Sara iz kosmara izlazi na ulicu da proseta kera. U parku sama, vitla sebi po glavi.  Po parku govna, plasticne cinije sa pirincem natopljene vodom i uljem, lisce mrtve lipe,  flopovi kao putokazi poredjani.
Misa, taj kao neki njen momak, ko muva neuhvatljiv a isto tako i zaboravan samo se po govnima mota i plete mrezu romanticarske lazljive ideologije istine i solidarnosti. On se kao providnim celofanom uvija u svoje reci ali sad vec kao da je pod reflektorima nabubrelog meseca i nema kud. Proziri se. Ne konzistentan. Kukavica, shvata ona.


Shvata da Misa je kao sarena laza-
Ili mozda ipak nije bas sve tako. A kako li je? Kako prazan prostor puni je sumnjom ali i nekim leprsavim osecajem ljubavi.

tren razuzdan razuzda sve zauzdano
što se uz vrisak pun sujete
rastajaše od uzdi svojih
poput deteta
kome se seče pupčana vrpca
ili radnika koji viče
burazeru proburazi mi aortu
a konj je plemenita životinja
i pauk koji zalud plete mreže
jer je konj brat vetrov
i pauk uzvikuje
dan i noć tvoje ime lucifere
zar si nem
dok čovek prži jaja
a ona mu se obraća
kao inferiornom biću
želi deset na oko
eh
zalud grca čovek
u procepu znatiželja
rađaće nam telad  telad
takve više nema
miriše joj butine
da to je miris ruže
konji ržu pauci cvile
vlažnih ruku odlaze u rasejanje
vetar drami
put jednostavan
i **** ga pozdravlja
jer njegov brat je konj
duplim dekom mu vida rane
jadan li je put
uzvikuje
kupite moje uši u prodavnici mešovite robe
lomne su iluzije
dok čovek kiti jelek
trepavicama njenim
uzeglom štrudlom napoio je konja
loman i radošću prevejan  mudrac
cmizdreći dao je ime njenoj duši
protkanoj hemoroidima
koji krvare
gore je smeštena smeša
blažen je onaj koji puva
kad procuri šulj
teško ju je doseći
opet se u snu  javlja
on
kibicerski smeće
i maže na krišku hleba
mrtvog mačora
teško ju je doseći kaže
sa uma najvažniju stvar
stvar je ona koja mu dolazi glave

to je vrdalama
ona zauzdava tren

i don't even
know why i
look
as if i wasn't
so. thoroughly. aware.
of what you
Do To Me
oh~ you'll~ be~ there~
you & your tragic grace
orangeeyebrows&gypsytears;
ravenwings&torridwords;
you-just-go-ahead &
dance there
with/your/beer
& i'll just try. not. to. die.
each time;
because it's the knowing
even >in >the >moments >be >fore
how _ I'll _ regret _ it
in the ^same ^instant ^
one can feel so completely
[      empty.     ]
only< after << feeling so
completely
F  [[u]]  LL

Divine words
that flow right through me
Catch me in the moments
      light
race a little faster
   than my mind
          can catch
   than my mind
          can remember

Where does this flow go
after it goes through me
Does that way continue
     And touch through to you?
Is that how we are
               connected
this wave of divine art
      these words
   that seem to be mine
          have flown
   where does this urge go
When I have satisfied it?

Can I lock it inside
   Because I am divine
  Remember my rhymes
            and speed up
     on my flow
          watch it go
can I make anything
    of these words
          in waves
inside of me?
  Their rhythm,
           if disturbed
    pauses

           halts

       breaks

    sometimes
disappears
com
plete
ly


gone.

Any one hidden once may
be shown. Whole/parts
Any one
Any thing e may signify. A dot, a jot, a little tic
to the smooth tight stretched string remnant

of a once noble and good idea, with all the best
sci-entious knowers of numerical ways and means
of propagating an aspect of realty

we need to know. we do, we must know, we feel it

courios. curio. imp-ul-pel, **** and blow, inexorable

pop the foolish thought. why, would I?
ah, gigo go go take out the trash

but it's real, it can't be
worthless. Being
real is the absolute most worth in any ever imagined.
Even hell.

Yeh.
Wanna go there?
Wanna ride?

Step inside my mind, the liars used then said,
we yoosta say,
read'em 'n'weep… sweep sweep

sweep m'chimbly fuerboy, while I sort through the ash,
pshawt sawt
into central London feels surreal every time things fall off from the everyday
in the vicinity
of Bow, Stratford and Mile End
Mateuš Conrad

From <https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4313339/comment/>

in a flash
s'jew see that, the light house danced, a little.

-- Evvy Pax, my grandson finale, thinks

Pokémon! Those are everywhere, sending messages,
with seeming uncertain sounds,
something like

help, we've fallen, and we can't get up.

Call to Emergency Locators: SHOW THE WORLD
PEACE OF MIND, WHENEVER YOU ARE AWAY,

let emergency locaters know and we notify you,
after we call the authorized property protectors.

------ that was 1991, on Texas Street
------ four years prior to the Fred Pryor Internet in a Day
the resumé of a myth,
cliché  resumes… this is that mythic stage, plain, flatout

one being
a while
alone
time……
Only
Bums and truly rich beings who live to tend fires in minds
enduring auto-de-fe
resting from tirades tuned to deaf ears determined
to serve com-plete, full to

the limit of the fire's reign, gno se? Fuerverge,

the character first to reveal the valour in the name

Keeper of the sharpest stick,
the stick that did not burn, but stirred morning fires.

Arize, cousins, sing in the son with the birds and lizards.

Hoo Hoo who RAH YA 'LL AI AI AI served you, see
De - as in
complete (adj.)
late 14c., "having no deficiency, wanting no part or element; perfect in kind or quality; finished, ended, concluded," from Old French complet "full," or directly from Latin completus, past participle of complere "to fill up, complete the number of (a legion, etc.)," transferred to "fulfill, finish (a task)," from com-, here probably as an intensive prefix (see com-), + plere "to fill" (from PIE root *pele- (1) "to fill").

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=complete>

In this end, we get what we made life worth getting.

Sound crazy. All way at once. Con vergence sense.

Inside jokes are peculiar (and public) ways of touching ourselves.
Maybe we shouldn't do this while the neighbours are watching.
There are too many rules, [subject] protests, [subject] declares, [subject]
is worthy of anything peculiar (and public) in this world, in which
case is all, I'm sorry I couldn't help myself, [Wittgenstein]
is far too **** for me to have not forced myself on [                           ];
let's not make too many off-colour jokes about empty-sets,
they contain far too much! They collapse! Sometimes!
Under themselves!: [it is incom[this is a theory [goodbye
to everything that was [once [so symmetric[ it is [plete[
]]]]]]]].