And a bitter trust
decrepit
debauchery to follow
stay tuned in
or channel change
6,985 finger-licken flavors
choose.
Call that pro choice
-pro league
And never, ever ever
whatever you ever do
never decide
if it's right for you
Becuase **** it
it is
At least that's what they
told
me

" Du Kannst Mich am Arsch Licken''
'' Kiss my ***''
the 1 litre cider bottle's out
he takes a swig
then throws his old head back
simulating electric chair death
throws, silence permeates
the wary room
'' Baby....don't....go''
'' Long live Rock n' Roll''
in his thick German accent
before that he asked
'' Who is Allen Ginsberg-
really, Howl, poetry?''
someone afterwards says
'' It's like seeing the ghost
of Bukowski''
the room doesn't say much
but I feel a warmth
for him, reminding me
of my heart's home:
Berlin. Yes, the Germans
they're like this,
they don't take any ****
their hearts
are made of grit
& their drunks
are different from ours,
yes, they talk
of Nijinsky
& the *Ballet Russes
intellectuals
even when they're plastered
'' You may be my enemy
but with a drink you are my friend''
he said & echoes of the War
permeated the dark
& faded time back to the present
opening the night
to better things

i'll write my german like my father soap operas his english, mangled, and disturbed... i mean grossly misjudged.. i mean like: did anyone really understand him? they must have since he now has a house... but then i was too lazy to begin with... which is nice, to begin with... i mean: that nice: clap clap... clap clap... all i need is a hope for encore... it's Borat pseudo Kazakh nice... i mean, i can speak the most perfect assimilation tongue for my host nation and end up on the street... just like i might become the ****** argument in germany... where i actually left my docier... now i love to write a bit of dangling ******* in german, dunno, maybe the pole in me felt like it... thankfully no knows jackshit about Polish history, or Mongolian history after Genghis Khan, therefore i'm not prone to a phobia of repeating historical demands! i mean: who the **** remembers John Casimir in the anglophone world?! umm... no one?! hurrah! we get the blond penguin tuxedo quiff juggernaut into power... but allah'u akbar... it wasn't the playboys of Dubai!

nein!
du kann nicht eine
  zivilisiert brutus,
mit verschwendenvolk
führ hyänewirbeln....
ja... art sortieren kindsouffle
wie mehrsaga...
   hinweis papa-pauß?
deine ein sauer antlitz...
ein fuchs-hyäne: herablassend,
trocken- nordpol otto theodor,
                 ein! sú!

i basically write the broken limb tongue my father speaks
on a construction site...
          i mean he speaks out of time, and sometimes
out of place...
   and every time i write his invoice i am
left heart relieved, had i a romance: i've be broken.
                        but the funny thing is,
i write this ******* and i can't even own a coffee machine
having said it...
             he speaks pish-boor english and gets a house,
a t.v. and a car....
      i write this perfect assimilate english and get
a postcard from australia: thanks, move here.
                   i'd hate to imitate the jew and turn to be
a nomad...
               but globalisation evidently demands that of me...
   it just gets boring after a while,
with all these needs and Neds trying to compete,
i just want to end up failing with fireworks...
become god at the age of 33...
                     and **** the rest of it if i should live
to be 66...
                        ah, come on man,
show some veterinary bias...
            some cult, some basis and futurism without
a regressive attitude... give the dauch the scoop...
and the lady her pooch pouch of vogue!
                  ah, then you're like me
talking german, like my father talking english...
perfectly... via fuchs-hyäne: perfect to the laugh
defining night; or licken-icken:
          für deutsche! über alles: für deutsche!
do brody, byczo jest! und nichts est!
               nienen warschau mitteklasse!
schwarz zirkusegen schatten: krächzen!
                pirdolony or-zełek twy... hujnia i motywa
      na badziewie.... mówi: matka... a potym... kórwa.
ha ha ha ha ha ha!
a po co ty i ten cymbał azjatyk? ten czambo kazak
i  pierdolony cynamon?! huh?!
po jebaną plombe, kasztan, mogiła, figa i pflaume
            i śliwowice?!
Liban na odzew reszty oliwek?! pospolity ruch?
   wnikąt rzeszy! masz! masz marsz kurwa na stambuł po wnót!
Sobieski Sobieksi i na głowie szambo!
te pizdy znów ci zawrót i chęć i nadzieją dały z
          genezą na coś by początek nie smiały miał być?
   ale tak naprawde nie tu... rogiem of warszawe roku '44...
bo wszystkich zycek wybito gazem,
gina musztardowym *smrodem... senfstinken...
                    furzschreiten...
to wtedy tak naprawde to:
tak naprawde poza Warszawą to powstanie do głuchych
          oślą mową wzdycha wzbogaceniem zdobytą
                                 psim sumieniem i czekam na zdobycz
            to zwane honor i państwo... czyli
wszystko braku na uniwerku... póki braku ideału...
no ta... cerkwiew Piłsudskiego! ach ten wąs! niby Stalin!
ale brak tego romantyzmu z nad Litwy!
co ma ten sławny wąs z pod Gruzji!
już mi miód w portkach!
       na ten twój! w ochote i zamiar tchuża i
                             żacier w mgłe i proch!
jak i w papier i piasta mrok w paproć o zacier modlitw
                         i czarów!
       kłam ty oczekiwań mioteł i motyli takich fabryk
których... kochasz...  
oj oj... wmojym gardle hydra!...
                 na tyle narodów ile da sie pokrewni nadrobić
brata i siory... tak, dam te wojenke...by tańczył mi kozak!
a o tobie wspominał mnie jakiś tajny Romon zwany Wład,
Piłat ******!
             ksywa: wampir... nie wiem...
sporo drwena na maczugi... ale nie wiem po co on chciał
  tak na ostrzyć jak na ołówki... w dupy macać?

You bring the nukes
I'll bring the fried bacon
Utensils are optional
In this crazy stew we are making

Add the right amount seasoning
Till it suits your taste
No need for a recipe
To this end of days

Be careful it's hot
So watch where you spew
More or less it's a mess
You'll get all over you

Pay close attention to the lessons
In this culinary course
It cooks up a mean World wide cuisine
This batch of 3rd World War

You've never seen a chef act like this
Even in Hell's  kitchen
If there's any left from this mess
It won't make for good finger licken

What nut job at the top ever thought
To give the ingredients away
You'll need no more it's to die for
This taste of end of days

Conventional plays second fiddle
When warming up to these viddles
You'll be drooling from the first course
Glowing spittle, ****** dribble

With this meal so high at stakes
Not sure we can afford
But fill it up and pass the plate
On this, the 3rd World War

so, tell me,
how does it feel
to be, so, finger licken good

you've, been puck, and tuck
from the neck,
down, to your feet

so how, does,
it, feel,
to be so finger licken good
you've, been powder, and pampered,
and felt up, in places,
you,
yourself,
couldn't, even reach

so how, does,
it, feel,
to be, so ****, tasty,
just, so, lip, watering crispy
that, I'd knock down
my little, old granny,
just,
to get, a another,
greasy, fried bite

so, tell me,
how does it feel
to be, so, finger, licken, good
that you have won, first place
right on top of my plate

so, tell me,
how does it feel

aka: lyricvixen

-
  this is what talking to a mongolian
in amsterdam does to you.

there is such a "thing"
   (or rather, a point of interest)
in the form
   of covert pronoun usage;
namely?
       hiding pluralism...
   the ever present suspicious
   they indicator...
                         because is there
a we with an i?
               ****** diacritical
marks in the form i & j...
          suddenly missing in
the form of I & J...
          quotas, quacks,
                 cats and kettles...
should have joined the
circus at this point
                   type of argument...
became an irish gypsy,
     took a **** into a frying pan
and waited for the rainbow
of fumes...
             **** me...
                   when making oaths
from the tongue utilised by
F,
       became "too" easy,
and no ***** could spell out
  the affix -uck...
              ish that licken yuck?
  yack?!
         ****... you spotted a moose?!
- and that one time i
****** my underwear
          in a sand-pit
   because i couldn't stop charging
myself playing,
  crumbs of a bread on a table
that translated into a sand-castle...
either a labyrinth or countless
rivers...
                how i love my memory
bank, hardly the to do list...
          or it's called playing
tag with Alzheimer...
            otherwise in the st. augustine
primary: bulldog.
            but memory is
just the most perfect form of cinema,
the strobe light disco effect
as if joking on the topic of:
                                     an epileptic.
                  celebrity culture,
or what became the squandering
of history... if there had been
any study concerning...
          the drunkard
muslim in crusades
          by terry jones * alan ereira...
oh you know, some
   ibn        or some      al-
or that weird case of
    japanese green horseradish,
i.e. wasabi...
      came along the purple
          tatty...
                  hands up!
        i'm taken, and no amount
of a diet based on octopii
or ***** will make sense to me...
       give me a cow and i might
just milk it...
             but i'll sooner
perform a kosher "prayer" with it...
   kauczuk?
       that funny synthetic piece
of orb that bounces really high
when asked to imitate meteor...
     jaja? hardly the spanish laugh...
just means eggs...
     one instance of an egg?
    jajo...
               because we know
the spanish took to gee-soos
      as: hey zeus...
                           and then you write
down jesus,
    and later sculpt icons in wood.
             not that i hate
the french,
      but this is the part where
i let you make up your mind
on the orthodoxy of applying
    the grave accent...
or as the french do:
        the word ends on the pivot
of having applied this indicator
of: agreed upon form of a word...
regarding the title:
                             kāùczúk
oh, you still have to utter the remaining
                             -czúk
cha, cha cha cha...
              or ch' (with a stutter)
                           ook...
                 but hey...
    even i know there was no
  charles brando band...
                  ****, manroe is pilled-up
  and trying to fake death
                        by falling asleep.