The space of the body of an *** is a good thing,
as long as the face
of the poet is Black;     keeping ur hands out of the war,
the head of the dead;
The heat of the land of years of snooch in the darkness;
he has the white feet of the Queen to do all that, you learn to **** when u're young;  & 1 have thought of the Green American Jesus,
      coming out of the Big chosen field of the Gold find;
the beauty of the standard of a living being; the sun,
           the ancient fortunes of money are an iron barred jail cell;
           ******* War is hell, the city,       the future of the goddess of death,
the stars of the blood of the females; In place of the word ***** is a great sea of ​​six poets; Called by the name of the Kids,
              her hair in roller thinking of a Skinny hand to love
              & to hold,
            but she  lost the baby at the door;               but it's better
what w/ the fire living in the sky;          the Moon's true history
of the happy girl's marriage [Media General]          
was a Dream told to Wall Street Roy; Igor, drunk then married the air base
opening where her American father heard she was made of gold;
a person writing in English w/ hand around a cool beverage
in the middle of a part of Greece that was a highly rich in fresh water  
& should it come into his heart,
he was willing to see that new-born children
                      are the real saints but the work  
   of turning it all around & walking through
                              the three states of yellow;
is the nature of lateness,                  however, it was full of the stars'
              yearning to feel
the Book of the Medusa; the son of ugly red wild beasts
     was on the way, walking onto a small amount of a kid in
     pieces,                                     & suffering the rock;
              the stone Guy's aquarium flooded in the year
     of the age of Maria Brown, gay mothers
     leaving us to take up arms;
in                    the month of the lips, but where there is the spirit
of the osculating dear friend of the mistress    & the deep things
of course to form;              Virginia Civil Society, as it appears that
at 1 a.m., I am writing the best of Ivan;  the wet Russian girl-child
fills w/ smoke            & 1 & 1 will say to the soul of the song
                               dancing to the evil of smoking firebrands,
          the material of the window
whose mirror is the revolutionary
perfection of God; Secret of the underdog,                  the invisible things
of the guys, including the blind man;   modern history turned into reality;
standing & listening to music,                    she was asked if she read a lot;
of eating the ***** in the field                               free of a stripper's cares

enough to talk rings way around the plate
of Standard club strippers,
Kissing & Falling over;                                      then leading to the house
                                                  once up on their feet again;
        The war the death of the good of the land of the poet;
          Nigeria within the body of an ***
pulled out of the fire by the head
of the mutilated snooch;              & the fixed period of the heat of the feet
                                of the
                                                   Princess of all others in the dark;
& for him a white stone, & for her fresh **** in the field because,
                            for 1,
                            because he is considered too green,
                       & the Americans own the Big Knives,
                       that they conduct to the chosen;
            The beauty in the methods that have been prepared;
by the goddess of the Sun,            |      the star of the old iron one:
& the sister that had been defiled       by the blood of the female,
        & the price of the fortunes   of war is great glory to the sea,
                                                     then the city would be hell,
                        & out of six places come the acts of the poet;
But love has become a lost child;  1 thought the skinny kids
in the air were really the opening of the Moon's seminal story:
[Media: General]  but they were only |      | Dreams told to the
Wall Street Journal,
get Igor drunk & he'll lead the way
            to the American Air Base's
                      glory hole
                         where
a Golden man is writing in English by hand
  & comes in from the cold
  hole &                                                shall be given drink in the middle
of Sparta of Greece,          as they had been waiting for Him to come on
                         the  first,
where the water is deep;         & a new boy is out w/ his new toy,            all   out except for the work;          To walk in the same amount of time
as just the small amount of time;                            of
                             ­      red high-spirited kids cutting it to pieces,
& they shall strike the ugly son of the stone cut out of the rock,
it is the sorrow of the fisheries,
not the Guys living in the time of Mary Brown;       
  leaving the arms of mothers
                     & the gay press,
                     at which time these ladies' love runs deep in Virginia
deploying among civil society, it appears that the mind is the best;
                          writing about you & us wet in the Russian 1000's;
                        1 will say that it is filled w/ the music of 1000 Bad dances;
& these fires;           this is the perfect picture of the revolutionary
                measures        taken
                through the window
                into the dog's secret invisible,
    because it is blind;      modern history            has become reality;
      1 asked the girls listening to music & reading a lot;
    not because 1 hate them: but for the expression of a man made of iron
     in order to be allowed to sit w/ the dog keeping watch
on the territory;    which consists in speaking
                        w/ the carelessness of his toes,  
& a sparkled stripper in the Strippers English Club    |    dances to show
                                she knows
                                  her way                 around the plate wear
                                       [testimony to the house of legs]:
The head of the inside of a she-*** out of the fire of death
for the good of the land of poets;                           War & Nigerian snooch
that fixed the period of the ****** feet of the African Princess         in the dark; the heat of the fact that it is said,               |            to him, |
a white stone lost in the green of the field,  |
& w/ it with the sacred scarab; South America knows knives,    
choosing &                          Ready to be born into the first path into form;
1 thought the skinny kids,        were already up in the air
but the door of the moon's seminal story has not yet been opened:
                | -}[Media: General]{- |    dreamily told the Wall Street
John that Igor was drunkenly leading everyone to the American
        Air Base's glory hole where the golden heads of the fathers
bobbed up & down;
who can write,        For example, in English,
                        from the hand to the heart of Greece;              from the cold;
we shall give drink to the first;                         |    that it will not be lacking
in the waters of the great deep;                                The child without a toy
   making a new effort to walk in the small amount of space
   that the sons of the high-spirited kids have cut into pieces;
           his being deformed & the amount of red in the stone;
                    which had been hewn out of the rock of sorrow
on the earnings of a woman,           the fish that we bought;
the guy is a writer of histories; in the time of Mary Brown;
husbands,   & wives are the weapons of the bottomless pit;
leaving the ladies gay,                               love has flown to
| Virginia;                                  Deploying the wine-presses
                                at a time that pertained to civil society,  
to the life of the mind,                                  to be a woman,
it seems that it is the best way for you, & us to write
                                                     of the wet Russians;
                                                it is what gets the evil out of the music;
  I filled 1 Cup so far w/ inflammation in the perfect image
  of the dog
  in the window; blind revolutionary measuring
                                        Secrets w/ invisible instruments,
                                   because modern history is the truth;
                                   1 asked the girl        
          standing beside me listening to
                                   music
if she read a lot;  1 did not think that she had a desire to do so,            so far,
&   yet she may be awakened out of the devil w/ the sword;   Doth not your fellowship w/ the black dog in the field
preclude breaking the covenant; that is to talk about the carelessness
of his fingers sparking against a stripper's back;             | Or of a meeting of the shifting
                                   Tectonic plates below the
                                                       English Isles,
          having sent the sun-burnt strippers
          spinning in the House of see-through underwear,
          considering
                                    the ways of the club;    
                                    her budding feelings
                                                        ­                                            & beautiful shining feet

In the midst of cotton fields,
the blood stained parched mud.
The footprints deeply imprinted,
did they walk with a future unheard,
A scene from a western entertainment.
The reality however frightened,
with thoughts of ancient past,
and you wonder how and why?!!
Why the instances of violent thrill?
To belittle the powerless under your control.
Why the question of untouchable and discontent?
The question to freedom pertained throughout,
by many great souls over  a period of time?
The cheap skill all around,
once and forever for granted,
the then degradation of human mind,
continues to speed up phony mundanity.
In the lost time with unknown souls,
wishing for a priceless touch,
a brush with the everlasting feel,
of forgotten past,to play the note of enrichment,
With a love so pure found in a fantasy.
And there she walks away
with a whipped back into her glorious world reluctantly,
looking for a bright Sunday morning.

I never said forever,
Nor did I think that was the time frame
In which you'd leave my life.
I found losing you is such a shame.

I never said disappear
Completely, dissipate into thin air.
I didn't think you would honestly,
But it was no surprise, rather it was fair.

We suffer consequences from actions
Consistently, all the time,
And I just didn't realize
Losing you would be mine.

I never said that I'd miss you.
I never even really said good bye.
I never said I wish you the best,
I never said I'm sorry for orchestrating lies.

I never said my apologies for
Creating a web of false hope
That trapped you, and now that you're free
I don't really know how to cope.

I never said how much you meant
To me, or how much I really care.
I never said any of it and it'll remain so,
My lungs never made those thoughts into air.

I never said a lot that pertained
To how important you were
And maybe still are. I'm sorry,
Of only that I am sure.

How can you run when you know?
⁃Neil Young

America,
Our words won’t shake the world enough to grow flowers out of gunpowder, or bright red, blood-curdling screams.

But we can try

These kids were 14 when they closed their eyes for the last time
They were 14 when the stepped out their front doors for the last time,
Their fresh eyes were swallowed out the back of their necks

I look at them the way I look at a blank canvas
Opportunity cascading like waterfalls
I look at them as a museum that was waiting for art
Waiting for love
And America
I am waiting for love

I was 14 and I was stuck in my own head
Trying to find something to belong to but searching in all the wrong places.
I was 14 and I too thought more about ending my own life than I would like to admit
I was 14 and I never watched the news because it never pertained to me

You see,
I was selfish for thinking the news never pertained to me
I was selfish for staying so disengaged, desensitized
America, my home, my nightmare
Wake up
Blame the video games, blame mental illness
But America, look
You’re killing your children

Wake up,
Because I am sick of praying
I am so tired of feeling helpless
Maybe there’s something we can do
Let's make our voices heard
Let's turn our lost blood to ink
And scream to ******* artist himself,

I’m sorry, Mr. President
But, did you get more than you bargained for?
We’ve been patient Mr. President
And we’re ready for your response.
Wake up, Mr. President
How many lives must be lost?
You’re a ******* artist, Mr. President,
But you can’t worm your way out this time
Don’t choke now Mr. President
This problem is kinda huge.
This country is a divided wrist, Mr. President
And your stubborn orange skin makes it seem as if we’re going to lose.

In the hearth of all and none,
there stood two-
Who were as one
In the hearth of all and none
There stood two-
who too, where none

Both, like eyes, to a thought not yet thought
The two stood there and were-
And yet at the same time- were not
But one awoke, and in awaking bore thought
And from then on the thought of not,
Was there, and forevermore, all but naught

The other, angered by the thought
Stood and and found his brother awake
And from there the birth of twins
Of blindness and seeing, of knowing and sleeping
He was thought, life, existence and being
He was not, death, nonexistence, nonbeing

And the awoken named himself Palcion, meaning infinite
And from there he ran across the none and brought being
From here to there, he brought what, whos, hows, and wheres
And he named his brother Retisbon, which pertained to limit
And he followed his brother- picking up the things he made and left
All his whats, whos, hows, and wheres- stripping them of being

And then Palcion grew tired, and went to sleep on his brother’s lap,
Retisbon, still awake, guarded his brother in his slumber-
And in his slumber, he stripped all his creations of being
Upon Palcion awakening, Retisbon then grew tired, falling too on his lap
Palcion, then awake, guarded his brother in his slumber-
And in his slumber, he thought to continue to make and make

Retisbon awoke, across his brother now, who then was busy making-
In front of Palcion, all he made, which Retisbon thought of breaking-
He made, he broke- he gave being, and he stripped them of it-
And so the myth of  Palcion the Infinite, and Retisbon of the Limits-
Being made into all, and all soon stripped of being- the first of all natures

And from this came time,
And from that came worlds,
And from there all that will ever be in it.

There was once a boy
A boy that resembled a toy.
A boy who wore oversized shoes,
Baggy pants and unusual spectacles.

A short stub,
That lazed clumsily around the room,
A boy whose appearance was hardly noticeable,
And presence engulfed.

The poor boy was constantly annoyed,
Teased and bothered.
Thrown around the room
Like the rag he seemed to be.

There seemed no escape,
From terrifying bullies,
That roamed around the school,
Waiting patiently to crush him.

The helpless boy waited,
For the Bully to take him,
Grab him by the shoulders,
And smother his dreams in pain.

One day, however, the boy waited.
He waited patiently
For the bullies to take command,
But they never did, they just walked past.

The lonely boy discovered,
That he pertained an unknown power,
One that left him nameless,
And devoid of appearance.

He knew he was not vitreous,
See-through or transparent.
But he could roam through a room,
Unnoticed, overlooked.

He could run through a clear field,
And go unperceived.
He was able to devour a thousand meals,
And never be blamed.

Such abilities brought wonderful joys,
And grand pleasures,
However such leisure brought
Terrible solitude in return.

The assurance of his safety warmed him,
Knowing he’d be free of harm.
But the gawky boy was lonely,
Devoid of company or charm.  

He roamed the halls alone,
He sat absently in his desk.
And slowly his loneliness
Began to consume him.

He was overcome
by the colorlessness of his pale skin,
The crookedness of his misshapen brow.
He slowly fainted, into a mirrored glass.  

The boy had become,
That he had always been;
Another shadow,
Another gust of wind.

His pale skin disintegrated.
The oversized shoes sank.
His spectacles shattered.
The smirk evanesced.

The boy became,
That which cannot be named.
A light breeze,
A faint whisper.

I sought a healing sanctuary,
just to take a stroll.
And near this berm, I took a turn,
down a grassy knoll.
at its base, inscribed in white
a sign profoundly true.
With one quick read, I saw the creed
Pertained to me and you.
Didactic text from this Buddhist,
The 14th Dali Lama.
When you’re caused harm, don’t be alarmed
Internalize the trauma.
I left a heart-shaped rock as homage
To shed my heart of stone.
And to pay my debt not to forget
Took a picture with my phone.
Now I have this picture always
To begin the hard process
Of letting go, albeit slow
And no longer bear these crosses.

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I held onto your nettle rope
that your hands fashioned
then we  descended
the watch tower in Leith Hill,
elopimg  through the
greensand way
so that we could by pass the silent pool
where no young maiden could
tbe waylaid
by errant Knights again.
By such means compassion blossomed
gallantry pertained to new days

Questions unanswered ,

Blanks unfilled,

I had many

But somehow,

Society could fill them all.



Who destroyed me ? Why did they?

I never knew

The moments of unfathomable pain, i knew

When they smacked me,

Shredded me,

Devoured me.

But somehow ,

The society knew it all.



Judgemental I call them,

Skeptic the society prevailed.

For them, imbecile

My blanks pertained.

Obvious Consequences

Of  hints I gave , they said.

Consequences of attire

And behavioral patterns, they said.

Whoa, Is our society for real?



Only one blank unfilled

For the society remained.

Section 228A was their complaint.

Such narrow-minded hounds, I exclaimed.



Justice tried to fill my blanks.

Could he ? I asked again

Shamefully , he took his eyes off.

Could my blanks ever be filled?

I asked again

It is when I remember your smile
That I remember to smile.
Not smiling outwardly,
But having that hope
Of days brighter,
Now that you have come my way.

I have come a long way from sad
To not-sad, only to be drifted here,
Seeing you,
Once,
And then not having to see you again,
But still end up happy,
And definitely
Wanting to be happier.

It is when your lips part and un-part;
It is when your eyes blink and un-blink,
That a man focuses
And be out-of-focus at the same time.
I have forgotten to pay my fare.
I have forgotten to get your number.

It is when a man writes this thing down
Right away, impulsive.
It is when a poem is not as beautiful
As to whom it is pertained to.
It is when a man writes something down
On a receipt.

I better keep a frown ready,
When I am down,
That I may be reminded
Of that gift you have.
And then I’d smile.

This is when a man makes you matter.
This is when a smile is both inside and out.
This is when you smile me out of lonely.
This is when you smile me in
To the very Word of God.

And now
This one smile
Has two smiles
To smile about.

Now I go,
Straightforward,
Saying:
You had…
…the sweetest smile.

© 2012 J.S.P.

Mental processes so deep, bathing
alone at the bottom of the ocean,
like a baby before his mother ruined
him; a book before it’s opened; right
yesterday, wrong today; fundamental,
primary, calm before a tragedy, simple
before complexity; knowing the first
step may be wrong in the pursuit of
intent, but living easy in the fragile
consequence of decision where
coherence need not beg permission
to venture forth into bemused oration,
the stimulation of provoking thought
and triumphant rejection of legalisms
cleverly stated to establish the guilt
of an innocent

Underneath the deluge of our impending
life our fears seek sanctuary within the
mind or is it a place to avoid leaving no
room for kindness which must take refuge;
we want the right to make a statement
without fear for do they have any concept
of our problems; but I do want to understand;
justice was always known but only as it
pertained to me; but though I thought
about transcending difficulties it was
something only about myself instead that
of others; I only wanted to live within the
justification of my happiness

If I were your lover could you learn from
me or live knowing that I disagreed with
you on something so vital to you; could
you believe that my silence does not
conspire against you but instead is my
journey towards sanity as I must work
things out without further intervention
by the interests of someone who may
or may not feel agreeable with the musty
smells of the books that line the walls
of my mind; could you allow me to
contend with the past even though
everyone else has decided to move
on with their lives?

Are you the type who would follow
the law no matter how far it may
stretch your heart; but if allowed to
make your statement would you know
why you uphold what corrupt men
decided was just; I wonder if the ground
upon which you walk is worthy of my
worship when it is not the ground upon
which I lay but instead upon your good
graces that I must beg, otherwise I might
change my mind about what is just and
what is merely expedient

To be responsible for your actions
without regard to ambition or wealth;
you may choose the direction; you may
change the direction; it is your choice
alone; or you may delude yourself of
what is right in the name of your own
greatness; that anonymity and a humble
life is somehow the same as prison; what
we have done is to make someone feel
insignificant for honoring the most
significant virtues we all stand for,
truth and justice; yet it is true that truth
need no representation from a skilled
jurist as even a child can know what
his own eyes have witnessed; but
would it be altered by the times in
which he lived or would logic destroy
his small mind and bend it so that he
may be reduced to choosing between
nightfall or a shadow

Would it occur to you in time or is it
wise to learn from another to know
what is true, but if you wait until your
own goodness or awareness of another’s
pain reveals itself to you may be too late;
it may be that you cannot cross the river
so while you wait on the evil side you
must know how to recognize the good
that must live while it too waits for the
promised land

Do you know wrong to be wrong
without exoneration when compared
to greater wrongs; would you argue
against guilt if they spoke in favor of
that in which you believe; who would
be willing to tell the truth knowing their
life will be examined thoroughly; but
you must bring it forward, to endure
the indignity of a merciless soul search;
reason exists solely to defend against
depth that would bury the truth; what
way of life would ignore these things; it
is the life of fear that makes us choose
the wrong things in the hope that
good exists somewhere underneath
the crushing weight of the light to
which one day we will surface

I bleed like I need a transfusion, but blood's the illusion that life lingers on
when all hope of a quick death has gone.
A long time ago when I shone like a star and only entertained life in the death of one more bar in the bottom of a glass,
where E= Mass only pertained to a lass, who picked me up to dust me down,
I realised
that as a man I was a clown drowning in my oceans of failures and friendships unvetted and instantly regretted.
I bleed red, the colour of rage in my blood where the only good vessel I sailed on was in me and sank without trace.
Now I whirr in the midnight, a spinning top that's not quite right.

I break apart every other beat of my heart
to search for the thrill that will **** me
and still bleed like I need a transfusion.

My daughter was shouting on me for a cause
She was correcting my flaw just clause by clause
I was just listening to her interpretation of laws
I thought I was collecting straws in flower vase

The matter pertained to my brother's widow
Who left us on the tricks of her father and family
And initiated a bogus case in the court to flow
To sail in her stream on our cost to be totally free

I was for her being sole inheritor of my brother
As the rules of army are clear and fair on subject
So why to keep her and ourselves on the altar
We should be love sparing not in contempt strict

Then idea got full support from my daughter
That will of God is supreme to take its own path
Hence we should be right not to be defaulter  
We should aspire for mercy and not for the wrath

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow

On the surface of a glossy table,
sits a set of coffee rings.
Faded stains which incorporate
themselves to the table cling.

The brown bean’s bitter bite
Recounts an hour of pure delight.
Through site and mind has the taste transpired
to a longing time of invoking fire,
and shuttered blinds, and abating attire.
A cluttered mind that never tired.
As the grip acquit the coffee cup’s handle,
a stain pertained, on the mantle.

On the surface of a coffee table,
sits a broken glass of wine
Scattered shards across the hearth
now rest among the pine.
As drink dripped down the table leg,
memories clamped like a stubborn peg.
Delicate feelings that once were bottled
now freely flow, like the wine that toppled.
And made a plash upon the floor-
A drunken crash, a heavy pour.
All the wine- now gone to waste,
With no divine aftertaste.

On the surface of a broken table,
sits a series of regrets.
A shattered heart with sunken scars.
A drunken insomniac.

Toothpaste residue washes down the drain,
mouthwash follows.
I waste my time cleaning these bones inside my mouth,
to be opalescent with their crooked demeanor.
Wondering what others think of me,
thinking about how today has been endless
and tomorrow will follow suit.

Spending time gazing into the mirror,
trying to change.
& we'd prefer to be found
with alcohol in our blood,
laying somewhere cold in a snowbank.

A bullet inside the glass I'm drinking from,
I bite down as my brain erupts,
splatters the wall.
Ending my ****** writer's block...

the mortician left to inform the world,
of the irony in never including yourself as a character.
Everyone's face is shadowed and misplaced,
like a Picasso painting.
Those faces have haunting features,
an appearance that shouldn't matter,
it's the judgement within those eyes.

Why can't we peel off the skin and lies,
like an age old band aid?
Revealing the shredded bones
beneath the act of aging.
We're all so weak,
with conflicted truths,
signs of emotion are signs of weakness:

Still so many of us fortunate souls are lead to wonder why?


why? why?why?

The desire to be nothing
pertained to me,
trading smeared blue inked letters
written in my woes and goodbyes,
that were premature.

Oh, how the piano with its' keys have broken off,
means the musician lost his will to play,
drowning himself on a west coast beach-
A poet with her repressed memories,
have made themselves a home in her troubled mind.
And we all have;
so many words,
so many truths,
so many secrets,
and these words drown her so.

You thought I was your dog,
bound by a leash, but even
though it was tight, I knew,
that time is an eventual release.

Pulling on me, etching of
fingerprints collect on a throat,
A painting of painful worded hued
like the leash was cutting deeper.

But even though I never bit back,
I was blighting that which kept us close.
Every time you pulled that leash,
always a moment further away released.

Your love wasn't what it pertained to be,
I was leached from our first kiss.
But now I bark louder as our vows are
scratched out as I walk out unleashed.

I wear the scars of your keeping,
but I don't hide them, I wear them
in pride of never been restrained by
another's  need to control my life again

Depression falls like rain on the masses,
soaking in the discontent of fallen reflections.

Shattering in the thoughts that whisper
ever more with closed minds.

The flood gates vent a deluge of filth
saturating the skin in delusions of self.

Never again, again never pertained to
this time repeating like a B movie reject.

I look at the world were in now, and I feel
clouds over us, even though the sky has none.

The fire is gone but in its place is a pile of embers radiating a passionate heat more intense than the flames that once pertained them.

ever since i've quit smoking: beside those two
self-congratulatory puffs at the end of
each day...
                    more and more people are smoking...
in movies...
        they look so... content with
the stampede of the locomotive breath...
                interludes into 5 minute incissions
of absolutely dis-satisfaction...

                    4th of july... some variation
of independence day...
                      i'm planning to visit Loon'don...
for a sport of: zoology...
                i'll take a hubris and hiatus magic
pouch of liqour with me...
expecting: riots...
                  
        peacocks and pistachios...
            porcupines and pomegranates...
molotov cocktails and bagpies...
               i just want to see... oxford circus
yawn... i want to take the scenic route
of a promenade upon stepping off
the tube...
        perform the dull task...
of... window-shopping for mannequin
in restaurants...

    oh god... i'll have to trim my beard...
dissolve some sugar in water
and put it in my hair so: stick-ing anti-wind
gravitas...
             i'll walk this mistanthrope
on a leash of good riddles...
            i'll play the part of someone from
norwich...
    not someone from romford...
              Loon'don the tease from
Mashiter's Hill...
              plain as day: the sky-line in
my hungry eyes...
  almost towing a cow:
                  
         and of course i want to be seen...
how otherwise not so settle the matters
of sensibility...
of this ******-fest of: the obeying conundrum...
4 dada suicides: published by atlas press
in an edition of 1000 copies...
2005...
         what a fraction i do own....

        arthur cravan among the four...
the nephew or... some variant of...
related to... oscar wilde...
                 yes... the physiognomy
are a steal... in terms of what's resembled...

  i trip down: don't tempt me... memory
lane...
   world was I: and the war...
   the dada movement in Zurich....
   cabaret voltaire...
                        Geneva? well...
fast paced betting...
          live and try to not get rich...
something to get by... working for...
a loitering wage...
if you gave me... 2 tonnes of soil...
a tonne of gravel... and said...
3 hours...
                 fair-*******-afro-frenzy
    and enough...
         but "work" as a loitering...
                     what "lockdown"?
the neighbour finally put up a fence
after 15 years of her being implored...
the old roots and stumps had to be dug
up... all the way from
late february...
     a new shed... 13sqm of wimbledon
turf to admire and water...
                       i have to forbid myself
joy... though... in telling my maternal
grandfather: i've quit smoking...
    before he dies: and i pretend to wish
to grow old: i hope this happens...
this... carrier pigeon message is passed...

only today the bewildering... sacrilege...
i was watching: corpus christi...
2019... point being...
it was in my native tongue...
with english subtitles...
         i can't pretend...
   i was more eager to read the subtitles
than to listen to the "mother"
and the "father"...
      sure as hell and that they will die...
this language will die in the vicinity...
then within me...
who am i going to speak it to...
i can imagine... "30 years of and tomorrow"...
and i'll speak it:
zapomniejać mówienie po polsku...

russian interlude i'd call them...
i'll most certainly not me...
a lithuanian ****** miłoš....
              i have to arrive at the prospect...
i am not really arriving at
a country left... or a country arrived at...
"nation": ah ha!
                     siamese twin horror:
bilingual freaks...
             i was always told to shy
away from the concept of a diaspora...
unlike... the jew the italian...
the russian oligarchy...
                      and english...
what... i... made... of... it...

neu-concept...
              i... a pronoun category word...
some obnoxious... reflexive-reflective
quadratic of anti-narcissus...
i: a pronoun... perhaps...
but i as... king george minded...
i: verb!

                          i will take: will i?
i like the idea of the 4th of july...
the tokyo olympics...
that one event in the sport calendar...
when... i don't feel infringed...
with a body capacity to...
perform... a palé - i do have a body...
for greek wrestling...
antithesis judo...
but sure as **** a plethora of body shapes...
ping-pong table assured...
click-bait... without a tennis racket...
and that's why...
squash would have been a good
choice to join the olympic racket...
olympiaco(s) raquettes...

   lofty body builders... ant-worshipping...
not relevant though...
sprint a 100m...
climb 100m...
    clearly toned equilibrium bodies...
bouldering and baseball...
no squash...
     tennis is hardly an olympic
sport...
           it's a money sport...
it's a riviera elton john slim jr.
sort of sport...
football? it's a money sport...
rugby? it's a ******* sort of sport...
football is about as much
an olympic sport as...
a curse of a sneeze...
the only reason why brazil
staged the sporting affair was...
because they lost the world cup...
blah blah...

       squash should be an olympic
sport... why it isn't...
and forest ******* gump
can have his... ping(o)-pong(o)
   berlusconi parties: minus... tony blaire...
is all the reason to note...

hmm... blaire... white... that tehran
trans whizz kid...
   i see... no... no... absolutely...
not similarities... within the confines...
of... "a borrowed shadow" of...
   eva longoria...

i had the same plans for halloween...
the same plans for prague...
prague i can forgive myself...
mother has a hip-replacement...
and i'm all up-and-arms: ******...
like the good boy scout
buffalo billy-oh / geiny boy!

                to suffer from a lack of ****...
is not... to find jokes in language:
when one still has... itchy finger-tips...
"suffer"... and "lack of ****"...
best resolve... no clingy p.s.
             no... cuckoldry...
    the fabled ex-girlfriend of mine...
ex-....
   ****... how old am i? 34...
an ex- from... ah... ha ha... when i was 21...
prostitutes... a thai surprise...
and a black girl done at random
when i hosted my own birthday party...
with an art of an *** so tight...
i received a plum tattoo above...
where her coccyx decided to toy with
the... "art of mechnical reproduction"...

walter... "waterboy"... benjamin?
herowitz? i too had a really ****** surname...
like... ******... like stalin...
catholic ploy... take the best of the three given...
we also reserve an option of a fourth
when you... decide to... become...
confirmed... lucky for some atheists:
who have been... unlucky for me...

of the people that stayed...
    of the people that left...
             unlucky for me...
   those that left: didn't "leave"...
the australians...
            left and "left" and it's not like...
they came back speaking
total ******* cockney...

       it's not that i'm even confused...
"overwhelmed" with emotions...
that reveal themselves...
to have to be... perpetually... displaced...
post-modernist...
quack for doctor...
quasi for marxist astute!

                my ideal ex... rich girl...
one spare apartment in st. petersburg...
riches in novosibirsk...
      educated in england...
   look at me... i ****** a rich ****...
a prop'ah... rich ****...
a russian rich ****...
   not old english sloth dough...
not a reperations **** of worship
that choc-a-bloc-of-sowwy...
  a real... oyster binding with teeth
sort of libido... well! ha! lucky me!
for a ******! she's not a mongrel 2nd
class citizen of the turnip and tulip
and...
   beg R'ah-R'ah-Rhapso-silly-Pullin'-Tin!

you know... i can remember
the love at first sights in my life...
she... Ilona... i experienced in reverse...
two girls were trying to fry some
pancakes...
she hook and sinkered my iPod...
while i refined the idea of pancakes...
she looked like...
something the ugly duckling
would bully at... duck school...
filled her gob... smart...

        yeah yeah...
but i do remember all the times
i experienced love at  first sight...
and their names...
the best horror movie i would ever land
in being a critique for...

1. Milena...
                          2. Kot...
      i can't remember her name...
that's her surnane... she had...
                   two younger sisters... twins...
3. samantha... st. augustine's primary school...
4. janina (canon palmer... an ugly affair...
    i hoped i made reperations to...
joining art class and giving her a rose)
    5. gemma la porte...
  6. emma... a big... ******* sensation...
  7. let's just call her Sancha...
  irish girl... two years older than me...
still in highschool...
8. Isabella... the french psychology student...
and god begot: a loss of virginity...
   9. priya...
     who's the 6 / 7...
             the sister of my first girlfriend...
which would make... a 18 year old...
a pedohpile with a... 15? year old...
                      10. predates 4...
cameron diaz in the mask...
    11. is a cameflouge of Ilona...
my love at first sight in reverse...
if i stayed long enough...
i would have ***** myself to oogle
my eyes out and **** her like
some aria giovanni clone...
                big siberian nose...
her myopia and being plasyfully teasing
"short"...
yes yes... beside that... massive plum
bullseye...
        we must call that:
                wetted ****: seconds...
  
see... i have this cinema in my mind...
of first loves... loves at first sights...
more thirsts rather than thrills...
and... then i want to see Loon'don...
in zoological modus operandi...
i want to see...
    window-shopping for mannequins
of... sylvia plath borderline psychotic
shoelaces of soul...

         i want to shop for...
the agony confined to... raised eyebrows
and the confines of... all things made
easily extreme bound to ****** expression...
having to... self-lacerate...
before the pro-social cordial...
i want to see the future martians...
misantrophes... like-oid mois...

i can honestly be trusted with "love"...
call it the muse....
first sighting...
her moles her first trickled...
lob of the forgotten kiss...
the whirlwind thorough lintany...
her lapse in a guarantee of
ear lobes...
    like my... "shy"...
                  occipital lobe....
investigated by janina...
                                
                           that little light in a tunnel...
a summer in masovia... or mongolia...
or.. whatever is called...
crisp... and doughnut...
idaho... jeffrey: jeff'ohs "napoleon dynamite"...
    dahmer...
                                 mon'ghouls:
the goos of the freely rejected...
cousin Sib is no mal. and frying up
with word-blob Sah...
          -eria              contra...
bloat-zilla...                -ara...
                               death-stow genius no-no...
trans-nanny has an eastender melt-meow-down...
the opera goes: fly-be-fwee:
lucky luke and the fervour
of the force for a complete...
****-lawd comeback town: towwie...
gripping basics...
                       king jefffers...
and jaffa... and khalidha...
     and lay-tea-cia... milkin' dozens...
**** ****...
      ******* whapping 'inge...
                 cwy: rhapsody... remembers
to trill that Sysiphus... and -esque...
              
        ***** and blahs the world over
for...  solidarity of...
compensated vitriol...
       jeff is an ugly u(n)(c)kle...
jeff is a ****** loon:
serenity... theme park expactation
project: alpha 50.9...
     he's an an FM in frequence...
and best listened to:
when "reading was a thing":
typo... of digest...
a **** queen and ***** quag...

             calofornian subtitles...
ever since...
   ever since... a petty Hague and Hue...
european conquest of time...
and something akin to
h'america... and its louisiana purchase:
ratio no. 2!
fly-over **** Iowa...

  it's not like... croatia was...
the Balkans was such a small: and ditto:
afffair of... inbreeding folks...
lord: lowd and...
spandex 1980s Berlin to...
give revenue in all things
that catered in retaining...
a loathing of... pertained to...
CWISP...
                    trill the R who?
the french hark it...
the english... larp...
woebot... for every robot...
they... tarantulla tongue numb
that...

                 whyming...
RHYME-B'OH...
            ******* kings and queens...
it's the "united states":
having to annex the forntiers...
the annex
on conquistador...
velcommen mingling xo xo xo...

the "encrypted" sexuality
of a the concept of female hands...
misguided by the proportions...
best hid in a niqab...
but when exposed: pork meets...
buffalo-slingers...
no... arab / camel jockey hands...
are not beijing...
or ***... porcelein hands...
you could... **** a ******* camel neck...
and i am: the beck unfucked cockrel
you best wish: yawn-yacht...
you never never...
ever... called a forking...

   arab women have these fat
hands that black women...
would require... 12" of envy
a white anorexic would require of them...
to muster...
a blasphemy and... a kenyan litany...
some of that sort...
all i know...
jesus be all big with...
                   post-apocalyptic
protestantism in post-colonial...
"oops" of the 21st century...
          forgive i.e. tow what?

               how about...
i allow my grandfather a death
by demetia...
               and then i wait...
i wait for nothing...
or i wait for: "history"...
no... sooner i wait for...
the brothel... than this bollocking waste
of time of... frank zappa is...
burning up like...
            a heretic...
                    within...
a 1m sq. of a proximity to mecca!

how fortunate: the man with... none...
              how fortunate...
             the grievance of a man with so much...
to have to... find...
poker-dole... facing...
a man with the queen's penny...
i am a man worth of a queen's penny...
does that even become know...
respected...
for all the money grieved into
making up...
the honoruable citizens' tax invested:
"quest"...
i am... its last...
           radical... and...
                                     royalist...
i have to come...
with a parade of worded -ings
and thinning paroles!

                         this birth of a new:
a nation of fat-whips and bores!
              let me become inclined to leisure...
for the lost revelation of
a tenure of fiction!

what was "once" a female...
has "become" the homosexual...
what was "once"... the mother in law...
has now "become": the bridget...
and nuance shellshock...
               fraserburgh... kid-joy... ****...
an ode to: joe... the...
                       ben nevis and bon jovi
of... the... "nuanced"...
and...                 "pioneers":
all best reserved...
   for the alaskan and the louisina purchase...
and...
the lost told tide of...
the spaniards: arms...
goths... north africa...
reconquista...
conquistadors...
sooth talking some mayans
and aztecs into: "in-breeding"...
        miriad... moors...
gives us a tan... us... whitey loop holes...
  tanning with a mongrel
cocktail a mongol...
typo... tan ****-up tao...
tanning with tao...
tow tufu **** what?!
       beijing fwend a fwied deifying
pig loco?
vibes... first locomotive **** promo...
last fist comes first and thirst...
no... samuel beckett's sore...
so... sore n'oh m'aw...
   savvy... you... *******... gooseberry
savoured prim nancy?!

They want me--for their sake
     to do things in a hurry
     that which pertained to mine
     they were so tardy!