Sit down my friends, come hear this true story
It's interesting, but it's also gory

One fine day in eighteen seventy-four
Alferd Packer, who just loved to explore
With five friends, he began a three-month tour
'Cross the Rockies, but don't ask me what for

Six men walked for seventy-five miles
But the voyage just was not all smiles
For you see, when the group finally came back
Five of the men the party now did lack

At the end of those cold seventy-five
Alferd Packer alone finished alive
When asked why, he didn't know what to say
His memory seemed to change day to day

But at last he settled on one version
Of what happened on that long excursion
The police decided this one was true
And it's this one that I'll now tell to you

One hiker, it seemed, whose name had been Bell
Just went insane, but why no one could tell
Packer claimed that Bell had killed all the rest
Of the hikers, and that packer was next

So ole Packer, he said, "I tried my best
To stop him; but I fought back with such zest
Shannon Bell died, but it's just common sense
When I say, I killed him in self-defense"

Then Alferd, he was left with five dead men
What could he do?  It was getting cold then
So Alferd, to warm up that freezing hell
Took the body and he devoured Bell

For dessert he then ate his other four
Dead companions; but hey — what are friends for?
When finished, he caused a sensation
By arriving at the tour's destination

When Alferd had ended his gruesome tale
The local cops threw him quickly in jail
Where he served over seventeen long years
But if his fate fills your eyes now with tears

I'll reveal here, he was released alive
Died a free man, the age of sixty-five

who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway

hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll

mirrored fly-glass
and polished chrome
are tinted
in the blood orange dawn
running dogs of lummi
hush quiet
on this celestial
summer morn

clubman bars
and tan saddles
strapped to
the lowered hind
skull caps
and fitted chaps
for the open flow
and rich peripheral scene

concessions at the peace arch
(from the blue-coat fuzz)
black *****
and maples
cake the bow hill
and chuckanut

choppers launch
at edison
(with their metal fleck
and tuft)
a half moon rises
on the concho
and interstellar cross

cinnamon gulls
and ravens
scour the netted docks
warlock driftwood
and row homes
spot the winding
coastal roads

rumbling sounds
at the packer slew ~
with the redolence
of briny bay
alive
on the overlook
at fairhaven

homeland security
on these nuts
home land security
in your butts
home land security
look but don't touch
it's too much
for 'em to understand
***** jacker
**** in hand
hatin' big wacker
on tha attacker
i like 'em blacker
she's a ***** packer
don't like 'em battered
spell bound brain washed
what's tha matter?
Homeland Security Act
homeland security
tryin' ta scare
why can't tha government care?
socialist ideals
not tryin' to hear
hippie gal tryin' ta spread peace
until the cognizance cease
down with tha ****
come in your hair
tryin' ta do me long
they can't take it down
ya know they messin' around
neo-con trick
tryin' ta make brunette sick
don't they like the way i hold my ****?
maybe i wanna take a lick
lyin' *******' wichin' cryin'
like a man's supposed to be dyin'
look at 'em fryin'.
sorcery zap to the court-ordered goofs
snitchin'
doin' bad things
mad federal schemes
they all occultic fiends
with yo mama church
as the ball swings
** **** on me
mother **** the holy see
what ya tryin' to be
....holy?
goons, screws, pigs and spooks
sayin cognizance aint to use
poor court ordered goofs so-abused
papists vowed in their delusions of grandeur
all you supposed ta think
...is white cop
expendable masses they say aint allowed ta know
while they call the pope pop
guardian protectors of tha white bred
they wanna make tha people brain dead
feds frivolous threats
tha number on your badge says zero
what you tryin' to be?
A super hero?

.that's what the term: Slavic, implies... slave?! what?! not in my language, etymologically speaking... słowo, słowianin, word, Slav, respectively... i don't know where these quasi-Germanic peoples of the anglophone world get their ideas from, esp. from a, "missing" epsilon. wankers.

- and the main difference between a Slavic
language and a quasi-Germanic language
akin to English or French?
                   clarity of syllables,
   and a pivot on pseudo-Roman graphemes,
albeit not concentrated (for aesthetic
purposes) on crafting graphemes out
of vowels... more or less consonants...
English has this concept already...
   cheap as chips...
             prime **** of the shire
    (CH                                SH)
but the main difference is...
                            we don't use the surd
conundrum...
                e.g.?
                         ­        g'bur
                   syllable count: 2
                                  you say the first letter,
have a nanosecond pause and the second
syllable enters:  g'boor...
                   which is a word, roughly defined
as: someone who's boorish,
               a noun, not an adjective...
but in english?
                                   (g)nostic....
    wait...     diagnosis...
                            so like an electron clouds
surrounding a nucleus...
   (electrons do not exist in orbits,
clouds, quantum clouds to be precise,
they enter the antimatter dimension,
pop up and disappear in randomized
places, within a definite spatial complex
that constitutes what is known as
an atom)...
              too many ******* particulars
in the anglophone language...
         which is probably why i love it so
much...
        and because the englischzunge
has so many particular instances of
"correct" speech... and no diacritical
methodology... well...
                     hmm... a ******* rainbow of accents!
i love the Indian: bud bud... bud bud...
hearing it feels like riding a *******
camel over uneven ground... bud bud...
note - budwasserscheisse -
who, in their right state of mind -
ferments rice, and adds it to the fermentation
of barley?!
   o.k., the alternative... budscheissewasser...
take your pick...
    it appears that my original ambition
was to speak the native language better
than the natives...
   have i succeeded?
                  perhaps...
               god almighty and all that is
glorious about hell's pandemonium...
   i miss the trill of the R...
      either tongue numbing in English...
or a ******* hark in French...
but as i was sometime ago informed...
the French used to trill the R...
  they: rrrrrrroled the rattle and found
a snake...
                      trill? when you pass a breath
that slaps the tongue against your
hard palate...
                     like a rattlesnake...
   i'm so happy that it still exists in certain
languages...
        it's a hark in French,
             and a tongue numbing heimlich
maneuver in English...
like the tongue was injected with an
anesthetic borrowed from dentistry,
                or some other random *******.
- and yes, i couldn't learn French,
because i was already investing my efforts
and observational tactics in spotting
the oddities in English...
            surd-letters, a slack in syllable distinction...
you name it...
                            g'boor contra
                  (g)nostic....
                          ­    invited to a session
of psychiatric diagnostics...
             oh i speak the orthodox better than
the natives...
  the natives have to resort to slang...
or as i like to call their version "of events":
the **** of shlang.

p.s. but this is going to be an example
of where English, and French meat...
****, sorry... meet...

   a surname to exemplify:
   Trudeau...
           i'm not going to call the French
żabie udki (frog-thigh eaters),
i just call them the suffix eaters...
point blank... watch how this GH
   grapheme pops up, but is "invisible"
in the said, French surname...
   although...
                           see it?
   Trudeau...             now you don't!
******* that i am surrounding
spewing linguistic *******...
   even i'm starting to think:
                    neat observation,
well tailored for the given times of...
how do you censor an investigation
into grammar and phonetics?

p.p.s.
    and well know where the English
borrowed their notion of H as a surd...
bindi-Hindi...
                          'indi...
     '   (this denotes a surd,
**** it, leave the letter out) -
esp. in names, like Khahn -
                        some variation of Ghengis,
Khan...    i suspect...
      oh yeah... the macron above the vowel
looks plain ugly: Kān...
   the literate can't reconfigure that word...
they need two languages of the same
tongue... the optical (Khan)...
             and the phonetic (Kān)...
look at you pretty people...
           you're bilingual already!

I found seashells and driftwood,
Cans and bottles and much more
Like diapers and picnic stuff
While walking along the shore.
I found cigarette butts and bags
And those horrendous soda holders
That catch on sea life and twist them
In their middle or at their shoulder.

I saw palm trees and jacaranda
Waving in the balmy breeze
And broken plastic lawn chairs
Leaning against the lovely trees.
I found six-packer carriers sitting
With all the beer bottles inside.
I saw pieces of bicycles and big batteries
And I swear I almost sat and cried.

But I had too much to do right then
Gathering up all that random junk.
I carried them to a ******* bin
And I threw it all in, kerthunk!
I wondered for the hundredth time
The parents these creeps had
That let them grow so ill behaved,
And so embarrassingly bad.

What kind of selfish brat can come
And look out on this lovely scene
And throw their ******* all around?
How can they be so mean?
It makes me hope for recompense;
That what goes around come again
And we can stash these human pigs
Into an appropriate kind of pen.

alone in my apartment,
midday sun slanting through the
half-drawn blinds,
jolly roger fluttering gently in
one window, trans pride flag in
the other, i find myself feelin’
some kinda way

kneeling, though never in prayer,
i pull out packer, pouch, and
two different jockstraps

moving to stand out of view
from down on the street, i nestle
the packer into the pink jockstrap
and put my shorts back on

spend some time adjusting the
packer, wishing i had a full length
mirror, but sufficing with the little
vanity that lives by my coffee maker

in the open doorway between bedroom
and kitchen, i palm the length of
the packer through the front of my shorts,
wondering if the novelty of having
a ***** ever wears off for cis men

still feelin’ some kinda way,
i take out a black knee-length skirt
patterned in rainbows that so rarely
leaves the dresser drawer, and
slip it on

and i feel an all caps
kind of GOOD

and the grade A 100%,
genuine article,
bonafide,
GENDER EUPHORIA
i feel could power a small city

(and i slump down in my
ratty desk chair, knees loose and open,
palm myself through the front of the skirt,
imagine some faceless lover
running their hand up the inside
of my thigh and pulling aside the
jockstrap to get at the packer

picture them unraveling me like
divoting a thumbnail into the supple
skin of an orange, peeled in one long strip,
and taking me in like each segment,
juices running down their chin)

For 40 years Joe waited
For the chance to buy a pair
Of Packer season tickets.
He was verging on despair.
That time had seen Joe
wed and Dumped,
his children grown and fled.
Joe had waited half a lifetime,
far too long for a cheese head.
Then came the notice in the mail
The ducats could be thine.
Joe jumped out of his rocking chair
in ecstasy sublime.
He danced and screamed
And shouted out
Like he would when
Green Bay Scored.
Just then Joe gasped and clutched his chest
And fell dead on the floor.
It’s sad Joe never got the chance
to cheer them from on high
To freeze his *** at Packer’s games
It’s so unfair Joe died
Still, tickets shouldn’t go to waste
So I stepped up and bought the pair.
The seats are up in “Heaven”
I’m certain Joe don’t care

Of poor old Joe, my dear late friend,
I cannot find a trace
I fear he found seats down below
in a far, far ,warmer place.

Pantywaist,
This shows no taste.
Light in the loafers,
Maybe for gofers.
Squats to ***,
Who? Not me!
Limp-wristed,
It it’s twisted, maybe.

***** and sissified,
Maybe somebody lied.
*** and ******,
You’re a bigot.
Bigass Fruit,
Zoot and all root.
Tuttifruity,
Call to gay duty.

Half a man,
Sometimes better than.
Tinkerbell,
Go to hell.
Airy-fairy,
You’re just scary.
******* bandit,
I can’t stand it.
*******,
Bigass *******.

Silly queen,
Quit being mean.
Flutter-by,
Can’t pronounce butterfly?
*****,
Don’t get handsy, mate!
Nancy boy.
Political ploy.

Just some of the words
We gays have all heard
With each imprecation
The implication
Is that we are sick,
Definitely twisted,
And the end result
Is that each insult
Pushes the speaker
Further away, and weakens
The hold on a reality
That homosexuality
Is just another normality.
In short, reality.

Oh your shy very shy
You will never get the job you want because you are very shy
You want to be s s baker
Too flaming hard
You want to be lawyer
Too flaming bad
You want to be a doctor
I shake too much
I want to be a super market packer
Too ****** cheap
I want yo be an actor
Keep laughing when the teacher is showing me the ropes I want to be a waiter
But I need to understand
There is not much money involved
I want to be a security guard
Too fucken weak
I want to be s police man
Not in the eight headspace
I want to be an AFL. Player
But I need to be signed on
I hear oh your shy very shy
I am cool and you are shy
The only way to achieve your dreams in come out of your shell and i ain't gay though
I want to succeed

It's getting darker,
malice, resentment,
jealousy,
a fruit salad Of youth misfits
from hacker
to packer,
smuggler to rapper,
but what happen was after
Was The economy became a *******

with no fathers to guide it,
cause they already tried this
Now our kids like us could lose an earlier retirement

And I'm tired of it
causing a chain of half *** generation backlash,
so more get thier back thrashed
by their own family while a fat cat

Brings bad luck like a black cat
Filthy rich while some live out of a backpack
And this is me claiming my
two cents so u can tell
The government to tax that

Cuz they Always got us to laugh at
while they get their back scratched
But he gets a happy ending so it's
not just his back scratched

No wonder hes chaffing
and'll probably be chasing penicillin
Cuz itchy And scratchy has nothing to do with cartoons to this vilan

Now the employees the boss
And the boss like ur salads tossed
But we all have to bare a cross
Now my Stomachs all in knots

Cuz Everything's, rush rush
Kiss *** kiss *** blush blush
U wanna move on  up up?
Then find a **** And **** ****

While cancers at us like duck duck
And the goose is getting more then a goose egg
when their goose is cooked

and mother goose told us about 3 political parties not just one
she said
"Three blind mice see how they run"

So while George tells the idiot a story
about the rabbits
The greedy let money make them a savage
while We die slowly from our habits,

Why do we have it,
And To call us mankind is silly
Cuz what mans kind these days really? The one thinking with his wily

to free *****, feelin up a  womans manipulations and call it biology
By staying abreast psychologically
Which is a sociopaths  ideology

now im off of my own topic
Like i provided it just to rob it
Like I went to my bank and boosted the same cash I jus deposited

No wonder Im rich with annoyance
i must have won a lottery
thats how all these things bother me
my community missing comradery

Instead we steal with robbery
slaughterin wuts left of the economy
Like ur ****** coming back again
only this time for ******

Cuz things arnt the way dey outta be. Everything's about novelty
When we need less walk in clinics for addictions, and bad doctoring

Until narcotics flood the street
Someone tell those officering
dealers r those with Scripts 4 oxys
But nice that they're offering

Wut happen to philosophy
Where are all the neo saucrates?
Shooting for monopoly but that cant save u being a ******* obviously  

oh this horror is such comedy
Lately I think i need a lobotomy
good and evil battle within me opposed Im like a walking dichotomy

Now procreations odd to me
flawed To be a double standard like belief of having no right To play god and take life yet its ok to us to play god and make life

It's contradiction is guess
depends on position I guess
2balls to help my two cents express
so this is a requisition I guess

Far from living true freedom but its
Been gone so long who needs em
People say u cant find a trusting person these days..so Y dont u B one

But no, we always need some
Reward or valid reason,
When we already got the biggest...
sharing a home in all seasons

But lately were greatly
crazy, Like oh baby
maybe lately, we fried Our brains chasin the American Dream unsafely

No wonder I sadly dislike myself
And everyone else lately
this is how the world has made me
So u can love me or hate me

But from now, I refuse to allow
Another power to make or break me
I won't follow rules or lemming like fools, I will no longer live safely

Or by a risk management thought
Cause one day well all finally stop
And See that the only real thing
Given to us is each other and not

Valuing it Is like our words and being and heard, Feeling emotion to cry
But still were sick enuf to look in a lovers eye to say I love u as a lie

So don't let them , sell u a high
sell u a dream or sell u heaven
Cuz The ones selling treatment is
usually the same ones producing the weapons

And I tried to spare u this rant
But it just can't be kept in
Something smells badly and sadly
i think its the **** I just stepped in.....

My forte has never been          chemistry
especially              in matters of the brain
that delicate science                 eludes me
but give me a knife            and I’m a pro
a      butcher      in      a     cesspool       of
a        drowning         stagnant            me
where   the   water   under   my   bridge
does               not             flow              out
but backs up tighter than
                                a meat packer’s drain
overflowing with            ****** blobs of
broken   promises  and good  intentions

I walked right on into your life,
Stormed right on in through the closed and creaking doors,
Knocked down the walls
Wearing come **** me boots
And a packer
Unpacked and willing
Smiling like I’d already swallowed the canary
I put it out there you know
To meet you
To have you meet me
To meet my maker
My Love Set Match
I volleyed the ball straight
Into the wanting
Court of your heart
And waited
Breath bated
For your solid, resounding return.
I stole inside you while you slept
Unstitched your skin
Climbed in and
Sewed myself deep and everlasting
inside.
I spoke softly to your shadow
Through your dreams
Until it grasped my hand
And now, like glue, I am stuck to you.
I smeared my love
Across your chest
With wet kisses
And a love bequeathed by lust.
I handed you my trust
And watched as you unwrapped it
And placed it lovingly within your own.
I tore down my walls to get to you
I walked through fiery insecurity
And swam through fear infested waters
I battled demons
And won
I lost my voice
And sung
Of two souls
Found
Two hearts bound
And a love all enduring connected.

Lord of the Rings,
pinning Kingpins
then Kinging-kings,
Mexi-can
and some can't
you stand a slump chance
peripheral vision, no glance
B-boy stance, more ***** than lance
I'll battle your whole camp,
blowing your speakers, Amp'd
revamped, and clamp't
now i'm stepping over you tramps,
those silly rants, got you stamp'd
for getting carried away-
u can't see my BARS- this ain't Saint Patrick's day.
ever since i started rapping this way,
ya'll flows start'n to look like paper mache
I made so much REAL, paper today, but
these Cheeseheads playing keep away, holding this Green Bay Packer at Bay, they ******* up the play, like a rain delay, feeling like putting the refs, to rest, for the rest of the day.Either way, my pocket's Fannie May, and the Lambo feel Cray, so like Sandro, they go pay, top dollar, no topay. I treat BARS and money the same way-  up-up and away- so quick, you'd think I'm saving the day. But i'm no HERO, I dont swing that way. Villian on scene, looking for a fight. I Wonder Women- when they see, My D.C. then left Superman all ******, for acting tight. i guess that make me a Cript -tonight.

“The Revenant”(Ghost Song Inspiration)
Awake yearning Asleep
Barnacles of riveted keel ajar with wonder keepsakes to sweep
Traipsing the moonlit path between equidistant insanities
Billowing fumes of rage fulgurant in the vogue modality
Whispering 9 Billion hymns to an immemorial cemetery
Silenced by shattered quakes rumbling in the deep forest
Imagined long ago yet again…
Surfing the few fragile crestfallen waves Tighter Nooses in tsunamis on Portugal in the eleventh month hanging ten
Fragile swoons of kenspeckel verbatim echoed in hallowed halls of evening Diaspora gilded in excellence
Limit is no boundary to the timeless clock of tilted tendencies towards barbed decadence
Revelry is no artifact tethered to a patibulary pole folded in the pokerish sneakthievery of triumphant owl’s night
We laugh like soft mad children waxing the candlelit vigil of barren Beirut struck down with ultrageous fright
Cackling as misfortune trespasses are shot on sight
That The Remedy asphyxiates National Anthem hues
Slippery in the crevasse of caffeinated daydream sues
Toasting butter cretaceous with wonder a lapse of sentience is its ultimate blunder of 1015 Rooz
Because the tottering paragon overlooks his habitable tomb
Bequeathed in Nero’s fright askew for the itching view
Spawned instants of thunderous applause serenade the weaning night littered with dancing fragments of illusion
Time is no object to objective dimples on Helicopter dime
Swank is no subject because the predevoted pause owes all to cadence of currency in the heyday of sublime
Long-winded but curt
Outskirts to every vacant and inhabited skirt suburban to muses crooning with antiquity destitute with forbidden flirt
Livid with indignation over fallen hands outstretched to unheralded bands
Simpering with scalded water of tattered whisper of the nauclatic heralds of sunrise over moonlight land
Effort is no music without tragedian Shakespearean rebuke
Taylor’s stop-and-go with flashlight frisk a Pharaohs’ Zion too much of a Fluke
Greco-Roman travesty blinks with scary flicker in an alpenglow Apollon stained-glass window summit
Dirges always precede precipitate glamour aflame with spectral filibustered blight and plummet
besieged by fallen wonders
Sunken by echoes of consequence in Heavy Metal Thunder
Glimpsing the Revenant of a future tango with backwards sentinels of séance
Grief overtakes the rejuvenated sunlit hike
Hitched by Horses with No Name Painless by harnessed spike
Of a Roadhouse Blues not Red enough for the Scarlet Letter Hues of Bill the Butcher White with Tweed nullifying his diacopes of spite
Cadence peerless paling to mirrored reflection of recapitulated mated soul
Limpid nexility that ghosts flex with reflective Jazzy soul
Jailhouse rocking Malone swerves with jaunt
Easy to dance easier to flaunt
Dastardly darts four score and seven jerseys ago
The seamstress of violence alacrity to sow
Vindication belonging to orphaned asylum 44th
A King lost too soon because of masons coming fourth
Degrees of Solomon rustling through A Biff’s Palace
Jimpster hitman an Akabu of hustled alarm pegged to wild shadows dancing a delicate filigree of spawn and spark
To the plug anointed by tethered Cable Guy treason
Few vigilantes of Batman’s caliber yet to reason
In the Revenant’s wake of fallen timbers of Sunset Strip
Reapers prowl with the tide of Bruno Mars RIP
That he sprawls in survival a hat too generous to tip
Uptown Chelsea in uproar as auditoriums fill with hedged victims of sense and sensibility etched in Gore
Lone Pine Mall stranded by conflagration of bulletproof lore
Clowns dedicate independence while crowns croon ***** repentance
For a forlorn starvation of cities of jackals sailed to sentence
Dripping with a faucet of ghostly haunts
Kapstone Paper in Kansas verging on misery wants  
Yet Bleeding American with French-British hues
The world’s lovelorn starlet yet too swollen to amuse
Stark travesty in fatuous emoluments to Walter White vanity
A current streak unbeaten because of realism in Virtual Insanity
A Joker’s Gamboled revenge skittish in sketchy chalkboards of ossified prestige
Left to the milk carton missing is yet another Abandoned Pools squeeze
The Young Robot scared to Fly-by-Night in the pathway of terminal poignant disease
A punitive prison worthy of the cackles of Dinosaurs besieged by Mr. Freeze
Folksy natatoriums agape with bathhouse squalor
Every hierodule a ******* to the witwanton bottom dollar
For the buggery of a Titanic warning towering ever taller
Stilted Wilts 50 a game warbles without Chinese glowers of Silk Road Silk
An albatross of agrarian hubris is how Ping-Pong Champions were eventually built
Hollywood’s grotto a despairing bravado
Of a masonry skyscraping a surpassed entelechy of a half-known tomorrow
Escape malingering and dare to dream
Listless maneuvers of space a hipster jam of the rollicking heyday of a fortress of a team
That I brandish with pride and retrospective snide
How perjury Underoath is a much better bribe
Air Force pride against Scorched Earth fallow because of a wayward bride
The Spectrum of Casper is galloping in deceitful degrees of a piety too wide
Swayed by Swayze pretended or lazy
The whole world in centration glistens with the fashionable crazy
Electromagnetic Detroit a rumpus for Notorious donnybrooks of a Gretchen cloaked too tight for Avalanche brawls cemented in burgundy and white
Industrial locomotives bulldozing Buffaloes of a Boulder fraternity too leaky to always be right
Scattered on Dawn’s Highway Bleeding crowded by a sing-song peril by design
That deference is reference to rappers glistening in surrealism ripe and prime marveling at the Ace of Military Base’s glaring Sign
Lethal Killers on patrol roaming Earthquake plodded land
Count the number of hairs of vitriol in silicon purebred amicable handfuls of wafting sand
Drifting in Mescaline ends at the periphery of Desert Movies Goldmines for Choosing
The Native American Jabberwocky or Mulder’s Father’s dying musing neither of which is favorable to boozing
The Brown doctor disfavored by armed aristocrats is always alive and rarely unbuttoned when snoozing
Flynn torches bemuse the tattered knight
Presumptuous Arthur is only on the quorum when consentience of accord is proven right by both deed and prescient light
Hardly a sidesplitter for a curveball time
California Love is plastered with rivalries of NorCal grime
Of the greatest Banana Slug Fiction flagrant with Quinntessential clairvoyance of a deceased 60’s crime
A dead queer lollygag belonging to the advice of a Pearl Jam Jeremy’s erasure of snares of beleaguered blasphemous chyme
Nonlinear spurts fielded by stolen bases of paralyzed rebuffs rather curt
A rapper worthy of the stage rarely an actor beyond a churlish vendetta hurt
Yet I dazzle the lingerie of even the most guarded skirt
The kiln of machination is a wedding of guarded betrayals of Monster Mash extortion
Alexisonfire a harbinger to the world’s belabored victory over corrugated striptease contortion
Thursday is a miraculous noise of shattered glass
Inertia knows ventriloquial varnish of shattered bones and tempted blood dripping in crematorium ash
Yet I survive with a Jive walk and a sardonic wagtail flock
Of the best patronage of cognoscenti shockwaves of bonanza stocks stalked like a swarpollock locket invisible to Tik Tok
I’m the best hip-hop in the game beyond the treachery of retreads of psychobabble inane
I strut like magic belonging to the sanitorium of the edgy swank of modest profane
Granite defected is my cement planet infesting the game like Boardwalks on the revived Titanic
Aliens headbash the gamut of my spangled manic
Ghost Ridin’ Raiders of the Lost Arc leads to hysterical panic
Indiana laughs at Elway’s squirrel because he bolted Baltimore with a baseball pretense for a sexier girl
When the rigmarole of genius aligns infamy bails out the oyster aphrodisiac of a Heart of the Ocean pearl
Time is a self-referential quisling of a monarchy built of subtle curling
A bored sport dazzling with scintillation in recursive zeal unfurling
A Canada Dry livid stargazer dozes on Oiler comets meteoric as hydroponics
**** quaffs the lazy lollygag rarely hooked on the righteous phonics
But no distaste to the canine game
I am well beyond the distance to the lethargy of NV in shame
Bear Bryant on Rushmore flowing high
Jetsetting across Pink Floyd’s lurid Clear Blue Skies
George trampled by Chauvinist monsters
Zuckerberg and Gates are honkies betting on bonkers loud both in Boston and in Yonkers
100 Billion of counterfeit souls sold to slot machine mannequins quite droll
Someone needs to devour their corner like a Revelations sour-tasting scroll
Tagged to apothecary mountebanks of Trey’s on repeat
A hard-won small Utah town harder than Joe Montana to beat
Bypassed hack of time Luminosity the adultress of 1693 regaled as a freakish feat
Time simpers to Spirit of Grace graven kantikoys in Seattle Graveyards blemished by dancing Creep
The Idioteque squalor of bemused negligence in a flooded Avatar Jurassic Park Jeep
I recall the St. Joseph’s brawl not with Sevendust Animosity or a squawk on short-sighted grating flag hooped with haywire lines snorted on Basketball
The marstions of plenilune filigree are 32 Leaves of RINOs of crestfallen dirges of cacophony deafened by Yachted Wedding Crashers’ squall
The swagger of a Vogue Rose kissed by Shadow Dancing ******* is livid in throes
Of a throwaway stretchgrave of Jackson’s crooning on astounding Mike Bossy Bose
Engraved with Islander epiphany that smokestack chockablocks itch every more Leary in gawsy clothes
I rampage through the filibusters of Jerusalem silt sunken by immigrants in tired tattered kilt
That the only famine known to McDonald’s is the demolition of Fireman of young Wayne Enterprises yet rigged to insuperable caverns hitched to the hilt
Soul Kitchen alphabets on Dewey Decimal design swagger yet with a Lugubrious Monkey-Silent Bob’s Feared Spinosity in Sprites of commercial Lemon-Lime
Of a dauntless Decision among many subdued by Prison that the apish caper gouges 20/20 Vision a cacophony dimpled in recessive alleles of a modern prime
That is also primacy antecedent to yoked Cartel SUV’s perfected in acerbic dungeons Monster Mash corners yet death unfurled in matchbox tinder of Futurama slime
Jet Lagged infancy of Nuclear Duff hustling the Illmatic Annoyance of BiffCO ***** riddles Uncle RICO wed boschveldt of Kansas City seen 21-30 with zeal and repine
The Bizarre Inc. of a lovelorn 96’ robbed Liberace into untimely death the spinsters of Key Auditorium Dine
Hemlock sprees of Socratic whimpers of treason of Piraeus marks the infamy of Brutus lagging with conscience diseased
That the marvel of vengeance is the plaudits of swanky New York Times rustling against dead Nevada Subways and Lusitania rollicking seas
Rage itches as Brock is capsized to Hearts of Oceans littered with Sparrow Murders of Ravens Batty with Belief
Mourning the Twister carnage of A Shining City on a Hill printed by Federal Way disclosure by Armada Music without a receipt
To the dozen graves of Monster Mash London Fog the Undeveloped Story of a balcony of Wayne Packer Million Dollar degrees
Challenged to a Final Revolution of a Fantasy terrorizing the Trafficked hand a Coca Cola seizure God spared for “Canceled” Taco Bell automotive brain freeze
Spinsters with vertigo paralyze on the hopscotch kettle of popcorn for amusement racketing squashed Colombia too many lines yet to appease
And too gaping Walls of Chauvin weaning on freckles of Comfortably Numb disease that Love Story castle is the monarchy of allusion to 19-17
Coffins for 24k Carat foresight by the antiquated architects
attacked for 2001 vengeance on Forsberg’s Spleen
Notorious by scores of tourists in aperture for Native American Casinos blankets on Red Scare forests
Apple’s chocolate-box sergeant prescience on brittle Reed Chorus
Sung by the litany of Ima memorialized by punctual Grace of the sashay of Delphinium fountain pens porous.

We are growing up wrong --
Let me rephrase,
There is nothing wrong with the way in which we are growing up.
We are wrong.

We are becoming whispered secrets behind closed doors --
the information with which to bind safely, advice on a name --
Quickly passed off goods as though it were illegal to
Own a binder, a packer, a mens tie.

We are becoming men,
And yet we were never boys, not really.
Not in the way we would have liked to be.

We will be fighting the rest of our lives,
Lying, probably. Lying, when it doesn't feel like lying --
"When I was a, well, a boy scout.." But you weren't.
You were a girl scout.

We are covering our tracks to hide the identity we've worked so hard to obtain --
No one but each other will ever be proud of us.
Not for this.
Not for the hardest fight of our lives.

you know why i can't be much of
                          an atheistic *******?
to be honest?
i - prefer the voice of
someone like black pigeon speaks
than someone with the pompousness
of someone like t. j. kirk,
i'm not a trekkie either!
but come on, the voice whether with,
or without the image...
i just find atheism boring,
esp. if it's the sort of atheism
that subverts free-will,
   what sort of atheism is the type
focusing on discussion,
but the blatant discard of the mark of cain?
why leave the murderer from
your ranks?
                   i'm not an atheist akin
to witch-chard dork-ings citing
a liking for christmas carols...
     me? i prefer the chant of the templars...
salve regina types...
   i'm just bored of atheists...
they're boring me to the death i wished
instilled by islamic terrorists...
          atheism becomes boring
when it finds itself fathomable
within the confines of poetics,
esp. among the ones critical of cubism,
who also make gain by criticism of
the current "status" of poetry...
atheism seems to leisure,
rather than make critical claims...
i just find it so insolent...
that it almost resembles islam in the kindest
stratum of worthwhile discard...
whether poetry, or whether song,
both are to be avoided by
the guiding principle of the caliphate...
mind you: i'd rather make amends
with the shia muslims of iran,
than these berbers of morocco...
   half the casket filled with decapitated heads...
at least the shia knew the concern
of image, knew the bounty of poetry,
of the persian, came prior to the tusken arab
with their barbaric "leisures"
crafting "law"...
      i cite worth the shia above the sun-amun-ní,
and that's how the matter rests...
i will not care to budge a revisionist fable...
atheism bores me...
  it bores me to ensure i make
my bone into an ashen crude fathom
of form, "relieved" by an epitaph...
mark the pilgrim his
            expected tattoo of the haj...
coming from iran,
  mark him with the gesture,
                     of being a welcome guest!
mark him, or forever serve the "peace"
of convening the wake of
            your supposed istishhad;
i say, mark him!
        make peace among the two:
to better see the one,
  minding you avoid the poly-schism
of christianity...
       mark him!
       lever toward a peace among you!
do not suppose you are freed from
a monotheism, than can suddenly
turn into a polytheism of a poly-schismatic
distaste of arguments, akin to christianity...
mark your shia brother!
          mark him! tell him!
tell him: this is as far as our argument
settles to dust, within the perpetuated falter
of argument's invited...
   mark him! tell him!
      you will not allow a third party schism!
tell him! mark him!
     you will not allow a third party islam,
no islam, beyond the already debatable
shia & sunni... no third party!

Feeling the "Earthquake" not really knowing who your lover
really is. All spies like a Jupiter Ascending
love ammunition how it got you there is no pretending

          X
        Flex
         Trix
          Mix
    Boo Botox
     Net Flix
Does the letter
           X
Solve our problems
       On a Fix

My X bigger bridges
Brooklyn hug sorry
(The Braggart)
hurry
Mr. Humphrey
Home of Ophrey
Supermarket X-play
game
Spoiled to
the very flame

life "X"  sport betting
X-Files hurt-playing
The book
**** and Jane
SPOT
pooping and
cleaning up
Keep talking
to never
shut up

Marks the spot
X-Men cup
Where's your other
X husband?
Did he get bruised
Tossed
Nutcracker
So wounded by
another lover

Tight B-fit
Treasure chest
packer
The pinch cheeker
Tried to heal him
I heartfelt his
wound
Drummer beat
me to it
band-aid

Computer Bugs
Ladybugs of aids
Teddy hugs maids

Judy red  Grape
ruby slippers
Her Garlands
Singing to the bank
Man-Tipper
Disney-land
Epcot
The farmland
Dot .   .   .   .   .
Are you down
on your

__
  $
  $
   $
X's_
She's highlands
Over the rainbow
  Oz only
Spellbound in
your sleep

Z   zzz  Z  zzz

Buzz-zzz Beeee
Mover trucker
Hoarder Fed Ex
So Wed-Dexter
X-Her
Did you see the
yellow
tape of
surveillance
The French
waitress
The *******
Raise her mattress
Don't hock my
X design
She is wanted
X-signs
Upgraded
Up Up and away
Need an update
Her calender Girls
Bikini X=style cups

Those braggarts
Bring on nuggets
** -
Xylophone
II
The bragger
Smartphone
The true lover

Bulleye
He darts me
Twin Tigers eye
Lined and framed
X-Spy
Valentines Day xoxo
Laying hearts on
the line
He's playing darts

He circled me
tic tack toe
Smartypants

XOxOxO  X0XO
Zany Zorro
1 0  0 0 $ Extra
Mantra
  ** The Taxman  
Oh! Why Y Y

down to
Zero Conman
  Singing the blues
Holiday Miss Billie
Let one X be my hero
Just X me 4-A
appointment
tomorrow

Of Spies per day
The Wolfine
Another X boyfriend
Time machine

Love conquers all
Another try

The old testament
The new Xtra
dividends
To be speared
The spearmint
Jupiter Ascending
in the future

Black magic or the
Goldmine
Told her X its time

Bloodline getting
approval
More enemies
of your rival
The good
versus evil


Halftime marked
No time adjusted
The real-time
everyone's birth
Arrested
Crying movie
Xtra needing
one bad

Pinch cheek warm
Looper fine Cooper
Halfheartedly
Spies coming to me
X   X   X   X
Snooper

The love forever
But not willingly
Oh!   0  0   0

Like you were both
Marked to die

Organic minerals
Meeting X-men
Generals
Good time of currency
love potency
Highland to my fancy

The even exchange

He's X I am $

What would you prefer?


More TimeSquare
Love me not

Last City token fare

The math equation
         X
Likewise silver teaspoon

Lovers measurable swoon
X men on the lagoon

Of the lord

The human state
X
Do you mind

Losing some stripes

Oh! Yikes making amends

People on the inside

Flattered by the energy
    X boast_
Heavenly encounter above
Name of a title 2 for X

Foremost another
Spy of
a toast
((To Be)) the most
Mark me and I promise
You will see
Jupiter Ascending
Her Floppy disk
In Gods love
commending

The future we may never know

But all the love in the world

"Love Is The letter"
If your happy and
you know it
Clap your X- hands
No pretending just
move to
your destinationHome

I'm a knuckle *******
Know when to shut my mouth lacker
Wish I had a ***** packer
Love me a ****-smacker
Driving range golf ball wacker
Right of the little guy backer
Skin like a saltine *******
The Mack daddy mack of macker
And a surprise pinch-hitter X factor

Don't slit your wrists, Hello Poetry's gender-fluid whiners.

Raging on the internet about things that don't matter,
Trying to get mingled into the great party chatter,
Who's on the other side a chef or karate master,
Whoever it is no it won't end with hearty laughter,
About to blow up the web ending up in disaster,
Typing keys fingers on fire but I need to type faster,
I'll pound on this board until my bones end up all shattered,
You're about to see what I've prepared on this bare platter,
I sit down at a dinner table but that's all after,
I step back to real life into this polluted pasture,
But what the heck's wrong; probably the under-cooked batter,
Everything is wrong because everything can be cancer,
Planting anger to your heart cause' I'm a feeling planter,
Flip over the table and pull out a rusty dagger,
Stab it in your brain pull out mainframe cause I'm a hacker,
You've tried to run away but i stuck you with a tracker,
Did I really leave or am I back at the adapter,
It's been whole entire hours and I still haven't even scampered,
What is real and important I don't know I've been fractured,
I better call my wife over for my meal and ask her,
When was the last time we went... wait I'm alone and sadder,
The computer ****** me away there goes my real stature,
I fall on my hands to the ground to clutter and clamber,
Head first into a wall but I ain't no Green Bay Packer,
I'm knocked out fast put in hospital then I remember,
She told me computer or her but I gave no answer,
I need to talk to her not in this setting or manner,
Quick pain followed by a flatline I've sadly been captured.

by now i know i'm not really
adding much to the narrative -
nothing to: quench the zeitgeist
thrill or: pneumonia...

i cannot offer either an escape
plan or some comforting
trickle of wisdom -
       all the better:
    there's no blatant sentiment
on my part for an escapism -
as there's no fixation
on transcendence -

           same old two variations...
but when i smoke
a cigarette...
and listen to purple people eater -
cockfight...
and there's some bourbon
too...
    well... i bring gravity
to entertain the function
of feet: one minute perched
on a windowsill (clenched
buttocks sitting on a folded
foot... the other dangling) -

with an interlude:
i guess that's how i dance
with gravity -
a centipede on nicotine:
quasi-numbing arithmetic
of: pairs... infinite pairs
of legs...

then sitting in a chair:
crouched like a crow like a priest...
no... not really...
nothing more from me
to sustain this narrative:
elsewhere...
    dasein doesn't even work
on me:
    oh sure... big concern for
big h'america...
         the soviets never made
it: somehow the chinese
played the long-game and
that shitaki hallucinogenic
was brought in on the sly
with a very subtle broth...

       that's all i have... running
dry on prospects for concern...
out of sight: out of mind...

i very much like the idea (and
experience) of being the last
person in the house to deserve
a bed and find sleep...

i am also very thankful that
i am not old...
             and young enough
to not feed into a vanity:
     but when someone might
suggest: this is only a
"word salad"...
           such friendships...
       i guess we were both
competing... ahem... "competing"
"artists"...
   if he could only have said
something more...
last time i checked though...
there was no constructive
criticism...
   nor did he mention any
famous poets...
              we apparently wrote
poetry...
how i might have wanted
to talk to him about some verse...

a fwendship that ended
with: you should title your work...
that psychiatric put-down
the toothless Doug...
             thank god this friendship
didn't end because of money...
or a woman...
instead over a disputed
informality - tact -
          something this trivial:
making the friendship trivial
to begin with...

                 such that be the current
wrath that feeds a speeding up
the death of nostalgia...
          there can be no nostalgia
in rewriting of history:

grandiosity of blistering words...
otherwise it wouldn't be neu-history
would it: something done
by way of arbitrary:
            from the atheist collective
tsunami back to sq. 1 of
the resurgence of the individual:

like, somehow...
the mind is an exclusivity of
genius imposing the rule of thumb...
sometimes though:
it's not even a genius...
   at best it's a veneer masquerade...
teasing tautology...

a beast at the froth...
               base insignia: it's hardly
a black-*******...
it's hardly a glimmering
hammer & sickle...
   it's a greyish stone and scythe...
but it's otherwise: the RED...
primer... and guard...
there was once talk
of the white russians and
the red russians...

       i guess the french will
be forever bleu...
  the cardinals are red...
the bishops don ***** purple...
how for all the meticulous
additions to... "understood"?
we revert back to...
poet of amber poet of red
poet of green...

     ha! amber: reconsider!
waver!
red! full-stop!
    green: which is not blue:
green is also envy...
blue is high values...
   but you'd never... associate
blue with: keep going...
don't stop... even though...
the river is blue: blue as
water in a glass is "blue"...
well... or that the sea is blue...
enough area and depth
and enough of the sun...
the sky is blue...
   the earth is tinged with
green outlets...
otherwise...
cinnamon lives matter?
arabs don't matter...
test of "conscience"...
        
             the flag of estonia...
blue black and white...
the flag of lithuania: yellow,
green and red...
   that prominent arab
countries borrowed
the white red and black
borrowed from the empire prior
to weimar republicanism...

otherwise the ordeal of man-made
laws: one year the vogue -
the next a limping outcast:
a ***** colony starts from
a whipping of jurisprudence...
some said: a new normal...

edward the confessor,
the normans and the anglo-saxon
antithesis horde counter
to: how i find underage girls
unappealing...
how you can only tell:
a girl is not procrastinating
her media influenced ***
when... walking next to her...
is a boy... and he's gaff...
or he's riddling a concept
of a bicycle...
                  but you sort of have
to pair them up...

if i were my old 21 year old self...
and the hormonal fog had
my mind in an iron maiden...
and i was dating locally...
without a plethora of geographical
locations: one girlfriend from
russia... one from australia...
one from france...
some spanish one-night-stand...
a whole bunch of romanian / bulgarian
advert friendly *****...

       colt bite the buck and bucket...
to think of *** like a swan:
settling down... giving her a brand
new kitchen...
a pair of cats to pet...
a very unreasonable son to try to
shake off like a fizz in a drink:
to open a can of coca-cola...
if only later to drink some acid
trip of stale: same partie...

     couldn't the fate of yugoslavia
come face to face with america?
couldn't there be a sedation of states...
if the polish lithuanian commonwealth
could be nibbled out of existence...
by 1, 2, tic-tac-toe partitioning...
if mr gorbachev could fathom:
peacefully: (a) ukraine...
estonia... lithuania... the kazakh bazar...

couldn't... the great american
juggernaut leave room for interpretation
as to how there might have to
be sedition states?
solo texas...
the north east coast could
write a constitution of the states
of sedation...
it's not like america could ever
become: wholesome... rye glamours...
and remain intact: that it could!
it could! for the desires of
nostalgic posterity...
   unlike the grinding blunder...
some minor concept of:
"nation"-        or    -"state"...

    past the calorie mark...
ingesting the liquidrice like maple like
crude moon-shim-shimminy-sheen:
glued teeth together and:
breaks the bone...
having to crease the pain...
and differentiate...
otherwise:
a flamboyant: tibia...
walked a dog on a leash
that was also (once) a hangman's noose...
and he barked and jazzed a rhapsody
of barking like there's no analogy for
tomorrow!

no clue in on the game of:
statutes... law...
      or synonyms...
           discretion of proofs -
             cold core concept of...
that there was an idea of
sniffing *******:
when in fact... Kiev youths
boast of sniffing glue...
              
        because i couldn't possibly...
leverage an act...
if i were 34 and she was 21...
and... oh... right...
the fetish of the forbidden is missing...
esp. in the digital medium:
because when flesh is imposed
upon flesh: and there's no...
hormonal aurora...
           the kids keep their bias...
jokes work best...
              some fake some russian
trucker...
and some parents who sought
justice: **** and club of metal over
the head...
               thus?! pristine and
spaghetti retro-flex...
spinning and spasms extra...

          that man achieved poetry
and nuance of language:
that some words don't aid... vectors...
that the ego is no ******* compass...
copernican "west"?
in the geocentric dimension...
which is still somehow needed...
otherwise? dream-big!
heliocentrism and science-fiction!

- to sort of tinker with a layer of man's
laws... and there's gravity...
and then to ***** oneself with
a constellation:
because the united could
never be as united as the yugoslav
project: post-scriptum
of the ottoman barber shop...

   spooked bosnians: best beloved
little europe avenue
gashing with pauper blood
of aristocrats of burgundy...
the biggest shame came...
when the blood was gushing
from the guillotine:
no one held an adventure into
the jesus christ metaphor...
no one sparked a drunkard ****
of wine gurgling...

to read the law:
somehow to read the thesaurus...
balance bonkers of the synonym nuance...

or that other myopic extreme:
some john dillinger,
some greater extremity of new yorker
blues:
new york is like anything
beside this standard of new amsterdam...

shooting dogs that aimed
at skipping: three legged...
unless that debilitating quote from
mary shelley...
and how the monster:
proteus or caliban...
          in name alone...
was to cite...
                           tectonic urges...
that there was a mr. caliban
and a mrs. caliban...
          but that there's also
a neuter lobster: ****-frenzy...

           right now: to want to live in
america... to want the custard...
the fudge and marshmallow...
to rewrite new york
like: a bunch of people who
love to eat in: who can cook...
and the restaurant is...
    an overcooked platter of veggies...

the edible gurgling of
post ad hoc lawyers...
               postmodernism of:
that / this disused hammer without
layers and tiers of nails born
toward tables and stables...

no new bogus prospect:
twisting original narratives:
some cite dementia prone
quid pro quo(tas)...
                      this ordeal of...
heaping together limbo:
EISENHOWER:
            no ad lib. / verbatim:
        we will not churn out
tea-leaves made into chewing gum...
then we will!
find! the lost avenue!
of! digest-able chewy-chow-some!

- then we bring in the saxons-anglicised...
and treat them to some disney...
we'll subsequently huddle
imitating hebrews:
like the briton mongrels
we are... we probably are a people
of polyglots and polymaths...
but under the present guise of
history:
we are celts and we are britons...
there was the saxon invasion...
there were the viking raids...
there was the norman revision...

            we the people...
of the afghanistan of the north: minding
arthur and "king"...
we're not celts... unless having lived
in scotland:
one might tell the difference
when someone accents the Gaelic theta:
as a surd H... **** a t'ought...
    apostrophe (') = surd...

         edinburgh nicknamed
athens of the north...
st. petersburg / amsterdam are both...
venice of the north...
of the former: seat of learning...
i never like david hume's black swans...
and if nietzsche is
to make critique of kant:
i.e. kant being the "philosopher"
of bureocrats....

how does: the will to power end up?
despotic bus drivers...
POWER! with a missing will...
yes... the most ordained with
a silent mind are currently served up
teases of tension...
POWER!
  the bus driver is currently being
served up a placebo amphetamine
cocktail...
he or she... can gesticulate
at a heaven: deus est persona non grata...

the facemask "riddle":
power to the cogs...
leaving the sigma of the machinery
in tatters...
otherwise... a slowing-down mechanism...
POWER!
       nietzsche is more
a power-broker... a philosopher
of daydreams and the overt-exercise
of futility than Kant would ever become...

the bus driver... oh how i wished
to heave a career of... winding clocks...
daydreaming in automaton mode...
but now... POWER!
however futile...
however that's ambitious in
continental thought...
on these shores it has to receive
a new baptism of that...
*******... pragmatism!

           niqab star of david attache...
the surgical face mask:
the will to: what was forever available:
petty power...
limiting hierarchies:
unit... power...
power disguise... power of the drone
chant...
           chatter...
power towing limbo!

  otherwise... kept guilty secret...
50ml of bourbon with some variant "contra"
of butter scotch biscuits...

  but there are the POWER brokers...
what belittling POWER gains...
and oh! god and the devil's
******* and pair of *******...
                                how power can
be exercised by bus drivers
when... commuters are exacted
with face masks...
to stipend them with...
   a nuanced basis for discrimination...

trigger-happy devoid or...
what's the difference
between a bunch of autists...
and sociopaths / psychopaths?

what's the difference
between an autist and a sociopath?
a schizophrenic
sitting in between...

that i am? or merely: bilingual?
america is bilingual ready!
y'um hum hummatie y'ah!

napoleon and the grief of height:
when the dating market evaluation is
strictly: poisoning a borrowing
of feuds: borrowing a friend of a friend of
a friend... and that:
stitching of a cow -
having excavated the stomach
for the ergonomics of a hot-air balloon...

because i had to be the bilingual
the only child freak-oh...
         in the currency of the cited "times"...
this is not a time: this is a space...
a space is congested with such
a people...
but a time... a time would be congested
with: the Pre-Raphaelites...
a time could be congested with such...
but we're talking about a space congestion...
a ****** riddle of a rubber without
skin...
             because there's... science fiction
and... SPACE...
as there's the "will" to POWER...
and there will always be...
the busdriver who doesn't enjoy
driving a bus... because...
there's the forever new rubric of:
keeping up with a best
forgotten attention & span...

         ode to lionel nation -
unlike speaking to my grandfather
strapped to a dementia
riddle cinema of memory:
that there is a cinema of memory...
that there's a concept of:
lukewarm drunk...

that there's a basic of:
yes... i know the best of my life...
memories borrowed from
aeons ago should the collective present
hindering my selfish pursuit
demand as too bourgeoisie:

******* anti-****
primo leisuring...
some old variant some
pseudo Yorick...
         m'ah neu adventure to
somehow tow Fwýday...
that the Vandals never came:
bilingual...

              extensive research
into the communist doctrine
of the: ******-rite of passage:
the omni-
nerve-ending focus of attention
15 minutes to a span....
          
borrowed themes...
the same sort of agriculture...
in the back of my mind:
worship Warsaw...
pursue a sacrificial "lamb":
tease the paedo-dodo project...
of man and king john and...
whatever is a best nuance...

      WE HAVE SUCH FORMAL
TONGUE RIDDLES
TO CHOKE ON...
BSM YOUR WORTH
A LEATHERY-SNIPPET...
i hold sway on "leather"
that's... cow intestines...
trollop...
            a beheaded gorgon
of slippery "details"..
    
   i want to catch the posture
of when english becomes
mongol...
Ukrainian riddled...
           this tongue requires
of itself to be... loaned!
completely!
                 my humble Kiev...
my Ukrainians
born drunk
at the Warsaw West... junction...

looks like the intelligence
of the western world:
can't sell words of Orestes...
implying one might have just read
a nibble...
bo boast!
the dot dot... and farming new!
nuanced: punctuation markers!

the thrill...
of having to ascend...
the morning...
knowing too well...
how the air is scented...
when prior the air was
ravaged by rain...
the details are left in the abstract:
whatever reality is yours!
it's yours...
it your new dead-red
project of... excating Beijing...

bewildering...
how i never settled on
sedating the English
with a blues: Somalian;
   n'est ce pas?

it never rains nor does it shine...
it's never culprit:
it's never simply canadian:
post-nationalistic in europe:
albeit a post-nationalism
of the state-collected...
"europe":
how... the greeks are...
some variations of turkish...

i'm not here: the hagia sophia
is also a...
what is it?
byzantine constipation /
                  leveraging pride
gimmick...
                         esque special
some variant of conundrum...
           mein auch!

                 i'd like to stroke a horse's mane...
like i might...
yet still find "unfathomable"
to leave comparisons with...
a violin detail.

after watching half an hour's worth of
a, "debate" between
                tucker carlson vs.
                 cenk uygur
i start to experience: custard head...
like i some Scottish ******* working
on a Royal Mile in Edinburgh
candy-shop...
it's not exactly a headache,
but it's something...
                           jeez... what is this ****?
was i reborn while drowning?
blah blah blah... blah blah blah...
blah blah blah... and blah blah blah some more...
paradigm shifts...
yet still the pompous unmovable
status quo...
                what a load of crock-****...
i just can't believe i wasted half an hour
listening to these guys...
dialectics...
  back in the olden days, of Ancient Greece...
the only mediator between two
contesting sides was...
a ******* bench...
           why do you need a mediator?
why not... something you can share,
and subsequently, sit on?!
that's how i talk to old men in parks...
bicycles (Raleigh - green, military green,
pristine *******), grandchildren,
the ethics of drinking in public...
you know, the usual with old men...
**** into the wind, **** against it...
headache... all this political *******...
it's like having to do the alex
in clockwork orange...
           eyes wide open, reformed...
or on my way... while watching a *******
snooker match...
please! but they won't shoot you...
no... like that line i wrote a while ago...
concerning andrei chikatilo...
  his execution and
bane: or perhaps he's wondering why
someone would shoot a man before
throwing him out of a plane?!
so why would the Ukrainian authorities
require... a prison cell,
to shoot a man?
             oh... that's right...
the movies lied to you...
the only death that's "instantaneous"?
in your sleep...
   just look up christine chubbuck,
sure as **** she didn't die on the spot...
it's like people orientate themselves
with or without a soul around
the brain...
  like: you **** that first: up to heaven
in a matter of milliseconds...
that urban myth: a cockroach can live
up to 2 weeks without its head,
before it dies from starvation,
                                     is that true?
i don't know why i keep coming back
to this scene... a single shot through the back
of the head...
              i'm crouching, somehow
attached to like a spider to the Y point
of a cell... curious...
          just curious at how long...
well... the heart can turn off the brain...
but the brain can't turn off the heart...
                   what a fascinating style of execution...
too bad for Curt Kobain...
    Kafka wrote about it spot on:
first the heart... last the brain...
           i can't even begin to fathom...
how slowly that poor schmuck had to take
to bleed out through his head...
i always return to: how long do you think
it would take...
   being brain dead, with the body still
functioning... like...
oh you know... a brain in a pickle jar,
but rather... a damaged brain...
   and a slowly decomposing body from
a lack of nutrients?
you think that after several days
they plugged him into a hospital drip,
and kept him in the cell for years?
well... one's mind sometimes drifts...
ha ha... to unexpected scenarios...
on a lighter not... i went wild today...
two bottles, one a standard whiskey,
the other? wild turkey...
Kentucky bourbon...
****... there's a story...
        expertly crafted by Kentucky bourbon
hall of Famer Eddie Russell...
we age our bourbon longer -
    up to five or eight years -
in number four "alligator char"
     H'american oak barrels...
**** me...
         with notes of sweet vanilla,
  pear, and hints of spice:

so the Irish have Boston,
while the Polacks have Chicago
over there?
   just wondering...
             it's not like i ever want to visit
America...
           my dream...
hmm...                  the Faroe Islands.