Naalala mo pa ba, noong magbukas ang Nagi?
Pagkahaba pa ng pila, umabot ng Yabu dati.
Kahit pa nga yata Yabu, ay kayhaba din ng pila
Araw-araw laging ganyan, kaya dapat maaga ka.

Sa katagalan pagdaka ay nagkaupuan na nga
Ang babae ay sisigaw, at susundan ng iba pa
Bigay todo ang pagbigkas, tila baga walang bukas
Rinig mo ang tinig nila kung ikaw ay nasa labas.

Sunud-sunod na araw pa, na kami ay nasa Nagi
Itanong mo pa kay amo, siya po ang aming saksi.
Kung paanong alas-onse'y, naghihintay na ng taxi
para sa pila'y mauna, at nang makakain kami.

Ilang buwan din siguro ang sa mundo ay dumaan
na ang pagdalaw sa Nagi ay biglang naging madalang
Na mula sa bawat araw, ito'y naging linggo-linggo
Kalaunan pa ay naging Enero, Pebrero, Marso.

Lumipas ang mga taon, at ngayo ay Pebrero na.
Ngayon na lang uli kami doon sa Nagi nagpunta.
Ang dating mahabang pila, ngayon ay tila wala na
Alas-dose na noon, tanghali na po partida.

Noong pumasok na kami'y sumisigaw pa rin sila
ngunit dinig mo sa boses na ang sigla ay wala na.
Kahit yung pitsel ng house tea na laging inihahanda
Ngayon baso-baso na lang, tapos manghihingi ka pa.

"Nakakain na po kami, puwede bang bukas na lang?"
"Mayroon na n'yan sa Mega, pati na sa Katipunan"
"Huwag ka nang magmadali, hindi na dapat agahan"
"Kahit anong araw pwede, kasi nandyan lang naman 'yan".

Tayo'y magaling lamang ba, kapag bago at simula
kapag bago sa paningin, kapag bago sa panlasa?
Na 'pag nilamon ng oras o kinasanayan mo na
ay tila pinagsawaan at pinagwalang bahala.

Kailan kaya darating, ang sa aki'y tinadhana
na sa aking pagtangkilik, hindi ako magsasawa?
Na kapag nakita ako'y ramdam ko ang galak niya
at ang puso ko'y lulukso marinig lang ang ngalan n'ya.

Malamang ay naglalaro ngayon sa iyong isipan
"Tungkol pa rin ba sa Nagi, ating pinag-uusapan?"
Huwag mo na itong isipin, sagutin mo na lang ako
may pila pa kaya ngayon, sa bagong tayong Ippudo?

In my box, with rictus grin
they could not straighten with a pin~
I lay before my friends and folks
and seemed to smile at silent jokes~

and some did wonder, what was planned
but little could they understand
how I looked on from up above
and hovered over those I love~

it all went off without a hitch
the biker said I was a *****
and with that word, the motley crew,
they blocked the doors so none passed through~

They dimmed the lights, to set the mood
and turned the music down to 'brood'
and every guest then took a seat
and fanned the sweat of stinky feet.

The biker wiped his eyes, and said,
'It's very hard to see her dead,
but it should come as no surprise,
that Nagi, with her smiling eyes,

made this request of all her friends,
and here's the list, and there's some pens.
She'd like you all to listen, while
her written works are read 'in style'.

And if one title strikes a note
of relevance, is what she wrote,
then jot it down and pass it to
the one beside you in the pew.

and at the end of every row
stood someone with a basket though
it wasn't clear where this would go
my friends and family had to know

the basket filled to overflowing
you read the one you picked, not knowing
I was watching from on high
and busting out, my old laugh-cry

'Twas several hours that had passed
and people dying to be gassed
Could this one be the very last?
the final poem that Nagi cast?

The friends and folk of my rich past
applauded, it was done at last!
and headed for the open air,
and as they reached the doorway there~

a book was handed to each guest
My dying wish, you'd all be blessed,
and finally you would have, to own,
a coffee table book, a tome

And every poem I ever wrote
contained within the pages, note
the title, it was all my own
'The Forced Readings of
Nagi Ramone.'

I am wanting to thank some very incredible people.
I also am hoping others will , also.
With that in mind I would like to list
ten poets here I feel people need to read.
My list consists of poets who are always active and generous ,
have good humor and sense.
I would like others to add their ten to my list.
And hopefully everyone eventually gets a shout out.
In the comments list ten poets you admire and would like to see
others appreciate. I will add  them to this list.
If you would like to list more feel free , the more the merrier, and the more
poets get a shout out and their name shared. I will add as many as you can type!
After all , this is goodwill and spirit and sharing and I feel good .


Vicki
Mark Cleavenger
Terry Collett
Ja
Sally Bayan
Emily Burns
Jules Winerose
Lady RF
Sukanya Sinha Roy
Valsa George
(Bill Hughes contributed the following)
Mary Winslow
Randolph L. Wilson
Elizabeth J
Bex
Ezra Warhol
my dearest reno
Wordvango
Jeff Stier
taia iverson
Dave Hewitt
Kristy Renae Dalton
(added by Eric W)
SPT
Doug Potter
Lola Park
SoulSurvivor
Inevitably Raised By Ducks
(added by Vicki)
Shawna Michele
Spygrandson
r
Woody
Pradip Chattopadhyay
SJR 1000
the seatbelt effect
Sonja Benskin Mesher
Don't Call Me Johnny
nivek
WL Winter
K Mae
Liz Balize
patty m
Pamela Rae
Sean Tierney
William Poppen
Michael Kagan
Biche
Irinia
Mikeccc
Paul Gaffney
Karina Norris Viers
Dawn
Brother Jimmy
Anthony
Phil Roberts
David Ehrgott
Jason Clarke
Angstrom
Jamadhi Verse
born
Weeping Willow
Terry Jordan
Traveler
Tonya Maria
CA Guilfoyle
elizabeth j
Grumpy Thumb
David Patrick O'C
f
(added by Sukanya Sinha Roy)
Eli N
Poetryjournal
Traveller
The Dead Sea
Zero
Nishu Mathur
James Michael Hail
Nagi
Angstorm
(Added by Sjr 1000)
Wardha
nagi
PoetryJournal
My Dystopia
Life's Jump
Bala
Nat Lipstad
Melissa
Ded Poet
Denel
Bex
Luiz Machado
(added by Jamadhi Verse)
Lora Lee
Wild is the Wind
Lalin
Akira Chen
R k
Onoma
Mydystopia
Stephanie
Stephan
Pradip :)
Karishna
(added by elizabeth j)
NB.
Lonely Soldier
Lily Mae
Thomas P Owens Sr
Sir WCA
Midnight Rain
Melissa S.
( added by Lori Jones McCaffery?
James
Kim Johanna Baker
Demonatachick
Elizabeth J
Yasaman Johari
Jean Lin
Lawrence Hall
Landon Miller
Chris Neilson
Pagan Paul
Sun Princess
Elizabeth Squires
Keith Wilson

For Mom:
(b. 1925; d.2016)*

She held on to the sunlight
longer than anyone thought.
Palms swayed as she breathed
in all her strength,
all her power
until it all calmed
peacefully,
serenely.
Night cooled
as barren
descends, now
a dark that sings no stars
or sweet songs of life.
Her last breath
carried by crows
brushed across my cheek quietly
as I did not get to her in time.

As my sorrow fingered with my heart,
I saw the hungry abyss descend with her smile,
Still I heard in her whisper,
“do not mourn for me,
like our ancestors before,
I have found the balance
in natural tones;
in the music of stars
and in the songs playing
on Owl’s wings.
Do not mourn for me, my loves
I am alive still in the flow of worlds.”

There is a weight
taller than Denali;
heavier than Big Mountain;
I carry it with me
in my back pack
next to my jeans and dreams
as I follow her tracks,
smiling with her life.

Aztec Warrior/redzone  12.29.16

For all of you who "liked" and or commented on this poem I thank you from the bottom of my heart... your words are a comfort to me and my dad (I showed him the comments)... you have touched us deeply... I hope all of you the best...

And Nagi, you are wonderful in your kindness and a special thanks for shinning a "light" on this poem....

Curt

it really is an actual word, it's translatable as something
between nudist, and a man walking with his
torso showing...
         there's a lot of idiosyncrasy involved -
             etymology serves thus:
                  nagi - which has a male pronoun
differentiation -
                           the female counterpart?
                                            naga.
­                 Nagasaki?
                                        toot p'ah... a french
variation into making a frown: hą hą hą.....
                                                         ­    że sł'i!
so... the word of vector imbeciles...
                                  nygus....
   there's real geopolitik involved....
            real places, real people... isolated people...
which probably experienced the wrath of
the wehrmacht and the soviets....
              real people, real places...
     hence the idiosyncrasy....
                             linguistics aside,
much more fun than talking about chimps,
        in all earnest honesty...
                 chimps? chimps?!
                               only fools and broken branches?
by now i'm starting to think:
                   (i'm drunk, so)     :
                           what the **** are you on about?!
      i sense no use of l.s.d. - so... what the ****?!
i don't get them, those bewildered westerners...
     they didn't see the second coming in 1945
             with the unearthing of the nag hammadi library?
o right... the word in question: nygus...
       nygus -
                        **** knows where that came from...
probably siberia, but even that is uncertain...
             it could actually mean a half clad man...
a man exposing his torso....
                               nygus.... nagi...
                                                   (male)....
                                   naga
                                       (female)...
it's actually quiet fun watching western civilisation rot
in the linguistic hell-hole it's at...
                            i.e. how pronouns don't translate
or simply aren't incorporated into other
                                   grammatical categorisations...
so... as a pole, if i had to resurrect myself,
would i place the genesis at auschwitz...
                                         or at marienburg?
never mind the question, the word nygus still bothers
me... it's specific to a geopolitical locality,
             it is locality, per se....
                                     it has no basic meaning in
the location i now occupy...
                              and it has no direct confrontation
with being applied for a desirable purpose...
      what i'm seeing in discussion these days
is akin to the seperation of church from state...
     but on a more abstract canvas:
      subject from object... which really is covert
                                                          ­        for attaché:
and that's what it will always be, should the feat be
given a historical allowance of a century's worth of dispute.
it was clear in the first place:
       church and state...
                                       |
                                    the vatican as a church-state;
    but those are "real" bodies, in that they are
diplomatic, and therefore bureaucratic...
        this next divorce? i.e. the subject from the object?
my intestines have no knowledge of my brain,
and my brain has no knowledge of my pancreas...
               i do think the state segregating itself from
the church was a decent checkmate....
        but enforcing this objective positivism...
  i.e. ****** subjectivity?
                                  the divorce is going to be as violent
as that in the historical framework of
the seperation of church from state;
     although "less" violent,
                    in that: more suicidal among the young.

the point is: i don't want to write in the style of j. joyce's finnegans wake; but i am, and i feel terrible for doing it... so... m'eh?

you listen to these talks, like you might watch
a football match...
   the art of rhetoric - ars rhetoric(æ):
that isolation of the grapheme stresses the point
that homosexuals are better at talking
than men who consecrate themselves
on the bias that will probably lead to a widow.
they're better at it, and there's no argument
for it: it's a bit like passing the olympic torch
from ****-to-****-to-mouth-to-tongue-to-head-to-ego;
i'll come to the modern notation of that unit
in a minute...
  but oh so rare, walking from the supermarket
and finding a book propped on a... thing?
it's situated in essex, england, and in these parts
you can have this "garden" in-front of
your house, and there's this "hadrian's" wall
isolating this patch of green:
   that's why i said thing: because it's not a fence
in the traditional sense...
    so you're walking back from the supermarket
with a bottle of becks beer and a litre of *****
and mixer in your rucksack (5pence duty stamp
on using plastic bags, remember that)
  and you see a book propped on "hadrian's" wall
(because it is just that: a joke),
well not in this instance, this is a case of a semi-detached
outer-suburban household... and there's
  this book propped on a "fence"... and it's dark...
am i going to nick it / "steal" it?
last time i checked, i didn't believe in *hegel,
last time i checked: if i'm in a public place, i.e. a road,
i'm going to use the advantage of someone's mistake
(or intention?) and take possession of the thing;
a bit like... you find a 20quid banknote in a puddle...
are you going to wave it about and shout:
who does it belong to?     would you?
         well... hegel can go **** himself and his
philosophy of right... i can't believe that mere lecture
notes inspired communism, i simply can't believe it,
i mean: it's astouding that it ever occured,
but still... it's so rare to find books on the streets...
i've heard plenty about disowned dogs and that dog
shelter in Battersea... i ought to know, i was bound
to paving slabs on one of their roof extensions...
my grandfather told me this story about how he was
walking through a forest with my uncle (his son)
and found a hanged dog... someone thought it real
funny to tie the noose so the dog was tiptoeing
toward death while suffocating on the noose...
i've had worse trauma... like when walking my doberman
and he bit into **** and what was revealed was
a nest of parasites, at best described: wriggling...
clearly you can build-up a natural aversion to this world,
which is by no surprise the original source of
the concept of god... you start from there, and work
your way down.
    now i'm seriously digressing, ars rhetoric(æ)...
like ha ha crow's ca ca? or is that ka ka ka?
ku klux clan... mortal kombat... whatever.
                just about as much sense when listening
to classic.fm and hearing an "oohbow" concerto
in some minor or major key (i don't remember which
one it was)... but like a blind-man fiddling
with an elephant (the modern day version of
the male grææ... as seen in homer, as seen in macbeth...
but those were 3... i'm talking 5)...
  i also thought about fiddling with the "orthography"
(that term usually denotes the aesthetic practice
of adding diacritical marks, which english doesn't:
otherwise known as the **** of ιota)...
   i could see a clarinet perfectly, clear distinctions (i mean);
but an oh-bow?                    oboe?
    how can these two variations not yield the same
pronunciation if not via the tetragrammaton?
            clarinet in jazz     horns in ska-punk,
ladies to the left, gents to the right...
                     clearly my idea of **** schizoi creates
more competent understandings of a human,
who is insapiens...
                   ****, talk about libido, but to this extent?
hmm... so the ιota was ***** by a diacritical mark
that's practically disjoined from an umlaut...
   see the arithmetic ι i ï? otherwise known as the ee
in: i need to take a ****... or the boo-boo word of ***.
   the same thought approached me when
i contemplated the acute version of N (en) - ń,
variations include: close approximates of knee,
then vary through to: me me me expressed in a nagging
way...
                   oh right... words that have this acute:
     day... dzień...
then they'll call it cultural appropriation, and i'll
call it: cultural integration.
                  but ń did something, it revealed the **** of
ιota...  it's this enforced diacritical mark on the greek
letter (and j) that doesn't exist on other letters
as it sometimes should...
       but it all depends on the following rule

                            ae  i  ou
                     ­             x

x is treated as a consonant for it's own sake, i could have
inserted some other consonant, but the stress
is how and when you apply diacritical marks,
given the stated example of the diacritical mark hovering
over n.
               and really? the **** of ιota is involved, which
probably invoked the complexity of the anglo sprechen
to such an extent that it spread for far and wide...
    why would i even put a diacritical dot over s?
what would that represent, for ****'s sake?
                                                           ­               i!
in polish you'd say that as         e! oddly or not so
oddly enough.
           but there is a collision happening
   given the predestination concept of i (what culture
would appropriate that, if not the most hostile /
successive one?) -
                 the acute diacritical mark on the n
disappears depending where the (enforced half umlaut of)
i is placed...
     for example in the word        no....     nie...
that dot above the iota just ate the acute over the n...
    then back to the word for day           dzień....
it's at the back, so the aesthetic twists into an σς scenario...
(sigma sigma)...
                  nudzi (he bores people)...
        nagi (he's naked)...
                            i could really do with a macron on that a,
who knows, maybe language encoding really is
worth symphony complexity: or is that why i'm
jealous of music composers?
               i'm just trying to look for a word
that encompasses my concept of ń....
     a real kinder sprechen example as simple as 1 + 1 = 2,
evidently i will not find it and only come up with
something as "simple" as 1 + 1 = 3.
on one side the sensual beast,
on the other a reasoning ***** -
as you age the less you sense, but at the same time
the more you reason; in my case it happened exponentially
thanks to Chernobyll (it did begin with one of
the scandinavian countries being able to record
radiation... in poland you had a park, in a small town...
and half the trees were in summer and half
were in autumn):
   because if you **** things up on an atomic scale
you're not going to exactly see a tornado, in a specified
location for adrenaline junkies to go and film it!
then there was this idea that i had
               about certain layers of language,
   braille, sign-language, covert talk and open talk,
basically boiling down to honesty, and the latter to
dishonesty...
    so this book i found yesterday... about as rare as finding
a 20quid banknote...
             now i seriously believe this book is a pillar
to language... right up there with the dictionary and
the thesaurus...
            published by c collins (obviously)...
and its sole author: nigel rees (couldn't be bothered with
italics, so i used the colon)...
          ah **** it, it's only descriptions of the cover,
the book is paperback so it doesn't matter...
although what does is...
   the entry (to be) in the same boat (page 347)...
that's why i was sniffing the book up yesterday
(bibliophiles' prime fetish, after ******* the books)...
    the entry originated from cicero
in 53bc... in the original latin     in eadem es navi,
later used in 1941ad after pearl harbor
(funny u, look: harbour)    - of consequences
                                     roosevelt said, churchill quote(d).

(Dedicated to our dear bhakti friend and kindred spirit
Catherine Jansen)

Catherine dances
around the cremation grounds
with the Nagi, Sadhus of Lord Shiva
skulls and snakes dangling from
their fearsome necks

Her unique eye is able to
behold beauty in the
dreadful and sublime

Cat's heart belongs to Banaras
also known as Varanasi, Kashi
City of Temples and Light
to die in Banaras is considered auspicious
and augers salvation

With Love and Compassion of the
Divine Mother
Catherine showers happy gifts
on orphaned street children
Clutching Barbie dolls and flashing
brand new dental smiles
they dance with her along the Ganges

Catherine dances with an all seeing camera
in her hands
Zooming in
and
Zooming out
of the sacred, human, transcendental experience

our sisters in poetry
aren't seen on the site's pages
do you recall them

the loveliest gals
ever welcoming of heart
our Nagi and Winn

we miss their presence
they really knew how to write
and were wonderful

and this is what they say, honestly, this is what
they say:
mają burdel w gębie,
               a tu im fiołek zorem: jakby mowa
o pałacu Wersal!
              
     what's that translated as?
              you have to try harder, cutting out my mother
tongue will be as hard as your concept of
revising me writing with my right hand,
forcing me to write with my left hand...

they have a brothel in their gobs,
   lo! they are deluded that their tongues are violets:
as if they were talking about the palace of Versailles.

    europe is europe...

tym całusem swą matke?
    with such a kiss your own mother?
              
                                nic mnie już nie dziwi
                    (nothing bewilders me right now)
serio
        (seriously).

              starałem i starałem mieć cierpliwość
z angolem... ale po dwu-dziestu lat:
                straciłem, czy też zapomniałem
                   tą niby cierpliwość?
     bo mnie kurwa wkurwił po szczyt gdzie moja
krew zaczeła wrzeć!
             ohyda! pfu! jakby we mnie mongoł!

ubierz swój zór w coś podobnego do u'ropy -
          eh?
                     tyś nagi jakby proto mit adam'ah;
ale tyś nie on: bo sam gawędzisz: nie istniał...
                  no, prawie - jak ty.
                              
i shudder to think what the next defence of capitalism
will reveal itself as:
                why haven't they noticed cultural darwinism
just after they identified cultural marxism?
                 no one is even keen to acknowledge
cultural darwinism... the whole concept has left
the realm of science... a long time ago...
             it's a cultural motif...
                                                but it's not acknowledged
as such... why?
                                   why is no one i'm listening
to throwing the term about: cultural darwinism,
cultural darwinism... cultural darwinism...
                     oh believe me: we have the infrastructure,
we can open auschwitz the moment you say: go!
            so what happened? some cut your ***** / tongue
                                                          ­                 off?
the west is effectively talking into its own *** -
              the russian doping scandal?
did you follow up on the bradley wiggins scandal that
was hushed to the point where they all turned
seagull and tried hushing that scandal with
                   mer... mer (finding nemo... marp)?
             eh? hear that one?
                                the west is nothing but a
claustrophobic globalisation agenda... and some weird
**** about a transgender movement that
                  tried to **** around with the laws of grammar
so that when i speak this western language:
   i'm speaking siamese, while trying to run a marathon.

.i'd hate to write out a claustrophobia; there was a second who dreamed of Crimea; and who doesn't abhor infatalism; living with parents ensures a lesson in patience... lets regress! the concept of a nation is an infantile game... history stressed is only worth an immigrant's answer... how sadistic the child craves becoming cult.

it would seem that
modern poets never
left an abode
          of the *****
Virgil, free -
  how medium -
paralysed in and to
a strut -
  merely Dante -
                    recompasse -
loitering
             cry enigma
for the peeling
               onion dome
unravelled:
             lacrima dico miror.
moskiev -
  czyn -  łbędzie modno -
o czym: nagi,
             ***'on ******>dni na pal tsym a,
                    rogi snem!
******-da...
        rojter!
              gra o...
   kat w kata prosze -
na sylab a ni słowo -
krew krajna - ukiem cięta!
sfat gila i gnór
ni słowem ni litem A -
szkla rozbitit 'gnem o
   cior...
                   o szkic i
           garb w tonnym
cie... cieniem!
          ku Kjovi,
lwem na Ów..
                     orszak taki -
że nie taii zgób.

_

   well, that was, the draft,
turns out, i can unearth plenty of drafts
i never published,
given the suspension...
such petty narratives are left
for people who almost always
desire a "freedom" to speak,
rather than a freedom to think...

only yesterday, an argument in the garden,
next to a cherry tree i planted...
people your age travel!
they go to places!
they live!
          a constant reminder:
you need to be honest about
your alcoholism...
   sure... i'll be honest,
they other become honest,
   and i don't have to play into
this solipsistic mea culpa *******
as if: i'm not taking responsibility,
as if i am always to blame,
like... my translation of childhood
naivety is not a curse...
because: if i wouldn't trust people,
and make friends,
well, then,
would i just be your atypical psychopath?!
what were the choices:
either wrong, or not good...
wow!
      a grand assumption:
to be governed by laws that only
favor the rich, but slander
the poor...
            victim-who-whom-hood?
did i name, anyone?
am i rat?
       that's what it boiled down to,
that i behaved like a rat,
i said: more like a fox...
no, more like a rat...
   because i like to walk at night,
when i see women
faking conversation
         over their mobile phones...
to feel, secure?
i stalk the predatory mind-set...
    a woman pretends, or doesn't pretend,
to talk over the phone,
while walking home, alone,
at night, as a deterrent...
        i know how this works...
she'll scream into the phone her location...
i'm not interested,
i passed a woman once,
who just, had to, make it,
adamant, i was not to "****" with her...
ever see a running geisha?
i have...
        i mean: a horse needs a whip,
stirrups, reins,
  a woman like that?
who forces you to react,
to give her a reaction against
the canvas of intimidation?
laugh...
       then you'll see a spriting geisha.

and as i write this?
     in the middle of three candles...
my power-saving bulb went out,
i had to resort to igniting three candles
and sit in the middle of the nocturnal
                    Δ(ηλτα)
        or             Δ(ελτα) of "occult" illumination?
i never know which is which...
sure as **** (c)at
                 is nowhere near to (k)aleidoscope
but, hey, it's greek...
         you have eta (η) and epsilon (ε),
you have omega (ω) and omicron (o)
         you have Φought,
                       and you have ΘilosoΦy...
the stories they tell,
  about languages, that do not employ
diacritical markers,
     but insteal have to balance an orthography...
based upon the "quadratic" system,
for the aesthetic to appease "the gods"...
                EE, OO, FF, foe?
unless you spreschen ***-
           -dish, or high hebrew...
          but still... even there...
               א (alef) and ע (ayin)...
          eh, but the hebrews get away with
the fact that they hide their vowels,
in imaginary niqabs...
                akin to diacritical markers...
the hebrews treat their vowels,
like a people, who would apply diacritical
marks to either vowels or consonants:
plainly in the open.
        so some people have gone places,
Egypt, Thailand...
  i've also been to places...
kant's critique of pure reason,
heidegger's being and time...
russell's history of western philosophy...
i've been to place,
   this world cannot offer me,
a source for solace, or for envy,
    i've transcended the globalist
frenzy of people moving aimlessly...
     i went back, to the beginning of the 20th
century, nay, even further...
sure, let people travel,
       i don't mind:
  but as long as they don't come between
me (fox) and the chicken-shack (books),
we'll be just fine...

      mind you, this question opened my
narrative...
   who makes a better ms. amber (whiskey)?
the scottish, or the irish?
i can tell you, even if it's in a ginger ale
mixer...
         jameson and...
    what am i drinking right now?
                 tullamore dew...
   i mean mainstream whiskey...
              these two specimens?
  competing with, what?
          whyte & mackay... as i'm pretty sure
they can...
   but... bell's? the famous grouse?
the whiskeys that are like laphroaig
and smoked salmon?
         the irish are definitely better
at their brewing than the McDoogles...
ol' paddy McGuire figured it out,
amber, looks like diluted honey...
so it must appeal to the sweet-tooth palette!
well... if beer is the gods' ****...
then whiskey... is the gods' blood...
    have i ****** my life away?
sure... i have...
                  but i've also acquired
a capacity to see more in my mind,
than others have seen with their eyes...

as it happens,
   i sometimes return to my native womb
of zunge...
faster than it would take me,
to retreat physically,
   a drive to Stanstead airport,
loitering,
   a 2 and a half hour flight,
moving around Warsaw,
   before taking a 3+h coach trip
   to an obscure location
     and spending a month or so,
loitering with my grandparents,
in between reading a ****** classic,
akin to Prus, or Sienkiewicz.