Love is a ***** soup going stale but steaming like it's brand new;
And I'm Oliver twist walking up to the *** with a rusty spoon full of desire and hope asking for more but getting none.

Love is a Doctor gathering dead bodies and shackling them up in chains;
And I'm a green freak with Frankenstein bolts ****** through my head walking around with only a mumble to muster trying to love people who just want to run away.

Love is a white paper rolled so finely, full of sedatives and drugs;
And I'm sitting by a fire reaching in for a log to smoke.

Love is puzzle made by Einstein and Sam Loyd;
And I'm a child with eyes made of glass and hands made of thorns crying to my mother because that puzzle is a *****.

Love is Navy Seal training on a beach covered in cold water spilling blood for a chance;
And I'm a ***-smoking hippie who holds up signs and tells soldiers they’re monsters as I take a puff of death.

Love is a ten-syllable word compacted into one;
And I'm a hooked on phonics children’s thesaurus struggling to find a comparison that I can actually pronounce.

Love is a white egg timer sitting on the fridge set to all nines;
And I'm a busy housewife waiting to cook dinner at the sound of its bell.

Love is a robber with a 45 in his belt;
And I'm an eager dad trying to protect his family with a wooden stick.

Love is hot coffee from a luxury beverage shop;
And I'm a plastic party cup melting away.

Love is a doctor with a PHD in heart surgery;
And I'm a sick child waiting with his mother with no healthcare ******* on a free doctor’s-office lollypop.

Love is a huge pink eraser;
And I'm a graphite pencil struggling to write while me and the eraser fight.

Love is a pickup truck speeding through town drunk;
And I'm a lost puppy running through the same intersection looking for my owner.

Love is meant for fish;
And I'm a bird.

I pried the Words off the Wall
Rearranged and used them All
Stacked upon each other in
A sentence Said with Style

Coco Chanel And Ert'e Flaunt
Lesbian Fashion In chic Paris Haunts,
In the 1920s, While Albert Camus
Late Night Parties Extistentialist Claims
Amid ****** and Champage

Django Rienhardt Played Jazz Guitar
To the West Bank Artists in Bars,
Toulouse Lautrec had Drank
With Prostitutes, in Art Deco

Frank Loyd Wright Praised
In Architect Circles
How He has Designed
The Unfolding of the Future

The Camera Has Brought
Sharp Images to see
While emergence of Psychology
Has driven Art into the Abstract

Paris in the 20's scent of*
Hedonist Creativity
Cultural Gravity
To the Inclined

De rien, entre amis
Prende un jour a la fois



All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

it can almost be funny, waking up one day, and not knowing what day it is.

so they call it the cardinal division, of days, 7 of them...

then they have the months
in the year

and in those months they
have the numbers of days

days are lated divided into
hours, minutes, moods...

then there are the 4 popes,
known as seasons,
and those are a basis to explain
the "odd" moods -

then there's the cohort known
as year, the three-hundred-and-sixty-five
spartans...

and this is the world we live in...
but i still don't know what day it is...

   for the past hour spent perched on
a windowsill, smoking cigarettes
and drinking ***** sharpshooters
that might allow me to stop coughing
and puking (the milk didn't help)
  i read five book reviews
from a saturday edition of *the times...

1. irresistable -
      well, that's how i say it, i'm bored
with writing irresistible,
             does the vowel variation matter? -
irresistible: why we can't stop
checking, scrolling, clicking and watching
by adam alter, review by janice turner...

2. the catholics, by roy hattersley,
review by gerrard degroot

3. the raqqa diaries, by samer, review by
   anthony loyd

4. on tyranny, by timothy snyder,
review by michael gove...

and lastly

5. from bacteria to bach and back,
by daniel dennett, review by oliver moody...

huh?
        that's basically gender studies in a nut-shell,
only 1 woman among the 5 reviewers...
        and what's currently bothering woman...
  i could just watch a cliche of some sort,
somewhere just as well...

what day is it?!
            oh i'm not going to jump on the bandwagon
and check the digital keepers of time,
   there's a saturday newspaper in my hand,
the clock on my computer is showing the time to be
21:31... but given it's windows programme is
set to a reality of: being in poland...
  
        i'm starting to suspect it's sunday...
   well, i don't have a smartphone so here's to me
getting twitchy about checking it...
    so 20th century, for me the internet isn't
even mobile... it's stationary, anchored by a laptop
in a room, and nowhere else...

     i don't know how many book reviews i read
and not the actual books,
         i'd say a few... hundred...
     and then how many books i've read
that are not reviewed...
  some because they're "boring",
some because they're hard,
  some because so many people have read
them over the years there's this feeling
of letting them go...
       like that imaginary friend in inside out...
like don quixote...

        it has to be a new thing, having to stop
reading the actual books, and rather the reviews
of the books, as a way to catch up?
    i probably won't want to remember them
anyway...
    
                i'just the sheer perplexity,
how the japanese mastered the haiku,
   and lo! behold! the grant poet of osaka,
who produced 20 haikus in 20 years...
      getting ******, watching the moon...
what discipline... what discipline to inquire into
not boring someone...
     but as they say in the west:
                 be a miserable **** and they'll keep
coming back, due to the principle
of schadenfreude...
        that's the main point about poetry in the west,
and how it can spiral out of control
   when otherwise japanese poetry can't...
  i call that discipline... and this? lack of it...
equivalent to eating a hamburger.

           you want a modern poem?
my history of playing video games and then
suddenly stopping?
                    modern... right now...
never went beyond PS 1...
                        
                            that's modern, isn't it?

then i did a nacht der langen messer
                                elsewhere on "social" media...
from over 300 contacts... to 13 random preferences...
            just seeing peoples lives and having known
them, and then seeing their biographical techniques
started to annoy me...
                
   and yes, review no. 4 does refer to a
reductio ad hitlerium... so the nacht... -
                    but it just bothered me how they did this
psychology experiment on the obvious website and
didn't tell me i could experience certain vectors working
into my psyche...
         i guess i just had to reverse the experiment...
keep everything public... but reduce the size of contacts
from over 300, to 13...
   and then take to creating an anonymous
    profile elsewhere, without even trying to be anonymous...

since that's how writing gets done;

      so it is sunday?