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Ken Pepiton Aug 2018
A pocket of thought, ideas.
Impulses, has beens

epi-phenom-enal-con-currencies-synchron-icity
sorting places, thens and nows vying for attention

you see
we till stories in search of true tomorrows
not true
yesterdays (till, I said, not tell)
we **** the hard rows no one else will ***
so seed lies sown are never lies told, if the lies are never taught
or if the liars are caught before convincing the
intended crop to lie and swear a common liege Lord,
or die
for lack of knowing. Non-nascence, simplest
symptom to not see.
Whose death is yours to respond responsibly
to? My child's, or yourn?
In the early days, we knew less than we know now
about how knowing and growing were all
intended
to cost time. Ticks, ono motto whatever, the sound
gears and spiral springs pushing cogs
tick, one tooth tick at atime make

this rough, un polished, un glossed, is it wrong or

as I imagine a diamond in the rough must seem to a share cropper
experienced in diamond hunting, diamond prospecting,

prospecting expecting inspection to permit
seeing a 3.52 specific gravity,
specific
specify

species or spectacles,
spectators or special-if-eye-cation
value-en-abled. Weigh your mind in balance
with mine. I claim the mind of Christ.
What are the odds?

A wandering path, injoyable enable if-i-abble,
pacing is

everything, timing is everything, time is the test.

Time is the metagame.
Take your time. One word formed sylabble at a time.
Babble on, your confusion makes you mortal, to my mind.
Tick.
A quanta of time. Does time come in bits and pieces cernible,
but undiscernible from reality?

Babble.

Of course, time will tell. We learned that in our sleep, did we not?

Aesop taught us more than Moses, no,
Aesop taught us less than Moses.

But, we could learn to walk bearing the weight of knowing what
Aesop taught,
while we could not stand under the weight
Moses was said
to have taught.

Caught you, Jewboy. Whatchewknow?
The moral of the story.

THE IDEA is to win.
Beware the concision decision.
incisive devices, witty inventions.

Flip the shell, roll the bones, cast the runes and,
as luck might have it, die before your time.

Why factors are lies more oft than how factors.
Benefactors rule malefactors or
how or why would we invest our time in seeking reasons
to believe?

Is this the polished piece, the gemstone of specific gravity
(which currently means nothing to you. Here, you find too light
or too heavy, too weighty on the scale of specific value.)

Hard. Value hard, diamond hard, on Mr. Moore's scaled model of
Knowing exploding for reason's sake, raison d'etre, eh?
Too hard?
Not Mohs,
don't get me wrong.
We been Moore's law breaker all along.
We be manifested destinatory stories of heroes gone wrong.

Outlawed
knowing exploding to be reasoned with, by kind
children destined to become
written in stone, scarred by lies

Diamonds cutting diamonds, iron whetting iron
on eternity's edge.

Babylon, was it Bel's gate or fusion from below rising?

Magma fountains with diamond claws tearing the lands asunder
Is asunder still a word?, let me, allow me to define...
"into a position apart, separate,
into separate parts,"
mid-12c., contraction of Old English on sundran 
Middle English used to know asunder for
"distinguish, tell apart."
From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/asunder>
----

mumbler's humbler PIE, bowing before the knowers who
know nothing of my work.
Set apart, art thou holy aware?

Hermit me, meet the rest of me. The true rest that remained.
We live, you and I. Trust me, next is worth the wait.

Suffer needs no pain to make its point. Waiting is.

Grokk. WHO would believe that idea could live
through telegraphese to be tweet meets for the
Cosplay clans. How never grokked a rock,  why even less.

Strange, not be long in this
place. if
place this be. Odd
set aside
torn asunder
blown away.
Awake, little birdie, tell me true,
what's a man like me to do?

Did you meet the famous Mr. Blake?
I cleaned his chimney, way back when, chimbly's whut
we called em. Smoke stacks belchin' black
makin' black moths invisible to voracious
gulls.
Now the peppered moths are free
to be white-ish, for better or worse.

----

right, now, do right or

miss the mark,
the specific mark you made, maybe,
imagining, abstract obstructions missed
by the skin on Job's teeth as you run past

right now to more. You know?

----=

Story telling was the same as lying when I was a child, to me.

Telling stories was my gift I never took. Or am I lying? or mad,
in the old way.
Chailot's rag picker was my best friend.

No noble thought ever found it's home in my head, once
I thunk it, it stunk to high heaven, for me stinkin' thinkin' it.

Po' ems sang sour to fiddles wit' one strang and drums with no
cymbals
Screamin' he owed m' soul the comp'ny sto' bang bang thud.

I died, he lied, and lived to tell this story, ****** if I know,
****** if I don't.

True as true can be. I am lost, but once was found,
lyin' rough, uncut in acres of unseen gems.
----
* Voltaire refused to teach me any thing I could not define:
late 14c., deffinen, diffinen, "to specify; to fix or establish authoritatively;" of words, phrases, etc., "state the signification of, explain what is meant by, describe in detail," from Old French defenir, definir "to finish, conclude, come to an end; bring to an end; define, determine with precision," and directly from Medieval Latin diffinire, definire, from Latin definire "to limit, determine, explain," from de "completely" (see de-) + finire "to bound, limit," from finis "boundary, end" (see finish (v.)). From c. 1400 as "determine, declare, or mark the limit of." Related: Defined; defining.

So, imagine facets unseen, I am at least a meme, a bubble rising on the tide. Think, as you will. Amen?
Incorporating radical (root-related) definitions via cut and paste is my way of acknowledging that I have no ex-uses left for using words in a wrong, thus lying, way.
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2021
.
Bright summer coastlines
Young women giddy with life
The sea wafting in
.
Zy Marquiez Oct 2010
Ceremonial bell tolls reverberate in suspense
While a flock of ravens sweep the murky skies
The mental state of the land is glaringly tense
As the caws of the crows create eerie lullabies

Unearthly howls reverberate through the Earth
Ceaselessly piercing the ears of all those living
This dark eve will cast forth a very sadistic birth
Of the creatures that run all of Hell unforgiving

Zombies will seize the bodies of the deceased
Ghouls will torment all lost souls as examples
Werewolves will help more souls be released
As Vampires do nosh each being as sampled

A New Dark Era on Earth is now soon to begin
With the Creatures of Darkness harvesting Sin
King Panda Sep 2017
it’s a kiss of
blowsy fate:

the yellow leaves
float and
hold the
moment of
brown-blue
crunch
under new
tennies—
cool

and the kiss
of an old
mattress flipped,

a pumpkin vine
twisted,

a musty basement
coated in
lavender mist—

the breadth
of nascence in
my mouth:
Ginger

I think was
her name

and the ash
of my cigarette
smokes
the blown
sidewalk.
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2015
We met at friends house  .  .  .
That night was first love making,                                                        
  .  .  .  The moon dance of eyes.
Charlotte Huston Jan 2016
There; in the horizon of the furthest state,
    Speaks the death of the Holy Gate;
No roads lead to the desert of wonder,
    Except for the mirage just yonder,
In the eyes of this humble crystal tear -
    So these misfortunes may lowly appear -
To march the band out of it’s bay,
    For a sound was not made - on the dying day.
Victoria Myron Aug 2018
My Teacher is silent and strict.
My Teacher feeds me in upbringings.
My Teacher caresses like wind,
My Teacher is full of his Feelings.

My Teacher's a nascence, an end.
My doubt is My Teacher and sure.
My Teacher is art to refrain,
My Teacher is art to be pure.

The Doctrine is simple and hard,
The Doctrine is stable and driven.
The Doctrine that evil allowed
To make all my blessings be given.
-----------------

Учитель мой и строг и молчалив,
Учитель мой взращает и питает,
Учитель мой ласкает как прилив,
Как ветер нежно обнимает,

Учитель мой- рождение и смерть,
Учитель мой-сомнение и ласка,
Учитель мой- умение терпеть,
Учитель мой-безумие и сказка.

Учение и сложно и легко,
Учение и твёрдо и безбрежно,
Учение-дозволенное Зло,
Учение- что Благо неизбежно.
Paul Jackson Apr 2010
how long must I walk in the ashes of my yesterday?
charred carbon butterflies dancing past my tired eyes
floating on what could be the last breaths of this tired world
nothing but a fleeting sigh, nothing but a fading whisper.
Ashes.

the endless long lost steps
the creaking weary bones
one foot in front of the other
I walk in Ashes.

I look to the jagged teeth where earth meets the sky
gnashing, grinding, grinning
a sickly cheshire smile far and wide
a newness, a nascence felt inside
the illusion is slowly fading
but yet I still walk in Ashes.

like sepulchral confetti
the blackened ash quietly collects
whispering and licking at my ears
a tragic choir in unison they sing
'one and one have become zero'
in silence I grieve beneath a jet black sky
on my broken knees
never ending Ashes.

will this ever end?
rust covered, abandoned
thoughts like swinging hammers
comforted only by Ashes
that sing me into nightmares
of dying stars and black suns
and nights that have killed the only Dawn I've ever known
will the Ashes ever end?

in all the desolation, in all the dereliction
there is calm, a soothing shudder scrapes my skin
a rising urgency deeply rooted beneath the I
sweetly swaddled
gently graced
blanketed by Ashes.

the roof of the world
sunken, failing - utter frailty
I am no telamon, I have no strength
unable to bear the weight
the weight of all the Ashes.

in this comforting collapse
at the bottom of my oubliette
wings of splintered light emerge
they glow like the light of dying cinders
they glow like your iridescent halo
they glow like the last light I will ever see.
Swells Apr 2015
I emerge at the calm before the storm
where they can't reach me by the quake
anymore.
Before the plunge I am unwithered and unworn
calling Mother at the folds where it was torn.

Cast as foetus and bag of stone
I am pulled down into a blend of effulgence
and the lungs linger in my mouth
before settling for breath between the bones;
marked by nascence and polished.

Held in an agitation of hands I am lifted
onto the summit of all things,
and she cries at the final separation
of our veins,
of our beings.
Roberta Day Jun 2023
Allowing the dust to settle
And the hovering mist to part
You can't live inside of my mind,
There's more space for you in my heart

I keep myself busy to stay aflame
While the world slowly turns
I'm sprinting through days that blur
And suffering through the burns

Toggling between elation and insecurity
Emotions aren't permanent, only temporary
Experience has taught me everyone goes eventually

Resilient to adversity shrouding me
In its tethering web of prickly hairs
Mourning the nascence of elation
And all of the splendor it bewares
A cocktail of hormones straight to the dome
Nostalgia hitting in waves

Dragging me back in time to those hopeless romantic days
Anxious attachment style here.
Paul Idiaghe Oct 2020
sky, a sea;
the sun is a ship sinking
slowly
into slumber  

& i’m a seed
sleeping
on soiled sheets,

sproutless, seeking the solace

of silence,
the nascence
of night—
the delight

in drawing dreams from dust
to dusk into day
into divinity;
in withdrawing

to the wild and wondrous
womb of waking.
Jacob Oates Apr 2014
Pressed into the issue is my neck into the block

They said "you'd lose your head if you 'unhinged' it" so they'd mock

I'm set to wreck defenses of the bets deception in the case of my detected

degradation in the path of my elation

waiting for annihilation is my sense of violation

I define the vices as a time to track, stack, and counteract my existential missile crisis

Dress this deflected duress invented by these compressions

and pulsing bloodlines distressed, with toxic vision's direction

Repeating the motions but coming short with the payoff

I'm stacking foundations, but the proof seems a way off

I've said to myself I've ordered glory by priority

If it's lost in the mail, good ******* luck with conformity

Candle ends burning and hold my crest til it's fallen

Burn the witch at the stake, cut my head at the block

I'm holding out for the truth, and keeping this as my rock

Your pilgrimage building, and running off with complacence

I'll make a Mission of me, my temple and my new nascence.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
The world worships nascence; only the young are seen as truly alive. The old become transparent and obsolete as ghosts. It is not the event of death we fear so much as the slow fading away that proceeds it. To be old in a world where the young no longer see you: that is one definition of loneliness.
~ mce
Butch Decatoria Sep 2016
M-en discarding ego

O-n the one path towards

N-oticing & Nascence,

K-nown for mastery of Sacred Secrets

S-elf of sentient light's

                                          (Double--Happi­ness).
Butch Decatoria Oct 2019
Water birthing dreams.
Asleep in subconscious deeps,
Lucid with nascence.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2020
A radical thought rose to greet me. At the root of this adventure,
there was a dare to defy the unknown holders of keys to gates
and vaults and amphora, sealed to preserve the power of
knowing truth that makes free, by the very knowing.
The secret meanings exposed as conspiracy. Aha.
Readers know of things working together,
line upon line, next after last,
precepts are not commands, but ladder rungs.
Grip first precepts, take hold, know that we do know.
Each of us obeyed... the messenger from truth said read,
that there is ought to read goes unsaid,
be not deceived, that we have received,
accept... thank you... from one alienated mind to another.
This is the most-read piece I have on HP- from August of 2018,
- something changed in the world I share, I dove in to the depths
of the ocean of opinions, and found i could breathe.
----
A pocket of thought, ideas.
Impulses, has beens

epi-phenom-enal-con-currencies-synchron-icity
sorting places, thens and nows vying for attention

you see
we till stories in search of true tomorrows
not true
yesterdays (till, I said, not tell)
we **** the hard rows no one else will ***
so seed lies sown are never lies told, if the lies are never taught
or if the liars are caught before convincing the
intended crop to lie and swear a common liege Lord,
or die
for lack of knowing. Non-nascence, simplest
symptom to not see.
Whose death is yours to respond responsibly
to? My child's, or yourn?
In the early days, we knew less than we know now
about how knowing and growing were all
intended
to cost time. Ticks, ono motto whatever, the sound
gears and spiral springs pushing cogs
tick, one tooth tick at atime make

this rough, un polished, un glossed, is it wrong or

as I imagine a diamond in the rough must seem to a share cropper
experienced in diamond hunting, diamond prospecting,

prospecting expecting inspection to permit
seeing a 3.2 specific gravity,
specific
specify

species or spectacles,
spectators or special-if-eye-cation
value-en-abled. Weigh your mind in balance
with mine. I claim the mind of Christ.
What are the odds?

A wandering path, injoyable enable if-i-abble,
pacing is

everything, timing is everything, time is the test.

Time is the metagame.
Take your time. One word formed sylabble at a time.
Babble on, your confusion makes you mortal, to my mind.
Tick.
A quanta of time. Does time come in bits and pieces cernible,
but undiscernible from reality?

Babble.

Of course, time will tell. We learned that in our sleep, did we not?

Aesop taught us more than Moses, no,
Aesop taught us less than Moses.

But, we could learn to walk bearing the weight of knowing what
Aesop taught,
while we could not stand under the weight
Moses was said
to have taught.

Caught you, Jewboy. Whatchewknow?
The moral of the story.

THE IDEA is to win.
Beware the concision decision.
incisive devices, witty inventions.

Flip the shell, roll the bones, cast the runes and,
as luck might have it, die before your time.

Why factors are lies more oft than how factors.
Benefactors rule malefactors or
how or why would we invest our time in seeking reasons
to believe?

Is this the polished piece, the gemstone of specific gravity
(which currently means nothing to you. Here, you find too light
or too heavy, too weighty on the scale of specific value.)

Hard. Value hard, diamond hard, on Mr. Moore's scaled model of
Knowing exploding for reason's sake, raison d'etre, eh?
Too hard?
Not Mohs,
don't get me wrong.
We been Moore's law breaker all along.
We be manifested destinatory stories of heroes gone wrong.

Outlawed
knowing exploding to be reasoned with, by kind
children destined to become
written in stone, scarred by lies

Diamonds cutting diamonds, iron whetting iron
on eternity's edge.

Babylon, was it Bel's gate or fusion from below rising?

Magma fountains with diamond claws tearing the lands asunder
Is asunder still a word?, let me, allow me to define...
"into a position apart, separate,
into separate parts,"
mid-12c., contraction of Old English on sundran 
Middle English used to know asunder for
"distinguish, tell apart."
From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/asunder>
----

mumbler's humbler PIE, bowing before the knowers who
know nothing of my work.
Set apart, art thou holy aware?

Hermit me, meet the rest of me. The true rest that remained.
We live, you and I. Trust me, next is worth the wait.

Suffer needs no pain to make its point. Waiting is.

Grokk. WHO would believe that idea could live
through telegraphese to be tweet meets for the
Cosplay clans. How never grokked a rock,  why even less.

Strange, not be long in this
place. if
place this be. Odd
set aside
torn asunder
blown away.
Awake, little birdie, tell me true,
what's a man like me to do?

Did you meet the famous Mr. Blake?
I cleaned his chimney, way back when, chimbly's whut
we called em. Smoke stacks belchin' black
makin' black moths invisible to voracious
gulls.
Now the peppered moths are free
to be white-ish, for better or worse.

----

right, now, do right or

miss the mark,
the specific mark you made, maybe,
imagining, abstract obstructions missed
by the skin on Job's teeth as you run past

right now to more. You know?

----=

Story telling was the same as lying when I was a child, to me.

Telling stories was my gift I never took. Or am I lying? or mad,
in the old way.
Chailot's rag picker was my best friend.

No noble thought ever found it's home in my head, once
I thunk it, it stunk to high heaven, for me stinkin' thinkin' it.

Po' ems sang sour to fiddles wit' one strang and drums with no
cymbals
Screamin' he owed m' soul the comp'ny sto' bang bang thud.

I died, he lied, and lived to tell this story, ****** if I know,
****** if I don't.

True as true can be. I am lost, but once was found,
lyin' rough, uncut in acres of unseen gems.
----
* Voltaire refused to teach me any thing I could not define:
late 14c., deffinen, diffinen, "to specify; to fix or establish authoritatively;" of words, phrases, etc., "state the signification of, explain what is meant by, describe in detail," from Old French defenir, definir "to finish, conclude, come to an end; bring to an end; define, determine with precision," and directly from Medieval Latin diffinire, definire, from Latin definire "to limit, determine, explain," from de "completely" (see de-) + finire "to bound, limit," from finis "boundary, end" (see finish (v.)). From c. 1400 as "determine, declare, or mark the limit of." Related: Defined; defining.

So, imagine facets unseen, I am at least a meme, a bubble rising on the tide. Think, as you will. Amen?
That the past two years of public postings have been sorted by popularity, I think, exposes a mental cohesiveness of writer and reader to streams thought. I am a long form meandering storyteller. The story I find in the chance sorting of all I have exposed on HP, is strengthening to me, and I hope to any reader. Not knowing everything about anything is no excuse for not sharing what you do know. Whether life is hard or fair, machts nichts, making each day give account seems to cause things to work together for good.
Mirror, Mirror in the Heavens!
A demeanour equable to viridity,
The nascence of a lamb.
The supposed handsel from the welkin!

Mirror, Mirror in the Heavens!
A swaying of a quixotic mind,
The dance from the societal crwth;
The derogation of the lamb via gibes.

Mirror, Mirror in the Heavens!
A continual lampoon –
The spawn of a chapfallen eagle.
The brainchild of a timorous creature.

Mirror, Mirror in the Heavens!
A diagnosis of a bird in incommunicado with flight;
A late palpation, albeit.
The societal routine…
In the labyrinth of pace we are lost in the glitter and the noise
I fear for the child who grows up too soon and hides her tears
We do not see sparrows anymore and neither do we see toys
This world is too brutal so the child slowly dies in her fears

Pavements of concrete are filled and parks of clay are barren
Where are the novels? Where are the poems and the fables?
The libraries are dusty and the librarian is reading Byron
Alas! I see God mocking as we remodel the Tower of Babel

Does the child still stare at the cloud and wonder in awe?
"Is it a flower?Is it an animal or is it a white cotton candy?"
The world is too cold to let the child rejoice in her flaws
I pray that every child finds out that is it sand or just sandy?

In the union of the first droplets of rain and the clay
In the gentle rustling of the trees and the minty breeze
Let him feel sudden joy and the burden of dismay
Let the ****** flesh feel heat after being bitten by the bees

If we are gentle, careful and calm with every single child
They will know the earth is clayed and not just tiled
A poem on how synthetic our childhood has become and a clarion call to the future generations to de-synthesise our upbringing of the child
Bhavani Gopi Sep 2020
The nascence of your  happinesses
Essence  in your tone ..
Is a pinch of euphoria.
lits up me like a drug...
Possess in an obscure ambiance..
Real reel in a memory flim..
Dose of drug to doze off ....
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
i grew up around the time when you'd still
want to watch movies...
that's not to say that Knives Out is a bad
movie... certainly not as quirky as
the Royal Tenenbaums...
it's actually watchable...
i get it... there are only a few actors
out there where their voices come prior
to their faces...
Gene Hackman... Jeremy Irons...
Jack Nicholson...
Cary Grant...Cate Blanchett... some other
notable mentions...
but i found out that: that i just don't have
the attention span to watch a movie...
i can barely make it through
an entire football match... but a movie?!
it's not like i've been hiding
a problem with a.d.h.d. -
3 hours cycling: i can digest... conquering
my mind: ****** it with my body
the route: in reverse: from Collier Row...
to Chigwell... Loughton... Buckhurst Hill...
shyly toward Wanstead and onto the straight
via teasing Manor Park...
Epping Forest is overrated... it's a swamp...
no sequoias...
i can concentrate on a book...
i'm still trying to resurrect my grandfather
to keep his dementia sacred
in repeating the same stories...
while i'd wake up at 5am in winter
and read a book...
why i still haven't read Rousseau is beyond
me...
seems i wasted reading on
Kierkegaard... or someone...
i'd love to watch a movie...
from beginning to end...
i'm keeping the Lighthouse stashed for some
proper timing...
shot in black & white...
well... it's not the Seventh Seal...
although... Bergman's movie about a magician
was far more entertaining than Wild Strawberries...
but "we" grew up in a time when
watching a film adaptation of
high fidelity was something...
when the record shop was Mecca...
i had a girlfriend for whom i made a mix-c.d. for...
she would go to work on Oxford St at
the Mark & Spencer and listen
to this one song i put on the disk...
King Crimson's Epitaph...
i guess Oxford St. at 6am in the morning:
on a sunny morning:
come to think of it:
even Dundee must look liveable when
the sun is shining...
this beautiful ****-up of a city
that's London... if i go somewhere monochromatic:
mono-ethnic i feel a sickness that's
never going to be comparable...
i need to suckle off this... Babylon...
we actually made mixed-c.d.s for each other...
thankfully it didn't become a relationship:
that tired "thing" of... paying taxes: naked...
raising children...
i've listened to the arguments
of men who married young...
my "secret weapon" blah blah...
what sort of man would i have become
if i didn't marry... early... or at all...
i can tell you what sort of man i have become...
i read some philosophy books...
i grew a beard...
i cut my long hair from a hippy monstrosity
into something that looks: up-kept:
respectable...
if i were 35 married with children...
i was dropped a phrase into the inbox
of my ex... i said: she had the saddest face on earth...
i forgot to mention ol' Henry VIII's struggles...
a meat-grinder... of a machine...
5 babies down... no sons... only daughters...
she grew-up in a household with a father
and two brothers...
it must be sad: i suggested...
to be so fertile... yet without a son...
she didn't get why i said she looked sad...
exhausted... from... pooping out
one daughter after another...
nothing to truly mould... no?
regrets... but today i'm oblivious to them...
i have a comfortable warming
blanket of whiskey & cognac...
it almost trickle a sense of sophistication for me
to deal with...
as much as i'd love to buy flowers...
a bouquet of a single pink rose...
let's not overdo the hopes of...
i rather be left intact & curious...
than... somehow barren & oddly: happy...
since melancholy is a statement
of the aura... it's fiddling with: nascence...
well... what a word:
i guess i'm immune to the woke-brigade...
if some are "woke": then i'm: slept...
or.. nascent...
but it can't go without "question":
******* virgins is a terrible idea...
the incel community shares the same
metaphor logic of Islam...
something about a gem in a shop that sells...
jewels... keeping the one pristine gem
intact... hidden...
but... aren't you... selling?
******* virgins is a terrible idea...
give me 72 i'd ask for
72 rottweilers primo...
                 king crimson: starless...
the phantom of the film... MANDY...
the neon demon was a disappointment...
the soundtrack wasn't...
oddly enough i know what ******* a ******
feels like... the cockerel shrinks...
needle... thread... what's being protected is...
a thin skin layer of cobweb...
takes enough practice to lubricate it...
why is purity somehow: so... circumstanced
as important?
they're not exactly Sri Lankan rubber
of bicycles wheels...
i've heard this saying once before:
in passing...
don't marry a very attractive woman..
and as i cycle i pass some examples of breeders...
most of the women are: utensils...
by standards of beauty...
such a waste... all the beautiful ones...
like flowers of every spring... like every generation:
go into prostitution or *******...
the last date i was on
happened after a night out in a club...
she thought...
in the park i downed a bottle of wine...
we went to a bar... i drank some more...
she lied about a prior engagement...
with some friends...
oh look... no convert...
i don't do dating... it's so...
stressing shadow...
                  one pink rose is enough...
if she isn't buying...
better a lubricated ****...
in praise of prostitutes...
                 we're naked: first... we're naked:
last... we keep it... gesticulating at our
desire for cleanliness...
why wouldn't i praise them?
second-hand... what-what?!
               who the **** is some don juan
looking for a nunnery?!
i'm looking for a woman
that might reveal a leather armchair!
might reveal: make alias revelling in it...
without: lies...
i abhor lies...
maybe that's why i adore prostitutes...
she could have slept within
the confines of Solomon's harem:
if... there were as many Solomons
as there were his concubines...
bitter-sweet... as much wisdom as is allowed...
Solomon had no edge over David...
can you write...
a maxim... when a psalm if dawning?

sure... it would be nice to be ******:
to be licked in the funny places...
but i rather churn my own raspberry ice-cream:
and have a concept of "friend": kept to a minimalist
concern...

Johnny Cash made a pact with
Mr. Nairobi... a music producer above all others...
Rick "ricochet" Rubin...
slap on tender paws:
the kangaroo skip-jimmy...

bother me... the scent of the brothel on the tip
with an opened bottle of bourbon...
who the **** was asking for a nun?!
sure as **** i wasn't asking for one...
one of whoever you are: were?!

- that i can grasp the nakedness:
flesh market...
i can own... pigtails i can own...
the breath...
i relieve myself from having torn:
towing ambitions of mother...
grandmother... sister... daughter...

less lament for what i could be...
less lament for:
lament in itself...
              i'll pluck my eyes out...
watch the traffic... cater for the moon:
bloom:
rift and itch...
wholesome...

what would i be... married...
i would most certainly not have
read: any philosophy books...
thank god...
i don't earn enough to pay taxes..
hello unicorns!
hello... waste.
terrible idea for a date...
beginning with...
whoever had the most:
please stand up...

don't feed the gluttonous beast
of envy... of male "prowess"...
a bicycle overpowers the legs
overpowers the need for car:
and a passenger...
lift me: dead...
toward the breath... the air...
the nuance...

in the shallows... on the grounds of
counting pebbles...
among prostitutes...
if i were: somehow: too...
a barber...
a... labrador... a bartender...
but thank god the **** feels so good
that... it doesn't require a date...
all that leash...
praise them all that i can...
because the ones that become
wombs... proper.. mothers...
are... invisible... creatures..
creatures, that they are...
in the least...

               women that would hardly
want to make a Sunday afternoon
into... making...
some homemade raspberry ice-cream...
i don't want to love someone
on a leash: donning a muzzle...

it would be so much easier
if i were just: outright... gay.

— The End —