Oh yes it is Sunday
that day I call it my fun day
when it comes to writing
mischief, mayhem
and most heinous misconduct

Watch a poet kicking dust
liken to a wild horse you want to tame
hey hay I will crush you
if you do not stroke my mane
mischief I am

Don't you dare touch me
do you know who I am
I am the child of chaos
the most wild child
the bringer of mayhem

And if you want, I could save you
if you bow down to me
for I am him of law
and so heinous
with every misconduct

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

If I could, I would.
And if I would, I should.
Always wondering why others don’t make change
Before looking at myself and seeing I’m in the changing range
I’m more then capable.
To set chained people free, to disable
All the evil and the hurt,
All the bleeding and the dirt,
I’d pick up every single child,
Bring them back outside the wild
The one painted as far away,
Out of our sights, out of our way.
The people we have labeled as numbers and statistics
As if they don’t have lives and homes, seeming unrealistic.
The little girl I watched with pain on the television.
She watched her family members die, crying, just envision.
Walking on the rubble, as I watch her stumble,
She will be a woman before she hits the age of eleven.
The traumatizing scenes before her; the opposite of heaven.
Is she another number, too, without a life of love?
All this peace we say we want is like a murdered dove.
If I could feed her faith again, and teach her life is good,
Fill her stomach’s starving screams with love she understood, I would.
Add the mother on the street, holding her baby tight.
To protect him from the bombs flying, braving off the fright.
They all have futures bright as the morning sun at noon.
But before dawn is what they see, darkness a filled balloon.
My mother never had to face having her kids in danger
So why would I keep quiet when it’s a stranger?
I look at them and see the same face in the mirror.
If I could tell her he’ll be safe and so will she the same,
Nothing’s going to hurt them, not even their names.
Hand her keys of relief,
Slaughter beef in the streets,
Fill her stomach’s starving screams with love she understood, I would.
And to my brother in Peru, working as a slave
Fields built just for drugs, he’s ordered to behave
Before they cut his hands off, for misconduct, it’s that grave.
Working for pennies, the money is funny.
Revolution’s underway, so lock and load in any range leaving the world unsteady.
If I could tell him he’ll be free, to just wait and see,
The government won’t be mechanical, racist psychologically.
He’ll leave the land of too much distortion, and give him the peace that’s his portion, I would.
How can the light so bright make a man so evil like the times of medieval?
Cold war’s over but we just keeps getting colder
Like we’re filing invisible morals into empty folders
Can you even feel the truth until it comes your way?
Like players pray for hope,
It’s severe what the hopeless will do for play.
Keep shooting rockets at generic topics,
Until the lyrics hold weight unlike 2-D objects.
My people are hungry, tired and sweaty.
Dreaming of revolution looking at the machete.
Innocent children drowning in screams
And we can’t hear them; we’re not a part of the same team.
Acting like the army didn’t bring hell here.
For most people, pile on the blood and the fear.
When driving on a road, construction means we steer
But I’ll get back on track; life isn’t just for me before I die in remorse.
Fight for my lands with words like bullets, loaded with force.
Whatever we take in risk is our matter of course.
Pay attention to change, I know that I will.
Too many dollars down here, I have more than my fill.
So change I will, because my will is to change.
Quit dreaming, its illusions they’re scheming.
But I said I’d bring peace, so ***** the policing.
I said, if I could I would.
And if I would, I should.
Well, I can, so I will.
Make me a martyr, this is not a fire drill.
Make me a martyr. I’d do it still.
Make me a martyr, I’ll prove to you the charter.
Just make me a martyr.

The weak inherit the Earth
The meek inherit their lead
Unaware of their life's worth
Until after they're dead

We are hopelessly trampled by a bullet stampede
Inflicted upon us for the wealthy man's greed
They sell us death as a commodity
While we can only mourn solemnly

They are arms dealers
We are harm feelers
They are life stealers
When we can't find healers
For the fatal wounds that end our lives so abruptly
And the man with the gun has no need to trust me
He has placed his faith in Ares
His humanity he failed to carry
He sold it urgently to feel secure
But then his thoughts became impure
For whatever reason he cast a death sentence
He felt injustice and wanted to get vengeance
But to the merchants of wrath
He is just math
Numbers on a graph
They must minimize
With blatant lies

Businessmen will try to create a need for their product
But engendering fear for profit seems like misconduct
Because as the bullets are raining
And the militants are training
Their money is stacking
While terrorists are attacking
Their nature seems callous
When they rely on our malice
They see us as a body count
They see us as simple trout
Swimming upstream to die
So they can eat us
Convincing us we'll fly
With minds of a fetus

The bullet burns as it punctures our civilization
It fuels our bitter spiteful incubation
We sit in the chamber
As they utilize our anger
The rich get richer
We don't see the picture
When gunshots scatter crowds
And the echoes scatter our thoughts
They want the volume to be loud
So we'll forget what we're taught
That our lives are the price of a gun and a bullet
Our paranoid lives become hard to live to the fullest

"I got them old bones man"*
There shakin’
And there rattlin’
These demons
I’m battlin’
Time
Is unraveled in
Sin, desperation, disbelief
Misconduct and mischief

Stretching
Feels like a prison camp
For old men
Where all those old men do
Is stretch
My body is a concern as my mind
wanders,
And ponders,
And potentially acts, on
large acts of
greatness
and I bear witness
to future bewilderment
that has already past
but lingers,
and fingers,
the ******* blame
on my ***.

I wanna live a life of positive affirmations
That’s what I feel is happenin’ you know what im’ sayin
And I keep playin
Games I love and things that I believe
Goals not yet not accomplished
And new one’s I wanna achieve

And a New year brings new things
Don’t break your dreams
Don’t undervalue and don’t leave
Places you don’t want to be
Don’t be a double negative
Take advantages of openings and opportunities
Don’t be a hypocrite and you will completely agree

All those good things
Your gonna do more of in a new year

No matter how niave, egocentric  or misadvised…

… in someone else’s eyes  

Have no fear
share your gifts
and create your gifts
don’t buy them,
and if you buy them
don’t buy them at walmart
or in malls or in big cities

Everything I ever wish to write
Is an anthem to change the world
And the revolution starts
As soon as I change
As soon as I arrange my priorities

**** the majority

Start a brother/sister sorority,
And I will put down this beer,
Quit a job that doesn’t matter
And put my energy
Into passions and emergencies
And change the world
By meditating
Saying some kind words about myself
With my eyes closed
While deeply breathing
And exploring galaxies with ease
The entire universe…

… I think I Am going back to university

sometimes I find
poems by accident:
I trip over them in the shower or at the bottom
of the stairs and I
apologize for my misconduct but
what the **** were they doing there Im not
supposed to be inspired
by yearsold graffiti or
words scratched into
bathroom stalls or
in the dulcet tones
of the woman on the other end of the
payphone that ate up my dollar fifty
stop ******* the sleep out
of my eyes scratching at
the scrabbleplaying part of my mind that
wants to steal other people’s words and
dress them with the playclothes of
my fiveyearold daughter
why the **** is it
that when I see strangers at the coffeeshop I can’t
just let them be strangers anymore

Venial she is in all different matters,
Where her verge is golden plastered to flatter thine human senses.
Veteran of suspenses,
Unnacustomed to kindness of words?
Believer in verbs?
Unavoidable to any common sensed man!!!
Knowledge giver beyond delinquents,
A true player of cants and cans,
Lover of strict demand!!!
Desirer to shake hands.
What unbalanced link canth I connect?
Is thy heart still wrecked for not having as thou needs?
From always having to bleed?
For you die another day!!!!

Put your fashions on display, for God's your only judge, you actress you!!!!
Substantial,
Your heart burnt sleeves are worn where the pain is scorn and qualm,
Where darkened sky's are the fringed and never blue,
Hybrid of god and man, for thou ways are noticed globally!!
Vocally you sound a hummingbird so high,
Harsh to thine self, best to everyone else,
You adventurer for troublesome ride!!!!!!

Tabby's cannot compete your wild child,
Where being stable is praised!!

Stadiums arth waiting your eyes to be impressed by you're plentified fruitful garden....

There are players in the penalty box that don't belong
Because the refs start tripping
When people skate on thin ice
But they're not fighting
Or slashing
The winning team keeps them down by charging them
Until some go to the box just for boarding
And that's only the icing

It's difficult to not misconduct yourself during this game
When the score is ran up
By a team with a wall for a goalie
And a rifle for a stick
They score when we hit the post
Yet we're penalized for trying to achieve our goals
Forcing us to defend
As they shoot at us
For being on a different team

We need to make a power play
And **** some penalties
Don't fear too many men on the ice
The gloves come off but it's futile
The refs never wore gloves to begin with
And apparently don't need them the way I do
I sit on the bench in defeat
Praying they have a ****** overtime
Because right now
In the time of regulation
We're stuck on ice
As the scoreboard hangs out of reach above us

trace patterns that never
cease to replicate.
I keep you going forever,
pop culture ******.
but my fickle mind is ever-changing.
talk of overdose, divorce,
ego, graffiti.
I paint all across your face
my own art.
I make you taste the love
and hate and love and
wait
tell me what to do to rebel.
do I cut myself and lap up the metal red
in carnal hunger?
frenzy me in music and
******* misconduct policies.
no, pop culture ******.
no, no, no, no, no!
help me out, man
plead again!
pick me up, man
dyfunctional family ain't near enough
petrol to sustain this fire or keep a smile
and I got no match to strike in the first place.

now my
destination unknown
the
first stop suicide
the priest asks me to produce my rosary.
I can't.
he says,
"fame or martyrdom then? we don't have enough to
give you both, kid."
I chose ambiguity as the way to go,
no street
no job
skipped the name.
pop culture ****** wants out of the puzzle and
into the game.
pop culture ****** wants out of the computer and
into the machine.
we tell them life is pretty.
abattoir for slaughterhouse so
no one asks questions.

lets imagine an illusion for a time being where illustration of my hidden blackened thoughts can be canvassed without any distortion of fear,trapping and misjudged(or rightly judged).i read somewhere that we all are bad filthy cynical people if we raise the un-attended curtain in dark hole, and that cynical one can even take life for pleasure.
how pain can be associated with pleasure?? never i knew that before until one day i took this beast out of me and it made me surprised from the deligince of its curiosity and rageness of emotions....
sometimes ******* of filthy mind is all what u need.. "who is ur ******??" did u ever ask this urself?? did u ever tried to get drunk without having whiskey? did u ever dreamt of leaping deep in ocean of ur soul without leaping ur faith?

so many misconduct around us, but if one tries to really express himself, that misconduct is considered biggest of all sins. i sinned once and for all, that sin completed me.
it is hard to embrace ur alienist mind, and the act that is considered misconduct, but its not impossible to actually explore the whole of urself until u be able to say proudly "I KNOW ME"  and that is actually the time where "U DNT KNOW URSELF EXACTLY"

I see your broad shoulders around every corner
Your ghost follows me through the corridors

The campus walls are closing in
Everyone knows everything

Lost in thought during each lecture
Pushing away images of her

I wanted the full story
I thought that you adored me

Yet all I see are marks on your skin
Marks that I did not give

My hair was still on the pillow
My clothes were still on the floor

Then you had her in the same bed
And repeated the words you said

These grounds are killing me slowly
Your friends are calling me unholy

But you're the liar and the cheat
You're the one lost in a web of white sheets

First, let’s talk about some of the lies
Uttered by the nefarious and unwise
Of a peculiar type of mindless insanity
Created and backed by the inanity
Of the Madison Avenue careerists
And hordes of conspiracy theorists
Who have taken the issue of a ****
And buried it in misconduct and greed.

It is important not to fall for the joke
That it is quite all right to smoke
Because smoking anything you pass
A dose of something called cyanic gas
Into your lungs, and perhaps minimal,
It’s the gas they use to execute criminals.
But, other uses for this homegrown stuff
Can help people whose lives are tough.

But the whole shooting match is a dodge
Started out by rich men in their fancy lodge
Fueled by ignorance and false piety
Written into law by a strangers to sobriety
That somehow had no problem with drinking
But thought being ****** was stinking thinking.
So they created movies and legends galore.
But repression is all the lies were ever for.

(There’s an old joke about a boss’s decree
About employees drinking ***** daily.
He issued the rule on the smell-free *****
That was drunk at lunch time by his crews,
Because he didn’t want customers hazy
Thinking his employees were going crazy.
He preferred they know they were inebriated
Rather than a staff full of the grossly pixilated.)

It was that kind of thinking that created
A fervor that up until today has not abated,
That named an easily grown garden plant
Into some kind of major anti-***** rant,
While opiates are endorsed by the AMA.
And hundreds of versions are here today
To cure the same ailments as cannabis
Without the side effects that are a nemesis.

Medical science is finally ignoring
A sacred cow that needed goring;
Suggesting to the country as a whole
That this simple plant can play a role
In helping those who need relief
And are being criminalized by a belief
That, accompanied with such sadness,
Was the true definition of ****** madness.

Judge me in that final moment
I deserve my childish fate
Stick in pins and I won't feel it,
Purgatory won't have to wait.
I've been there all the time we've talked,
I called you from its darkest bank.
You didn't know my disposition,
Drowning, further still I sank.
It's okay to doubt my heart —
A piteous thing with little nerve.
It blisters in the fire, it sickens,
Your scorn is all that I deserve.
So take care and walk away,
I hope good fortune finds you soon.
Leave me with my tilted mind,
Howling underneath the moon.

Lord Henry Dickenbottem
Lived among his peers
A mind of deepest arrogance
Concealed between his ears
He spent his nights in gross misconduct
Lounging in his secret quarters
Mistress, maid and washerwoman
Ousted mothers, secret daughters
Hiding sordid love affairs
His endless line of ******* heirs
***** Henry Dickenbottem
Stalked above the stairs

Lady Mary Dickenbottem
Did her wifely duty
The slenderest of all her kin
Considered quite the beauty
Though in the dusk the candle burned
Alone, she stitched a pallid face
And in the dark she sought its words
To gain her shallow masters grace
Guiding will and fooling eyes
Beseeching of the dead to rise
Demon Mary Dickenbottem
She the pure despise

Master Neville Dickenbottem
Best of all his class
Beaten all the school boys
And bedded every lass
Allies of the strongest kind
And making merry of the weak
The liberties were his to take
And never one he wouldn’t seek
His gaze surveyed that which he ruled
All logical and water cooled
Nasty Neville Dickenbottem
Devil-fire fuelled

Young Jemmima Dickenbottem
Innocent and slight
Playing on the borderline
And darting out of sight
Only ever at her ease
When no one else was close about
And etched upon her baby face
The guilty shadow of a doubt
Always blamed if something broke
And speaking just above a croak
Shy Jemmima Dickenbottem
Tangible as smoke

Old Mother Dickenbottem
Lounging in her chair
Lavender and nicotine
Are fighting for her hair
Beware, at night she ventures forth
So best keep safe your tiny tots
She’ll creep up to the windowpane
And ****** them, sleeping, from their cots
Humming in discordant tones
Nimble fingers, cold as stones
Hungry Mother Dickenbottem
Gnawing on the bones

Dear Major Dickenbottem
Five years in the ground
Hoarded every ha’penny
But frittered every pound
Long he served his king and queen
A gentlemanly thing to do
He left the port with many men
And brought back homeward very few
He died away in foreign lands
Of syphilis and swollen glands
Dead Major Dickenbottem
Killed by wandering hands

Fantasy dream; caught in the between of reality
caught in these nets of generation’s imagination.
Desiring self *** appeal,—only the ones who’ve got
the guns for creation. Violence runs the streets;
a marathon of the fatherless kids brought into the world.
Tell them not to be bent out of shape if you dare, but
any blow of the wind causes them to fold.

Tender kisses of mama; spoiled a child:
Rotten as blackened teeth holes of the sweetest treats,
a long while since a tame domesticated the wild.
This child! Has only witnessed domestic violence all
of their life. Stepped on stepfather; beating the daylights
out of them every night.

Seeking approval; where the approved are only the kids
who break the rules. “There goes the youth,“
they’d often say. Unknowingly the same band of troubled
young mother’s go on their knees each night to pray.

But you’ll just bat an eye away from them;
ignore a present problem, still looking to a future’s gain.
Or take advantage of a youngster, then claim
their misconduct being only by an upbringing
as to blame. Where are the men?

To show a son how to love and respect,
a daughter a hand of gentle protection,
Teaching lessons of wisdom never to forget,
not of their words becoming a weapon.
To not settle for less when there’s always a best,
don’t let the shortest sad times become a deep long depression.

In the end what will our future be;
if we’re not being the future we’ll leave for
our young to follow,
Don’t glance at it with wallow,
build yourself strong,—build that strong
tomorrow.

Michael Morton is his name
He was wrongfully convicted
For the ****** of his wife
25 years in prison, he did
You don’t want to imagine that life
An innocent man
In a horrible land
Christ, it’s so terrible

DNA rescued Michael
And fine lawyers who believed in his innocence

Turns out the prosecutor, Anderson, was corrupt
For sure
He withheld material evidence that would have eliminated
Our hero — for he is one — as the perpetrator
That’s the real crime

There is more
Anderson was so out of line that it cost him his job as a judge
And he lost his law license
And he went to jail
For ten days
First time in American history a prosecutor went to jail for misconduct

There is more
Michael found the Lord in prison
Which greatly helped him so
On his release he found a church
Invited to speak about his experience
He told those assembled if they wanted to know what prison was like
They had to ask him out for coffee
So Cynthia did
It went well
They talked and talked
There were many dates
They are now married

Michael reconciled with his son, Eric
Who was three when his mother was killed
And thereafter wrongly believed it had been by Michael’s hand

The real murderer was convicted and went to prison

They passed a law in Texas to ensure this travesty would not happen to another
It’s named the Michael Morton Law

They are going to make a movie about these facts

Count your blessings

The foregoing is a true story

But what do you know about love,
when you can’t show trust—but you know about lust.
Always thinking about how to fu—nction on your luck.
And that’s going to be a quick bust; infatuations are a rush.
We’d swear we don’t cuss, as you’re drinking coffee for
a buzz—I'm just drinking to keep up.

You say you love me, but I know you also love other girls,
so yeah right, yeah right! Just a shareholder in your life.

You love to talk but we don’t speak, you take life at ease,
but disturb my peace. Feels like you cut my wrists; there’s
no love for me to reach. But I still got a lot to give in a week,
till it leaves me feeling weak.

A heart made of stone, in the echo tone that you can’t
be alone. That’s a quarry of your love, when we quarrel
outside. So it’s hard to swallow pride, when we’re prideful
on both sides. In the shapes of drawing hearts, we’ve always
crossed a line. The outline is this relationship is not fine.
In the tune with a misconduct’s  due. And I wish I could say
I’ve never known, but I always knew. So the wrongs you
do now, are nothing new.

But why the heck did I choose
YOU!?

Little did I know, that one day,
Oh you, dark stranger would whisk me away,
Away from a world, I once took for granted.
Depriving me of the things that I valued,
Most dearly..Most devoutly...

O, dark stranger!
Why, O why...
Did you inevitably have to make me appreciate,
The fact that life is precious and far too short,
And that I could die tomorrow..?

Just what satisfaction do you get,
In making me cherish,
Every minute that He gives us?
In bereaving me of,
The gift of laughter..that is priceless?

Before you attacked me in the shadows,
I had not a clue that
This life was a treasure chest,
Rich in diamonds and gemstones of all sorts,
Or perhaps that it will be snuffed out and finished.

Unbeknownst to me,
Precisely how vulnerable and elusive,
For the misconduct of a handful of cells,
Could change my life so profoundly,
That happiness plays like a sad note.

Bounded to my bed,
Never shall I forget how you pinned me down.
Shut off in the small world of my own,
Unable to help, to meet or to work with
Break out, be of importance, perform marvels for God almighty.

You ponder how people can rejuvenate,
Or gather close to you.
Sympathy, inspiration, foodstuffs together with prayer,
Refreshing menu from the small yard,
Encompassed by care and attention.

What potency lay within me,
Reserve of power
Just been released just as much as I require,
To acquire in the battle,
Against you, dark stranger.

You were never sure if it was the light in the room
but you told me;
You did not even need to squint to see a 12 year old boy.
And I could breathe then.
And only then.
At 22.

I read how you were struck off
for professional misconduct.
But it was just the right amount of intimacy
I needed to feel close.
I had no one.

You took my payment one month in advance.
I arrived early for every session
because I had nothing else to do.
Loitering on the doorstep.
You recorded our sessions, making tentative notes,
never at the expense of eye contact.
Lightly commenting how my feet dangled from the arm chair.
Unlikely I would grow much more-
you left your tone open for my interpretation,
like my growing, or not growing,
was neither here nor there.

Lost out in the summer rain
Lost in a haze of summer gazes
All the fences razed to the ground
Inescapable sounds
Of oh isn't he smart
He will go places
Yeah but not your places
Places full of plastic faces
Hiding behind glass window display cases
Going to the moon
The scent of mediocre doom
Filling the room
Like whiskey *****
Fined for misconduct
Of a conduit into a cliche artist
Talking like tongues twisted off of
Mouth numbing shots of grey goose and jäger
Talking like slick Rick spitters
Who don't long for quick fillers
Of life experiences poured in a pitcher
And I'm talking *******
Pbr bellied fool ****
But rest assured
My inhibitions cured
I talk true ****

Hoping to pick up right before it went bad
You stick around like a hanging chad
But either way that I decide
I come out being the bad guy
Holding grudges is a petty thing
But constant let down also stings
I want to trust you and let you in
But we always seem to start the cycle again
I forgive and you forget
But slowly my days turn to regret
Because I know I was not the one that was wrong
I just got tired of being so **** strong
Old problems begin to resurface
And you seem like you could really care less
Because they are in the past
And you see no reason for my feelings of animosity to last
But they do
How I feel I want transferred to you
Because you’ve hurt me deep
And dug yourself into a hole with walls so steep
That thinking about it fills me with doubt
Because I don’t know if you can ever get out
And I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one to kneel
So you can use me and guilt me with your ******* spiel
So you better straighten the **** up
Because this is the last time I'm dealing with your misconduct

you whispered "i want you" in my ears
i giggled
"you dont need to pull off rom-com lines, i do like you"
i knew i am the one who is going to crumble
as you traced my inner thigh with your lips
regardless of the stretch marks i have
slowly closing in my heart
pleasing me.
proceeding on teaching me how to please you.
i couldn't hold myself together because
after.
you kissed the top of my head
cheeks, then lips.
then you held me in your arms
legs tangled under the sheets
your hands playing with my fingers
tenderly
later murmuring goodnight as you stroked my back.
i couldn't remember how many goodnight kisses we exchanged
we fell asleep with my face against your shoulder as i kissed your neck and breathed deliberately on it when you said it tickled.

always had to drive home alone half awake
before your mother wakes up
i will not forget the hostility of your brother
as he eyed me walking in your house to your room.
he was the one who saved us from cops
charging us misconduct by making out in your backseat.
yes my dear.
i am trouble.
maybe you decided that it was too much.
you wanted a sweet, little thing who would not give you attitude and would comply with little nice dates over coffee.
instead of me.
conceited.
who knew her worth and wouldn't settle.
and loves to drink and date multiple guys at once.
i guess i am a *****.
i was willing to be different for you.

you loved me scratching your back.
batman
music
the best resolution on pixar films
and also cuddling.
but
i guess i will never understand why
you never loved me.

i wasn't enough. maybe.

cooking sauce earlier... bane's theme, thematic of con carne erotica therapeutic digression... the ambivalent chuckling worth if not simply wanton of stereotype, conversely a stenograph, and a dynamism of acquiring an autograph; or how to undermine poetic rhyming: akin to tenacious d's one note song paraphrase divisive of the futility engaging in such a genetic gross-misconduct and apprehensive on up-keeping a cultural initiative brought forth and necessarily worth a replica; in true or a truant sense of Heidegger, an altruism of conjunction, the birds procrastinating or peacocking, whether the scenario if worthy of loathsome to be minded... it's nonetheless there... it's how language is used that concerns us... not what we do with language, but how we use it... the how is more important than the why... thankfully the reality / ontology of language is how rather than why; why is already answered with us being and continuing to be here, it's how we are that we are... persistent in being claimants of a continuum, whether akin to a Schubert or in continuum or in infinituum... ah that natural convenience of the acquisition of status... jargon and char... a heated discussion and nothing but the marring of furthered augmentation toward one's own clarification of ponce. me and my scabby version of events, inflammatory bulging where Oliver Twist suggest: please sir, may i puke on this **** some more?!

sooner be than think,
       and no sooner
                    be more than θink,
to θink
               is as much a piggish
oink when love is concerned,
meaning that φilosoφy
  begets relegation
                 when naturally
nailing the coffin shut in Cymru
is what was waited upon;
        orn the higher tier of Manhattan -
there too the earthenware -
or the calypso fury against the panzer....
the new Iraq against my flavoured jive,
oh i'll dance the culinary stinking socks bit....
like i'd dance the Caleigh in Glasgow
to pride the Irish....
                    Pakistan stems from
a dream: counter Saudi Arabia, or dune,
arable cunning-deform of
                                         cuneiform.
spider-jets.
                                      whe­n was Arabia
the Sheikh Fortune to chuckerfore a: wise said so.
you'd be sooner dead that dealing
the prescribed antics -
                        and death akin to bane's theme:
thespians' ergo medium: a life of puritans,
a life of pure fable.
                 i am still here...
     waiting,
demanding,waiting,
                Rizzo Papa,
Ritz Pulpa Johannus.
                                            thespians' ergo medium:
when thinking doesn't translate into being,
                                it's there,
interim...
                             a tragico-comedic allowance
to shelter a nearing extinguishing of oaf narration....
and a depth thus scolded,
                a depth thus summarised,
a depth with a fatigued enterprise -
                               a churning bechanced by coup after coup:
lazily forgiving a Lazarus undertaking....
hence crescendo Chile...     ore of the smartly dressed
Husky dressed men... alternatively stated: the men
in the quiet describable attire.
                  take a dog for a walk, take the tongue
into a waggling ha ha heap's worth of a dictionary;
    wo fish vocalised their citric concerns
when the loaves in fraction levelling five was brought
for questioning.... or the ***** socks....
                              alternatively dressed *lumberjacks
in hankies and chequers alias chess.
says as much as munchy is talked about
in Tuscany - where munchy is referred to
                    as fibre, or the dietary worth of inedible.

To me football is
twenty-two adults madly running after a ball,
One referee running after them to make sure they do not fight,
And two linesmen who make sure they stay inside the line.
In their haste to put the ball inside the goal post the referee gives them a yellow card for misconduct or a red card  to send him off the field.
To top it all thousands of people pay a fee to come and watch them run crazily after the ball.
The highlight of game is a goal.
Whoever scores is a hero