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                                  Asphalt Man
                                  Phantasm La
                                  Shaman Plat
                                  Asthma Plan
****** Hast
****** Hats
****** Shat
Napalms Hat
Plasma Than
Sampan Halt
Sampan Lath
                                                            ­        Manta Plash
                                                           ­         A Plasma Nth
                                                             ­       A Ham Plants
                                                          ­          A Hams Plant
A Mash Plant
A Sham Plant
A Maths Plan
A Math Plans
A Than Palms
A Than Lamps
A Than Psalm
Aha Plant Ms
Alpha Tan Ms
Alpha Ant Ms
Lama Pas Nth
Lama Asp Nth
Lama Spa Nth
Lama Sap Nth
Lamas Pa Nth
**** Path Ms
**** Phat Ms
Natal Hap Ms
Alas Amp Nth
Alas Map Nth
Ha Lam Pants
Ha Palm Tans
Ha Palm Ants
Ha Lamp Tans
Ha Lamp Ants
Ha Palms Tan
Ha Palms Ant
Ha Lamps Tan
Ha Lamps Ant
Ha Psalm Tan
Ha Psalm Ant
Ha Lams Pant
Ha Alms Pant
Ha Slam Pant
Ha Malts Nap
Ha Malts Pan
Ha Malt Pans
Ha Malt Snap
Ha Malt Naps
Ha Malt Span
Ha Plan Tams
Ha Plan Mast
Ha Plan Mats
Ha Plans Tam
Ha Plans Mat
                               Ha Plants Ma
Ha Plants Am
Ha Plant Sam
Ha Plant Mas
                               Ha Slant Amp
Ha Slant Map
Ha Splat Man
Ha Plats Man
                               Ha Plat Mans
Ah Lam Pants
Ah Palm Tans
Ah Palm Ants
Ah Lamp Tans
Ah Lamp Ants
Ah Palms Tan
Ah Palms Ant
Ah Lamps Tan
Ah Lamps Ant
Ah Psalm Tan
Ah Psalm Ant
Ah Lams Pant
Ah Alms Pant
Ah Slam Pant
Ah Malts Nap
Ah Malts Pan
Ah Malt Pans
Ah Malt Snap
Ah Malt Naps
Ah Malt Span
Ah Plan Tams
Ah Plan Mast
  Ah Plan Mats
   Ah Plans Tam
    Ah Plans Mat
     Ah Plants Ma
      Ah Plants Am
       Ah Plant Sam
        Ah Plant Mas
         Ah Slant Amp
          Ah Slant Map
           Ah Splat Man
            Ah Plats Man
             Ah Plat Mans
              Plash Ma Tan
Plash Ma Ant
Plash Am Tan
Plash Am Ant
Plash Man At
Plash Tam An
Plash Mat An
Lash Ma Pant
Lash Am Pant
Lash Man Tap
Lash Man Apt
Lash Man Pat
Lash Amp Tan
Lash Amp Ant
Lash Map Tan
Lash Map Ant
Lash Tamp An
Lash Tam Nap
Lash Tam Pan
Lash Mat Nap
Lash Mat Pan
Laths Ma Nap
Laths Ma Pan
Laths Am Nap
Laths Am Pan
Laths Man Pa
Laths Amp An
Laths Map An
Halts Ma Nap
Halts Ma Pan
Halts Am Nap
Halts Am Pan
Halts Man Pa
Halts Amp An
Halts Map An
Shalt Ma Nap
Shalt Ma Pan
Shalt Am Nap
Shalt Am Pan
Shalt Man Pa
Shalt Amp An
Shalt Map An
Halt Ma Pans
Halt Ma Snap
Halt Ma Naps
Halt Ma Span
Halt Am Pans
Halt Am Snap
Halt Am Naps
Halt Am Span
Halt Man Pas
Halt Man Asp
Halt Man Spa
Halt Man Sap
Halt Mans Pa
Halt Amp San
Halt Map San
Halt Maps An
Halt Amps An
Halt Sam Nap
Halt Sam Pan
Halt Mas Nap
Halt Mas Pan
Lath Ma Pans
Lath Ma Snap
Lath Ma Naps
Lath Ma Span
Lath Am Pans
Lath Am Snap
Lath Am Naps
Lath Am Span
Lath Man Pas
Lath Man Asp
Lath Man Spa
Lath Man Sap
Lath Mans Pa
Lath Amp San
Lath Map San
Lath Maps An
Lath Amps An
Lath Sam Nap
Lath Sam Pan
Lath Mas Nap
Lath Mas Pan
Ham La Pants
Ham Plan Sat
Ham Plans At
Ham Plant As
Ham Slant Pa
Ham Alp Tans
Ham Alp Ants
Ham Lap Tans
Ham Lap Ants
Ham Pal Tans
Ham Pal Ants
Ham Laps Tan
Ham Laps Ant
Ham Pals Tan
Ham Pals Ant
Ham Alps Tan
Ham Alps Ant
Ham Slap Tan
Ham Slap Ant
Ham Splat An
Ham Plats An
Ham Plat San
Ham Las Pant
Ham Slat Nap
Ham Slat Pan
Ham Salt Nap
Ham Salt Pan
Ham Last Nap
Ham Last Pan
Hams La Pant
Hams Plan At
Hams Alp Tan
Hams Alp Ant
Hams Lap Tan
Hams Lap Ant
Hams Pal Tan
Hams Pal Ant
Hams Plat An
Mash La Pant
Mash Plan At
Mash Alp Tan
Mash Alp Ant
Mash Lap Tan
Mash Lap Ant
Mash Pal Tan
Mash Pal Ant
Mash Plat An
Sham La Pant
Sham Plan At
Sham Alp Tan
Sham Alp Ant
Sham Lap Tan
Sham Lap Ant
Sham Pal Tan
Sham Pal Ant
Sham Plat An
Maths La Nap
Maths La Pan
Maths Alp An
Maths Lap An
Maths Pal An
Math La Pans
Math La Snap
Math La Naps
Math La Span
Math Plan As
Math Alp San
Math Lap San
Math Pal San
Math Laps An
Math Pals An
Math Alps An
Math Slap An
Math Las Nap
Math Las Pan
Than La Maps
Than La Amps
Than Lam Pas
Than Lam Asp
Than Lam Spa
Than Lam Sap
Than Palm As
Than Lamp As
Than Lams Pa
Than Alms Pa
Than Slam Pa
Than Alp Sam
Than Alp Mas
Than Lap Sam
Than Lap Mas
Than Pal Sam
Than Pal Mas
Than Laps Ma
Than Laps Am
Than Pals Ma
Than Pals Am
Than Alps Ma
Than Alps Am
Than Slap Ma
Than Slap Am
Than Las Amp
Than Las Map
Hap Lam Tans
Hap Lam Ants
Hap Lams Tan
Hap Lams Ant
Hap Alms Tan
Hap Alms Ant
Hap Slam Tan
Hap Slam Ant
Hap Malts An
Hap Malt San
Hap Slant Ma
Hap Slant Am
Hap Slat Man
Hap Salt Man
Hap Last Man
Hasp Lam Tan
Hasp Lam Ant
Hasp Malt An
Haps Lam Tan
Haps Lam Ant
Haps Malt An
Paths La Man
Paths Lam An
Staph La Man
Staph Lam An
Path La Mans
Path Lam San
Path Lams An
Path Alms An
Path Slam An
Path Las Man
Phat La Mans
Phat Lam San
Phat Lams An
Phat Alms An
Phat Slam An
Phat Las Man
Has Lam Pant
Has Palm Tan
Has Palm Ant
Has Lamp Tan
Has Lamp Ant
Has Malt Nap
Has Malt Pan
Has Plan Tam
Has Plan Mat
Has Plant Ma
Has Plant Am
Has Plat Man
Ash Lam Pant
Ash Palm Tan
Ash Palm Ant
Ash Lamp Tan
Ash Lamp Ant
Ash Malt Nap
Ash Malt Pan
Ash Plan Tam
Ash Plan Mat
Ash Plant Ma
Ash Plant Am
Ash Plat Man
Hast Lam Nap
Hast Lam Pan
Hast Palm An
Hast Lamp An
Hast Plan Ma
Hast Plan Am
Hast Alp Man
Hast Lap Man
Hast Pal Man
Hats Lam Nap
Hats Lam Pan
Hats Palm An
Hats Lamp An
Hats Plan Ma
Hats Plan Am
Hats Alp Man
Hats Lap Man
Hats Pal Man
Shat Lam Nap
Shat Lam Pan
Shat Palm An
Shat Lamp An
Shat Plan Ma
Shat Plan Am
Shat Alp Man
Shat Lap Man
Shat Pal Man
Hat Lam Pans
Hat Lam Snap
Hat Lam Naps
Hat Lam Span
Hat Palm San
Hat Lamp San
Hat Palms An
Hat Lamps An
Hat Psalm An
Hat Lams Nap
Hat Lams Pan
Hat Alms Nap
Hat Alms Pan
Hat Slam Nap
Hat Slam Pan
Hat Plan Sam
Hat Plan Mas
Hat Plans Ma
Hat Plans Am
Hat Alp Mans
Hat Lap Mans
Hat Pal Mans
Hat Laps Man
Hat Pals Man
Hat Alps Man
Hat Slap Man
A Ha Plant Ms
A Ah Plant Ms
A Halt Nap Ms
A Halt Pan Ms
A Lath Nap Ms
A Lath Pan Ms
A Than Alp Ms
A Than Lap Ms
A Than Pal Ms
A Hat Plan Ms
A La Maps Nth
A La Amps Nth
A Lam Pas Nth
A Lam Asp Nth
A Lam Spa Nth
A Lam Sap Nth
A Palm As Nth
A Lamp As Nth
A Lams Pa Nth
A Alms Pa Nth
A Slam Pa Nth
A Alp Sam Nth
A Alp Mas Nth
A Lap Sam Nth
A Lap Mas Nth
A Pal Sam Nth
A Pal Mas Nth
A Laps Ma Nth
A Laps Am Nth
A Pals Ma Nth
A Pals Am Nth
A Alps Ma Nth
A Alps Am Nth
A Slap Ma Nth
A Slap Am Nth
A Las Amp Nth
A Las Map Nth
Ha La Pant Ms
Ha Plan At Ms
Ha Alp Tan Ms
Ha Alp Ant Ms
Ha Lap Tan Ms
Ha Lap Ant Ms
Ha Pal Tan Ms
Ha Pal Ant Ms
Ha Plat An Ms
Ah La Pant Ms
Ah Plan At Ms
Ah Alp Tan Ms
Ah Alp Ant Ms
Ah Lap Tan Ms
Ah Lap Ant Ms
Ah Pal Tan Ms
Ah Pal Ant Ms
Ah Plat An Ms
Halt An Pa Ms
Lath An Pa Ms
Than La Pa Ms
Hap La Tan Ms
Hap La Ant Ms
Path La An Ms
Phat La An Ms
Hat La Nap Ms
Hat La Pan Ms
Hat Alp An Ms
Hat Lap An Ms
Hat Pal An Ms
La Ma Pas Nth
La Ma Asp Nth
La Ma Spa Nth
La Ma Sap Nth
La Am Pas Nth
La Am Asp Nth
La Am Spa Nth
La Am Sap Nth
La Amp As Nth
La Map As Nth
La Sam Pa Nth
La Mas Pa Nth
Lam Pa As Nth
Alp Ma As Nth
Alp Am As Nth
Lap Ma As Nth
Lap Am As Nth
Pal Ma As Nth
Pal Am As Nth
Las Ma Pa Nth
Las Am Pa Nth
A La Pa Nth Ms

I want to live in a Norman Rockwell painting
Where I'm surrounded by the simple times
If you don't know what I mean let me explain it
It consists of front porch swings and Mom's apple pie

Sunday afternoons in Grandma's kitchen
Lazy fishing days down by the lake
Or in a Soda Shop drinking Chocolate Malts with cherries on top
As I while away the day Norman's way

Riding bikes down hills the whole time laughing
Cowboys, Indians, and Pirates all in one day
With sunsets painted red and no strangers met
No secrets kept to wanna give away

Life on parade the American way
Pride in your family and friends
Helping each other no matter race, creed, or color
Starting each meal out with an amen

Picnics at the park, hot dogs and gaming
Potato sack and three-legged racing
Nothing like today's grind taxing both the heart and mind
Which to me desperately needs replacing
With life in a Norman Rockwell painting

From whence this identity comes
Malts, hops, father’s approval  
What he holds in his arms
Is of no surprise
‘Just missing’ each other
Not likely coincidental
Star couplings, mishap earthlings
Persons never to be known
Crossed streets to  
Strange neighborhoods
Lawn games… how odd
In quiet hours on the highway
Gripping, understood, elusive and all wrong
Remembering, but more forgotten
Ring passed over luminescent waters
Love, not enigmatically magical
Autumn hues in baby fine hair
Righting the nightmares
Nothing mattered more than this.

The smell of cut grass, cigarettes, and vanilla malts will always bring you back

The other night sitting by the fire, alone, the smell of smoke and musty flannels, I could not resist remembering that bitter fall night

But that's just the thing.
I can't touch you, hear you, or love you anymore. And I'm not sure I'd want to anymore.

You've changed to much.

I have created a new you in my head. One who thinks about me and everyday, listens to the song coming home from work, and tears up, and searches my name on Google.

I know that's not true though, you've became like a different person. You don't think about me, you forgot about the songs. The hot, sticky, and humid summer nights yelling at each other through the teared screen door. you forgot about us at the counter in the no smoking area, smoking, drinking vanilla malts. I hated that I loved you and loved how much I would so often,
end up hating you.
I loved this love roller coaster. It was exceptionally thrilling.

Existence wreaked accidental,by clashes chromosomal
Unplanned, a journey Serpentine,winding, unmapped,
tortuously Human? unwinding unknown child to man,
Unconscious mostly,Intuitively grasping occasional, failing
Still, the miracle of it all, just burying my head in existence.
Material-objective-isms,passions many pursued
Grey matter conditioned,chiselled, downgraded,
I am an affordable success of my evening malts
Unwondering,unmiraculous,strsightjacketed daily
By numbers plastic,jobs hated,sensitivities ignored.
Now as I see you Rains,sunrises,sunsets,the sea and waves
The stars, you my street musician, with urchins dancing around.
Some coiled humanity springs forth again and makes me grasp
The divine miracle, again momentary! with a full heart and tears
Impassionate.

Covenant of all ages,
Contrite despite the hatred here many feel!

Begged emotions,
Vexation of treasured spaces,
Inherited shackles to the debackle of brutes and feathered conquest!!!

Chauffeurs for you to lure,
Cheribums of wooden steps!!!

What ***** didst thou come from frosted faced vampiress?
You succeed in all pleasures,
Yet for thy measure your still undressed!!

Not like the rest,
Your timbrel makes settled noise,
Hard to avoid when thine feet trip over each step!!!

Church organs rattle about me as hymn book's not always around,
Some are phonies,
Many lonely,
Coheed to icelandic ground!!!!

Groupies meet in secludes corners,
While adorers temp with foul mouth tounges,
No blacks to white, or whites to black, just two players making one!!!

Orange cones to ex out any leaving plan's,
No clothing stands here!
This is not a mall town shop!!!!

No ice-creamed malts,
Just rags connected to colts,
Where trainers come from thy gambling slots!!!!!

Wounds to every room,
Dont get hung up on thyself,
Wherein harlotry cometh in,
Surely all grins are tiredly screaming out for help!!!!!

Problematic blockheads
make up for a
tiresome,
strenuous,
elongated
work week.
Fights and disputes
with significant others
added.
Feelings are as cold and numb
as the frozen tundra
from lack of stimulation and affection.
Vexed and frustrated
with only one outlet
to take the edge off.
Drown your sorrows
out at the nearby
hole-in-the-wall tavern
as a safe haven.
Coincidentally opened
at your convenience
for when you've hit your
lowest point.
Enter through the
neon lit beer signs
of the tap room in a
dark, damp atmosphere.
The bar keep already
knows your name.
Grab a barstool
at the u-shaped countertop,
light up a smoke,
tuck the pack in your front pocket,
order up your first pint
and take a look around
at this all-star lineup.
As the smoke clears....
it's like the city of the dead.
Necropolis for the local drunkards.
Crippled motards and disabled vets
play cards and scream of old war stories
and tell bad jokes.
Swimming in a sea of
mechanics uniforms with their names
etched upon their hearts.
Neighborhood friendly bar *****
with raspy voices.
Quenching for lust
in demeaning mannerisms.
Like a cigarette vending machine,
exchanging the poussoise
for free drinks and moloko.
Rowdy, ****-Eyed wonder boys
gather round at Sunday's mass for alcoholics and hover over pool tables
and smother dartboards.
Slipping pills in the
dead soldiers of the innocence.
All, over controlling the jukebox
with the appalling top 40 hits.
Pitcher after pitcher.
Empty and refilling their dog dishes
over and over again until they're in a
complete state of incoherence
and belligerence without pacing
and/or enjoying the simply
effects of alcohol.
Sober to blackout with
no in between.
Gilded with suds of
low budget malts.
Treated with over priced
sugary cocktails and
watered down aqua vitae
with colorful names.
You sit alone.
Head tilted back.
Drink slow.
Let it flow
as you pour the shots and drafts
down your throat with
that burning sensation aftermath.
Fueled by barley and hops.
You're catapulted into that warm,
fuzzy feeling of being buzzed
and you let it overtake you.
It may not be much but
it's all you got at the moment.
Entire paychecks blown.
Myriad of ashtrays fill up
while engaging with
preposterous claptrap conversationalists.
Muscled, mustache macho men
feel pilloried over petty and
trivial coin tricks
and have to swing their
over compensated ***** by
quickly escalating in violence
and breaking beer bottles
over the heads of Neanderthals
who are evolutionary one step behind.
Gummed by shanky old hags
in bathroom blow jobs.
Eight ball party favors
lined up for indulgence
on the seats of the scummiest toilets.
And those mirrors.....
Those ******* mirrors
behind the bar.
Every time you look into them,
only to see yourself
and your surroundings.
You are reminded of the shameful digest
and wonders of how it is,
that it all comes down to this.
Yet,
there you are,
still sipping beer through a straw.
Morning arrives,
you wake up feeling below par
and hazy.
As you gather your thoughts,
you roll over next to that
butterface haggard horrid wet spot
you avoided on the last stop
of your tour of profligacy.
Feeling ashamed of yourself
as this lifestyle hardens you.
You drink to remember.
You drink to forget.
You drink to your losses.
You drink to your gains.
You drink to celebrate.
You drink to your melancholy
and loneliness.
Either way....
you drink.

Scottish single malts are loved by fans here and abroad.
Some folks will pay a fortune for rare bottles they can hoard.
Whenever a commodity becomes as rare as gold,
there always will be criminals with profit as their goal.
They'll find an empty bottle and forge tax stamps for it too
and fill it up with Canadian Club, a far far lesser brew!
Then, when the fraud's discovered, Scotland Yard is called
to find the perpetrators and to hang them by the *****.
A detective of a certain sort can discern what bottles hold.
by looking at, in certain light, the subtle shades of gold.
He'll need to know which revenue stamps are fraudulent or true.
If the contents are suspicious he must taste them , wouldn't you?
" I'm thinking this is Jameson's, Not Macallan's malt so pure.
but I'll take another glass or two to be absolutely sure."

I was in a 50's style
ice cream joint
waiting on some Blue Moon
and I was staring at the checkered
floor
feeling nauseous from the pattern
and a couple came in behind me
who were more vivid than
any people I could ever make up

the wife said
"Dale, I got my own wallet, Dale."
and they ordered malts and I wondered
how many malts one could drink in a lifetime
and that my Blue Moon was taking a long time
but the lady turned to me and said
"i love your sweater so much it makes me sick"
and I said
"Thanks"
and she says
"If I were your size, I would knock you down
and try to steal it from you"
and we all laughed
in the beautiful
chrome ensconced ice-cream joint
before I took my Blue Moon
and wandered out back onto the street
of an old railroad town
with nothing else
to offer
other than reality

It is that time of week,
when our meaningless pursuits
drown in beer and single malts.

Our shadows retire besides us
tired of walking on overdoses of caffeine
and monotony.

The tires rest while the toes
breathe.

Even in this restless summer,
you somehow remember the fire hearth,
within your heart when you were young.

Exit Doors closed with regrets.
The waves are not beautiful.
The fear of death tastes nothing like ice.

A miserable mixture of cheap gin and tonic, that is a straight gulp of unending silence would feel like.

You are in the stagnant waters now,
don't forget to swim.

My Conscience takes all my mistakes
   And hurls them in my face
So I relive each negative
   And demeaning disgrace
With clarity, severity,
   And overwhelming shame.
Day after day It does convey
   Just who I have to blame.
I find no peace, my mind wont cease,
   I’m constantly harassed;
My mind wallows within the throes
   Of dredging up my past
So for support I find comfort
   In Spirits so divine
And I believe in Their reprieve-
   As warmth and bliss combine.
These Single Malts drown all my faults
   I count them one by one
Watching each pass through a raised glass
   My Aspersorium-
But mine contains Heavenly Flames
   Which sear into my soul
I’ve come to Praise this intense blaze
   Which makes me lose control.
It does submerge the morbid urge
   To find a swift release
And be content with permanent
   And everlasting peace.
But my meekness is a weakness-
   A flaw which guarantees
A gilded hell where I can dwell
   Toasting bad memories.

Yvonne Denise Springer
Copyright ©2005 Yvonne Denise Springer

I feel so hollow.
Is it you who I can't follow?
Do you think I would dare try you too scare?
That would be fair.
Can you be my teddy bear?
I would always care.
If you saw me would you love my hair?
Will you pick out a dress to wear?
Women are nothing to fear.
We don't all drink beer.
You don't have to call us dear.
We don't wear that much gear.
We can speak & hear.
We like the sites from the pier.
Most of the us don't age much through the years
Sometimes we get sad and cry a few tears.
We can also clap and cheer.
We hates it in the rear.
So be careful to steer.
Hear this warning & you won't suffer in the morning.
I can make your life so boring.
You know it's just me you are adoring.
It's obvious from all the charm you're pouring.
I won't be *******.
At my place it's used for living that storing.
If I had been more kind you're who I could find.
I would pay you some mind.
I didn't know you.
I had the chance I blew.
It evaporated like the morning dew.
On a plane I never flew.
Sometimes I am so naive.
So unaware.
That's why you were shocked and stared.
I didn't know you were rich and famous.
How shameless.
It's my fault.
I don't have access to your vault.
I used to drink chocolate malts.
I hope I get another time.
To see you and pine.
I want to be someone you will remember.
This September.
You can treat me like a queen.
I need a magic bean.
To experience such an unrealistic dream.
One I've always tried to imagine.
To Freedom you're my key to open this lock.
To you I will flock.
Just open the door don't even knock.

Disbeliefs on dogmas
We ride south to pretend,
De-bliss your assumptions
On the ladders we ascend,
Climbing and huffing
We puff our lungs out,
Soldering the bonds
Through malts and stout.
Losing awareness
Baiting but not biting
Whimpers of warm wind
Shivers our feelings
Meeting on outskirts
Trusting guts and instincts
Wavering the solidarity
Of rights and critics
Hovering towards luck
On things we avoid
On things we never spoke of
Illegal and unspoken
Unclear and jokingly rotten
Candid thoughts
You ought to forget
Split second
When eyes are wet
Caressing my mind
As you are all set,
Future scoping
Towards my own death.

to have to little to say in so few
a words...
i'd hope for some Gabbie Hanna(h)
inspiration-al
   sic quotes...
               i don't want to write
oeuvre: -esque -esque stilettos of pain
grand reveals...
sejong the great:
who invented the Hangul is
my all time top three favourite
dead person...
  from among the denizens of
circa: hier...
                jetzt...
       i'd like to borrow from all
the waves of people: dead dead dead...
my envy is spastic & fantastic
because i'd scribble-bee
every, single, linguist...
first... of most importance...
to behave around food doubly-butchered
i.e. when beef is cooked it's
best to redeem it on the altar
and have it medium rare:
not chalk-brick annoyingly
translated into a glutton-fixation
of calories count etc.
i drink cheap ***** *****
not because i have a palette for
matured single malts but because:
if there is still every part of me
that can spew words out
while invigorated by some glug
of the ol' kosher of fire-blood...
and amber...
conversational overtones rife because
i clearly haven't had
much time to read a face
and nuance it and
whatever is left to pingpong / squash
an hour's worth: away
for... conversational pleasures
lubricated by wheat-towing bubbly
suffice...
interacting with stalemate...
one might call soul another calls sigma...
i.e. the totality that' animating
what's currency in transitioning
from living to dead
from living: space...
to dead: time...
resurgence of a detail of time
that's memory that feels raw feels
like **** when staged
to a collectivistic / "objective"
scrutiny -
derive the purely subjective
derive the purest objective...
call "red" a "puppet's tail"...
                my worship for letters
comes aligned with...
  some Cyrillic...
     no... not Tironian...
   and it only works around...

      ż (зъ)
                     vs. ż (зь)

ź (зъ)
                      vs. ź (зь)....

   which is a "mis-phoneme"
of sorts... given that... ж (ż)...
            hardly: nothing orthodox about: a...

       nuances in all things
Russian...
clearly beginning with some
Greek would have aided
the... ahem... conversation...

but if you were to post-modern
"revise" you could come
across something akin to...

ж (ż) = зъ
                     vs. зь

   i.e. is the hovering dot: hard... or soft...
is the synonym of acute... hard... or soft?
******* playground of sorts...

also, i.e. je suis...
        je zeus...
                     but i'm no zeus nor jesus...
this is my revenge against being told
French is impossible to learn...
by any stretch of the imagination -
added by the "sieving"...
i was not supposed to acquire
a brimming proficiency of French...
maybe German...

what letters to give free reign for
a Mongolian khan...
what letters and what auxiliary:
my eroded imagination "to begin with"...

for every "с":
          a съ = ш
or for every cь (ś)
at some "point": a caron š
will have to be arrived at...

  CHaser...
          ч vs. ц... Time...
                atoms of sounds blistering me
ripe with oozes of scraps and
fried bacon nibble-peel-offs...

how a bilingual might write
a polyglot scribble...
best kept summary...
four zunge prodding & prone...

how purely phonetic english
with all those graffiti shortcomings
could be arrived at
without question...
alt hier und dies...
             as exemplar primo...
no questions asked...
                  these feeble crusade...
the ancient continent of blues:
this funnel for Asia Prior...

i won't die defeated...
i'll be drinking with the mediocre skim-reading
zenith of lot
for the most part of the "hives"
activity...
      et cetera etc.

he's half as best remembered...
as he should be...
who? Sejong the Great...
and i'm not even Korean
to have to...

but it's not like i have a name
for the man who "invented" beer...
discovered... neither did Plato...
i have Tironian notations
like i have Aesop's parables...
i'm looking for a "holy trinity"
of people of influence...
Sejong is up there among my
favourites...

i want to stress the posit of St. Cyril too...
ⰃⰓⰅ
        ⰏⰀ (gre ma)
  (it has game...
   pronoun, gender neutral fanatics
beware...
   it can be much
of a hermaphrodite when
least intended)

          but it is still not the feat
performed by Sejong the Great...
and none will ever
be so...
            st. Cyril is a pale
shade concerning
the economics of the endeavour...

i know only one is right...
i.e. is it лъ or is it ль
for that little of a tau
"drunk" of a ł... or an anglo-sas
"double-u":
my eyes do see... a veering into...
it's not explained as to how or why...
aesthetically: a little...
a liTTle is more anti-explanatory
than...

sushi like clear-cut... syllable count...
if all my vowels: i had a(n) en group(e)
name for these "fiends"...
ma-to(w)-s'eh...
invigorating: fuming at
the collar...

it's not a stutter: it's not making
an acute... it's levitating toward
an apostrophe:
man'na... etc.

the scent of spring:
having arrived at the Faroe Isles...
i come at a fore of this all
to be believed mythology
and a piercing now...
       grønjord...
      groon
gro-en                 jord und
diese LA-ND...

behave... these little beasts of mediocre...
i have enough i don't have
enough...
i heave i clutter myself
with 15+ languages
and some share...
"claustrophobic"
the same letters...
       some don't...
        some never will...
        
yes... noting how: easily the Soviet
empire imploded...
and how much foreign intervention
it took to finally dissolve
the Yugoslav republics...

             it took only a cat's whisker
to take-apart the Soviet empire...
it would take a cat's meow
to take apart Yugoslavia...
who's to blame the Ottomans?!

I slow danced in the living room to the
memories that were even in the 60’s,
old.  

I would stack the spindle with several picks
from my library of “crooners”  Andy, Jerry,
Jack, so many memories.  Listening to the
music of the 50’s would sop my mind soggy..
Johnny Cash walked the line all over me.

I drank the music
of my youth like warm milk.  Time was
I danced to the sounds of American
Bandstand, everyday after school.

The race was on to get home to turn
on the television and watch as ****
Clark and Justine or one of the
Regulars would rate the music that
had just come on the airwaves.

“It's got a good beat and you can
dance to it.”

33 ⅓ records, 45 rpm’s would stack
up on our playroom record player.

My Dad put headphones on my
radio in an attempt to find peace
from the horrible, to my parents,
sounds of the likes of Elvis.

It was the 1950’s and all of
it was so new.  The era of the
Teenager was born.

We had our own money from
lawns and babysitting and could
buy the song and songbooks,
The clothes and cigarettes we
consumed like soda shop
malts and and nickel cokes.

You may not know of these things
you who are the children of the
80’s but we started it all.  

We strolled and twisted before
our freaked out parents.

Now I can still do the dances
But it’s more like a crooked
back and shuffled foot.

But I remember you,
Makeout parties and
Sloe gin in my coke.

I remember being kissed in the
backseat of your car.
so drunk with beer and music.

I remember the long play albums
That are just now coming back
into the stores.  Oh! How I wish
I had my Bob Dylan “Freewheelin’”
album.

I gave them all away when cd’s
took  the sound of the
needle as it ripped across the
grooves of my youth.

It was the best of times.

The worst of times
came later..
.

Caroline Shank
2.17.20