(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 9, 2016)

I’m writing this at the airport terminal halfway through a nightmare.
My head is full of three classes (two online), one Infinite Jest reading group, one novel and 30 poems.

First there was the business trip I shuffled all my days for.
Three weeks of being hijacked in paperwork and last minute delays.

The day before my trip had me begging a conference admin to let us register for the middle day which had sold out during said bureaucratic delays.

I scrambled to make it work: the packing, the physical therapy, mailing my mother’s 80th birthday gift.

I forgot to check in for my flight and over the last three days temporarily lost various items including my travel paperwork.  I have spilled multiple liquids on important pieces of paper.

I paid for a tea and there was no tea. I went uncaffeinated. My late-night flight was cancelled.  In the week ahead I will lose steam, lose faith, lose my way and throw up twice.

Such maneuverings drag on the world’s caul.

I woke up at 4 am this morning and feel like I should have a good crying jag. Bernie is not a democrat. Hillary is not a socialist. The arguing will not stop. You know forever it will not stop. I am and we are all way behind in everything and it piles up a cacophony of noise.  I am way to tired
and far too heart superstitious to write a single line
in any way tainted with risk at this moment.

Life is a classroom; full of seekers.

Some are mediocre. Some are over achievers.
Most strive to learn and attain wisdom.

You discipline yourself to do your best. This is your creed.

Nearing your apex, plight comes when you least expect.
Money flaunts its effects. Isolating you from what you need.
With writhing maneuverings decidedly, you choose.

Your resolve is formidable!

Hoping not to become so besieged,
You lose sight of what you dream of.
For dreams may or may not be realized.

only in the western warsaw bus station,
do i see this once,
this ever present feral nibble of
a cultivated world...
               notably with the ukranians,
but also the remnants of
                          mongol blood...
and i feel the least bit of being content...
but mostly...
                        aware...
                like i stumbled upon
a wasp crown not yet woken to take
to marking itself with
a million bites...
to pry open a single eye in
                          western culture...
                 then fat ukranian women in this
terminal used to say,
gluttonous:
                   polish-boys don't know
how to cry... or: polish men boys cry a lot...
sure...
                 and aukranian women:
really know how to eat,
when no civilised food is provided...
              how would islam even
fathom this godforsaken land?
                     leisuring tactics over
              the consumption of a beef stake?
and this is the central of warsaw,
which, gouges out the eyes of the people,
torusits, who try to forget the past
of these lands...
                       lucky i once had a russian
girlfriend...
      shame, would have kept her,
hadn't i known what matrimony rights
she made rues with
her pseudo-matrimonial-tie-itch...
           queen Slovakia...
                         *****-nerve-slip-up
when it came to Siberia...
                      thing just doesn't become:
calm without a cue...
          you allow the ukranian merchants
through...
    you just allow them
through...
             ****-washed english teen boys?
keep the argument,
put your hands on the top of your
head, say to them:
   *******, you don't that
i paid you more?
     and them watch them scuttle away
blessed
in trans-gender: the right ****-sure
would have ****** the ***** away...
           you gave me 10 quid,
i paid in 7 on top,
and you would have had a *******?
   and i was wrong?!
                 i'm "native"...
and even when i take to the passing
of reception of the town:
i... don't exactly feel like culminating
any experience past the hour...
                get all fidgety...
     sworn proverb....
                           cultish people....
oh god, i love the western
ivory tower intellectuals....
               can't get enough of them...
little retards running around
the confines of a colliseum?
   who could mind them....
                              but you come down
to the western bus terminal
of warsaw....
    and are not found feeding sparrows?
      just the odd sparrow tree,
the "usual" paupers...
                            i hope you see
me smile in the shadow of death
attempting to clutch to feeding a shadow...
       you know,
prior to noon...
                             big people in
little people places...
                          tectonic maneuverings
leading to:
                        the gulf of scoop and,
                                   hybrid devour.