourist
and plenty of coke goes in my nose
i bleed headaches, when it rains it snows
i'm dreaming of a white christmas, i suppose
with my squad when i don't want to feel alone
i make lies but can't hide like room raiders
i cut up coke for all my haters
with a side of oxy
tells me that I'm foxy
right before he knocks me
my brain goes on high alert
i can taste my stomach
because cake was yesterday's desert
i say that we're proxies
i take the red pill
some like oxys
some like bikini ****
some nights aren't so chill
some brains are mentally ill
but he doesn't like to feel, y'feel
tell me if you want a
*** flavored banana
a broken heart from havana
or to drink my coke flavored blood
dragging me through the mud
whoops
son of sam
touch my **** like we're not fam
drug me if you want to slam
my head off the coffee table
i'll choke on fear until i'm not stable
i pretend i'm in a fable
this can't be real
does he not feel
break it off and shove it down my throat
cut me into pieces
make a blood moat
oak splinters suffered through winters in my spine
find you in jail and you ask if i'm fine
i break off rhymes like i break out grams
shaking because of a spiked promise
i wish i wasn't here
i wish i wasn't here
sham in the garden of clouds. when you 'fuck' you want people around
when i cry, you hear no sound
buffalo grass and ******
they **** off but ask why
my box in their face
i don't want to be in this place
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
It takes a lot to be level-headed
When I see where we're headed
I think of everything and I just want to sing
Would you like to take a drive with me?
And stay alive with me
I know I probably shouldn't tell you
But I'm contemplating Bellevue
Maybe West Louisiana or eastern Havana
Doesn't matter much to me
Just stay alive with me
And take a drive with me
I know that I'm merely 22
But I'm gonna be dying soon
And I don't want to regret things I haven't conquered yet
So would you take a drive with me?
And be a prize with me?
I can't tell you where we're going
Because I have no way of knowing
Just be the DJ for me and sing before you speak
And take a drive with me
To stay alive with me
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
a tumblr full of rocks
a pour of ichiro malt
and a stir
gan bei
and
ichi
to the yamazaki and nikkas
i am in the land of the sun
i go down to the land of the dead
mei hi ko
anejo
casa amigo,
to my brothers in arms
jose, i must have my agave
cheers to the alamo
to the land of the prohibition
kentucky
yippee kay yay
bourbon,
spicy rye kick
spur to the horse
giddy up, giddy up
riding off into the sun
set to kentucky
derby
bourbon
ballentines
tom ford west
make your mark
with maker’s mark
bottoms up
and now i am staggering
vichi patia
better than grey goose
aunt jiin
and all the cult gin
navy strength and **** juice
getting rowdy
like irish bloke jameson
and that **** scot
macallan
and his gang
oiban, glenfiddich, and
glenlivet
I am livid
at that son of a *****
son of peat
another round
i am monkeying around
monkey 47
sun set
sun rise
*** on the beach
i see kings and queens
louis thirteen
i am going to sleep
pappy van winkle
100 years
like rip van winkle
don’t wake me
stir and not shaken
good night, mama
sweet havana
neat
a shot of don papa
i go to sleep
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
steel
oil
engineering
labor
converge
round a
Rocket 88
dead man’s
curve
prescient
precocious
capitalists
concoct
Edsels
Vegas
Chevelles
leaping
Impalas
leak
oil
staining
every
American
driveway
Pintos
chase
Gremlins
across
The Great Plains
gassing up
at
Rt 66
fillin
stations
scramblin
Midnight
Ramblers
detour to
take refuge
with Goats in
Big Sky
Indian
garages
440
Mustangs
nip
327
Stingrays
and
Mach IV
Cobras
get
snake bit
by Dart
wielding
Mopar
muscle
cars
long fins
chrome bumpers
and round fenders
still get bent in
Havana
but
Motor City is broke
nations outta gas
whole **** country
needs an overhaul
Ike Turner/Jackie Brenston: Rocket 88
Nelson Riddle: Route 66
7/19/13
Oakland
jbm
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
Heading west from La Pesa to the streets of Calabazar for a trip to the markets,
a dance through bazaars.
The lighthouse in Cayo Guano lit the way to the end of the day as we snorkelled deep off the archipelago.
The night filled with Hemingway's stories being drip fed a litre of ***
as the moon slipped behind old Havana awaiting the birth of the sun.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 5:41 AM UTC
Havana girls, cherry hearts
Bad girls from Mars
Miss july, mad money
Say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Glitter is a girl's best friend
Only a pair of diamond earrings can make me happy
Gold and fur completes my soul
Cleopatra and diamond lust
Corals in my eyes and love is in my hair
I'm a girl with pearl earrings, a girl with golden eyes
I see a stripper with a pink wig and cat eyes
Oh, hello little daisy
Havana girls, cherry hearts
Bad girls from Mars
Miss july, mad money
Say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Coconut taste on my lips
Red roses in my garden
Teen-age gangsters
And I'm feeling like I'm home again
Palm springs, fairy wings
Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood
Misery loves whiskey turns on my soul
Don't judge me and say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Havana girls, cherry hearts
Bad girls from Mars
Miss july, mad money
Say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Havana girls, cherry hearts
Bad girls from Mars
Miss july, mad money
Say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
(sung to "If I Only Had a Brain/Heart/Courage" song from the Wizard of Oz)
I'm a ****** ***********
altho I seem quite merry,
I am always causing strife.
I've a rot for a banana,
But I'd smoke the whole Havana,
if I only had a LIFE!
I just love to cause division,
By other's lives derision,
I'll cause gossip to be rife!
It don't matter! I am toothful,
I don't claim to be that truthful,
If I only had a LIFE!
I would love ta get ta know ya,
But I smoke like Krakatoa,
You could cut it with a knife.
I will put it in my ashtray
And conclude another entry
if I only had a LIFE!
I've no girlfriend, it don't matter,
I'm as loony as a hatter,
I will never have a wife.
I've a teeny weeny shooter,
Can't make love to my computer,
IF I ONLY HAD A LIFE!!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/20/2015
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
I have long sought quiet.
And please, let me be clear: quiet.
Not the quietus Hamlet desired,
No “consummation devoutly to be wished” for me.
No, with or without a bare bayonet,
UNBEINGNESS is hardly what I seek.
It is not the predicament of death,
But the quiet spectacle of the grave I envy.
Originally a city mouse,
I am familiar with the urban soundscape.
I know city noise, amped up in decibels.
Noise-induced stress, shrill and enervating,
Add to the mix a working-class neighborhood,
Where someone is always hammering,
Using a power tool of some kind,
Repairing, improving an older, somewhat decrepit home;
But a steal as the realtors say.
Or vehicles, like Old Havana relics,
Held together by secular prayer,
And thriving underground Cuban capitalism.
Then just for fun: *"Let’s send the son of a ***** to war."*
Tympanic membranes be wary and be ******
Stretched and perforated,
Compressed and torn,
Shredded like wheat.
Pummeled by shock wave.
I was Lear wandering the heath,
Your ass-cheeks cracked:
*“Cataracts and hurricanes . . .
Oak-cleaving thunderbolts . . .
Sulphurour and thought-executing fires . . .
Singe my white head!”*
Cue Cabaret music (Cabaret (1972) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0068327): “Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome . . . to Indochine,”
First a Weimar-Saigon suckee-fuckee,
Then out to *The ****
Mind-numbing concussion,
Reek of jellied gasoline,
Charred meat,
Assorted red entrails,
Obliteration of thought complete.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
There's this doll you know:
got delivered to my home today,
it's all part of a disturbing game
and I found a key in its mouth:
it starts by sending
what we lack most in our lives.
Broken illumination
as the fan flits;
Two naked girls started it all:
except for bikini bottoms,
knitted in national flags,
waving down a truck
on a bridge across the Dnieper.
Roll over the tanks!
nobody wants war:
Except our masked friends,
my maidan hero
your naked Fascist,
self-defending Lebensraum?
Gas them, gas them,
coz, we don't want war.
Got some butterflies to catch;
Tryin' to catch them since
the good ol' hippie days.
It's them naked girls
that started it all:
Havana girls,
there's pipe loads of gas
that's at stake,
drill drill off Alaska, Palin!
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
It's as easy as, 1, 2, 3.
Understandable as A, B, C.
Undesirable as, Don't Take Me.
A simple ditty,
So listen, Kiddie,
There's no singing in the grave.
No foot tapping, finger snapping,
Lip smacking music where you're going;
But don't be in a hurry to get going
To a place where you're a gonner.
You won't be chatting with a Brahma,
Discussing laws with ancient Moses,
There's no sitting Buddha posing,
You ain't in blissful Nirvana.
You'd be in heaven in Havana.
There aren't virgins waiting;
No loaves and fishes baking;
No bells ringing,
No Mecca wailing,
No roads paved with gold.
I miss those stories I was sold.
Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...
Was it us who failed you?
Stay a while, don't leave yet,
You'll find nothing you expect,
But you won't remember,
And you won't forget.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 3:44 PM UTC
My shaft-craft docked I with hers
As in orbit the space shuttle Atlantis,
Before it was by NASA rested:
So up she swallowed of for three
Inexpressible minutes, my darling dilly, --
Just like a shark swallowed up stiff Jonah
For three days in her belly, --in Havana,
Where I was locked in tween her hot thighs,
Heaving out we both extraterrestrial sighs
Upon the green with amours encrusted.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
Havana, I arrive
in the sweaty thickness of July
caliente y picante
steamy sidewalks, steamy women
chocolate brown, tan and
black against the lemon-yellow walls
strolling through La Plaza de Armas
slurping thick café through weathered lips
in La Plaza de Francisco de Asis
dancing on the pregnant gray stones in La Plaza Vieja
timba, rumba, salsa and son
Cristo, Maria, Yemaya and Obatalá
Havana, I arrive
in the intoxication of your breath
between the acrid fumes
of insecticides and 1957 Chevy's
stepping past the dark grime of your slums
streets plush with tight round bodies
beautiful and sensuously swaying
I arrive snaking past the converted palaces
con las turistas ricos
and the buy-me-a-dress-and-a-ring ******
with their enchanting full-tooth smiles
and undulating earthquake-tremor hips
I hear your beat
the machine-gun laughter of your feet
on the hot cobblestones
with the jinateros and street musicians
chants of Santería drifting from pane-less windows
Havana, I smell your heat
under salty faded sheets
smell the long, tobacco-stained nights
with your hips swaying
to the pale drops of ***
spilt from red lips
and the red drops of blood
spilt from your revolutionaries
spilt from the gorging of Machado and Baptista
and 500 years of foreign dominion
In Paseo de Marti
banners of Che Guevara
flapping in the moist tear-laden breeze
Fidel, cigar in hand
tirelessly raging in black and white
on a Russian 1960's TV
Cuba, I can see the green in your eyes
the peeling-paint bedroom dreams and
dirt-poor joy of your richness
laughing out the despair and desperation
dancing out the oppression and the paucity
the aching of your past
the battles of Castillo De Los Tres Santos
of the revolution
of living
and as I stand on the steps of El Capitolio
looking out at the decaying grandeur
I understand why
I will be back
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Cuban motorists
expect the odd puff of wind
‘nother day, ‘nother Zephyr
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 2:24 PM UTC
Every time I hear you play this
I think that we're out walking, talk talking
Daydream talking like it's nothing
It's 1am we're getting coffee
We're going to smoke our packs empty
Drink drinking ourselves to sleep
Well don't you know it's already third time this week
Once in an empty house, right by the window
You asked me if I'd hold your hand, I said of course I'd love too
And when you thanked me, you said
It's what I miss most about her
Now I'm talking to Havana
God damn' he's got soul
You shouldn't treat him so cold
from collective to a man of grief
Come on Havana is that what you want to see?
So as I’m walking back to my car, from the corner of an old market bar
Next to me walks a man of grief
Smoking a Havana soul cigar
He reminds me to keep my head up high, and the only limit is the sky
So now I keep my head held high
I keep it right towards that honey yellow sky
Jun 18, 2011
Jun 18, 2011 at 12:16 AM UTC
It’s 1:30am and we were at a cute little dance club in Dublin called “The Sugar Club.” It’s a converted movie theater with tables in stadium seating rows. That night was Salsa themed, and the regulars were stylin’ - the men dressed in white Havana or Colima, Italian Linen and women in bright salsa dresses.
The DJ was mixing a gr8 groove - with music from Bassia, Brazilian Girls, Kate the Cat, with some ElectroSwing thrown in from Tape Five, Pink Martini and Doja Cat (Yes, I asked the DJ for his playlist). The tiny, darkly-disco-sparkling dance floor was crowded and refrigerator cold.
We had a good time. Irish guys are funny and unpredictable, they’ll say practically anything, “Shall I buy you a drink, or do you just want the money?” and those brogues make everything they say spankin’ hot.
We all danced a few times, but Sunny’s a gwyn who never seemed to tire. Guys kept asking her to dance and she seemed happy to oblige - I would have collapsed already.
There was a dead-fit guy, Rían, throwing a strong Chris Evans vibe, who seemed completely smitten with Sunny. He seemed a real dean but he didn’t 404 that Sunny’s femme-facing and that he might as well be offering lettuce to a shark.
We’d discussed the possibility that things might come up and decided to avoid delicate public acts of disclosure (Sunny’s gay, Leong’s a communist, etc..) - we’re trespassing different cultures on this trip, after all.
We explained to Rían that we were students, just in town for the Duran Duran concert, and consoled him with a couple of “Black & Golds” (Kahlua, whiskey and orange bitters) - he was a LOT of fun to talk to.
The bartender asked me if I was one of the colleens with “Margot Robbie” - he was referring to Lisa - which Anna found amusing - but I think Lisa’s way phater than Margot.
Jun 17, 2022
Jun 17, 2022 at 3:32 PM UTC
I wake up.
New York.
It’s cold enough to where my body succumbs to the cool sensation sweeping it externally, but not too bitter to where I begin internal frostbite. One man tells me to go back to bed, it’s too early. I slowly, silently, drift off into a doze.
I wake up.
Havana, Cuba.
It is now summer. I see a boy. He looks confused. I offer him help. Without a word he turns around and scurries off down the alley into a small wooden shack, like a mouse, assuming everyone is the sinister cat that is out to feast upon his flesh, running into his safe haven, his hole in the wall. I go back to bed.
I wake up.
Sicily, Italy.
It is now spring. One bird catches my attention. A dove, flying through the channels, under the bridges, over the buildings. It swoops through almost all of Sicily, and then hovers over the calm waters of the Mediterranean Sea as it makes its great escape, the wind scraping up against its delicate white feathers, applying pressure to its already soaring wings. The dove heads back for land, to its nest. It hits a tree. I go back to bed.
I wake up.
Melbourne, Australia.
It is now autumn. I see one woman. She tells me her name, although I could not make it out with such a rich, thick accent. But, what are names? They aren’t identity. You strip someone of a name and they are still unique. It’s not the name that defines a person, it’s what they make of it. Another woman catches my eye. She doesn’t tell me her name, but instead shows me around town. We begin to talk when all of a sudden I drift off into a doze.
I wake up.
New York.
It is winter. It’s cold enough to where my body succumbs to the cool sensation sweeping it externally, but not too bitter to where I begin to develop internal frostbite. One woman informs me that I’m late for work. I notice an accent. I ask her where she’s from. She replies,
“Melbourne, Australia.”
Jul 8, 2011
Jul 8, 2011 at 12:31 PM UTC
I missed my revolution.
What's a boy to do?
Don a balaclava for jaysus?
Smoke a fat havana?
Think I'll buy me a beret.
Brush up on mi español.
Grow a fumanchu.
Move fifty years down south.
Find me a spanish speaking babe
to dance the dance in a red dress
shouting viva la vida all night long
till the sun comes up
and roosters crow
at hungry dogs
in a dusty street.
r ~ 5/24/14
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
It’s Friday night and a group of us, the ‘university summer fellows’ (Quinn, Jammie, Monique, Lisa and I) are going groovin’. Quinn, a Harvard man (we’ve shed our jaundiced opinions of him), assured us he knows the Boston bar scene. We’re going to test that.
We told him we wanted to sway to whimsical beats and chase vivid, neon lights across dance floors, like a bunch of cats - till the hours get wee. His plan is for us to pop-in the “touristy” places, like ‘the Havana Club’, ‘the Manray club’, ‘Garage Boston’ and ‘The Grand’, we’re so 111. As usual, Charles is our party mom, escort and driver.
When Peter and I were in Saint-Tropez, earlier this summer, there were beach clothes - dresses, skirts and men's shirts - where they’d woven micro-LEDs into the flowered, dry-wick, fabrics. I think the effect is amazing, friday, and joyous. I got two skirts for everyone (all of my roommates). Tonight Lisa and I are wearing a couple of them.
Funny. I’ve mentioned it before, but Lisa‘s an audrey. Her school friends and roommates are all used to it, we’ve been exposed, we have built up immunity. But Quinn’s a newbie, when Lisa came into the living room, LED glittered and lookin-right, he was literally stunned. He froze, for a microsecond, his face went blank and his fingers wiggled, as if disconnected from his overloaded central nervous system.
*** Jammie said, having just turned around, “holla at ya brooke!,” he declared, shaking his head in admiration. “Umm mmm,” he added.
“I’m sure.” Lisa said, starting to transfer things from her everyday bag to her glittery clutch, the girl cannot accept a compliment. Quinn, coming out of it, cleared his throat.
We’re ready. Let Friday night begin!
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 12:12 PM UTC
You. You were
never better than when
you
wore that cologne
that smelled like Havana nights and
fresh cinnamon spice.
Your
scent keeps haunting me through
days and nights.
What is it
about sensory types
of
memories? I
can't shake you from my five senses
no matter how
hard
I've tried. Will you forget
about mine?
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Tepid breaching house deep on the brink of collapse.
Sandpaper trails lay out the dust across the mats.
We couldn't get a carpet so we settled for the plastic.
Now the writing on the walls tell us its getting drastic.
Your hearts on your sleeve and my hearts buried in the yard.
The flowers dance in the wind on our cynical boulevard.
You're sitting in the paper covered misery of our room.
The T.V's blaring harsh at 4 in the afternoon.
I took it to the crossroad that stretched out to our sun.
He's dipping in the horizon like a criminal on the run.
Escaping the daytime shadows that bring us to the cross.
It's 2 past 4 the vodkas starting to wear off.
And I yell! And I scream.
We can't keep up this way!
Somethings gotta give!
I'm a callous felon every day on death row doorstep here with you.
The debts been piling up and my souls striving for something new.
I can't bring back your hero to this rat infested place.
Ever since he yelled at you he said that he'll be coming late.
The daytime sky's an ocean and my hell is were we sail.
Our destination is unclear to me from this stagnant rotting jail.
I bring you a little ***** and again you turn me down.
Lives about as sweet as you in your violet torn up gown.
Neighbors invite us to a Havana land beyond the stars.
In our new little world did you know they don't drive any cars.
They leave in tears cascade and bodies ready to collapse.
Muttering under there breath that they would never dare come back.
We argued about the price is right, we argued for the hour.
You threw out the remote and so I threw up the couch.
Handbag lipstick eyeliner spilled over your leather wallet.
It felt to them like an earthquake and for us two alcoholics.
You had been sipping on your red glass wine and protected it with your life.
I broke into a tsunami tirade of abuses and contrites.
A broken home laid out across the sunset of the day.
I'm glad the silhouette of you finally ran away.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
the byproduct of the aesthetics of orthography gave us dyslexia (dis-* / negation and -lexia / lexicon), as if already apparent... because dislexia would not look as pretty; alt. meaning of dyslexia? unease with vocabulary, a trouble finding a personal vocabulary - i already mentioned that letters are vox circa (approximate vocalisation), even i make spelling mistakes at times... given dyslexia not dislexia / disease not dysease. (in the polish vox circa the pronunciation of y is like a baritone or bass, while pronunciation of i is like soprano or mezzo, i could give a kabbalistic anatomisation of the mouth for they are indeed very much aligned... but let's just stick to the opera metaphor).*
i trained my œsophagus like a
minor roman noble at a banquet,
now i can smoke and not take out the
**** foley puppet
whenever i want on an empty stomach
smoking the first cigarette and drinking
the first coffee of the morn,
ah christianity’s operating grace...
let’s categorise every pagan practice as
formidable ills,
have the reasons for the crucifixion
loosely knit with the lamb of god’s wool:
that’s two wool threads over my bare chest...
because, just because that new testament
story is so so tightly knit that you can
see the pearly gates with st. peter playing
outlaw cowboy’s quick-draw with the keys,
from havana (of all places) on earth.
poor isaiah, i rather remember you: considering
the fact that you were cut in half at
the abdomen of all equators.
in conclusion? the added diacritic marks
on this latin alphabet came due to the barbaric tongue tie
on the œ and æ... from these two manifestations
we were given é and ó among others,
i still think it’s chaotic, chiseled v,
otherwise papyrus u and the umlaut.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC