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he stands paces searches out windows feeling headache considers no matter who you are where you live we all come from same place a ****** he scribbles all i hear is *****, ***** ***** ***** new york ***** california ***** nordic ***** parisian italian spanish british irish japanese polynesian ***** ***** from all over the world ***** next door new ***** at work all the foxy ******* running around town ***** whipped pussyfooting ***** juice ***** lips colors flavors aromas squirters gushers hairy ***** ******* pierced ***** droopy swollen wet dry irritated itchy incontinent stinky ***** we are a nation of ***** obsessives he imagines Federal Bureau of ***** as an FBP agent he can show badge civilly detain any female especially those with thick dark eyebrows or difficult to decipher yet trained eye can discern fat lips within his authority to direct her to expose ***** excuse me ma’am but your eyebrows warrant examination of your bush please assume position this won’t take any longer than is necessary sometimes certain detainee’s inspections require unrestricted scrutinyhe thinks why don’t governments militaries realize power of *****? instead of inventing employing weapons of mass destruction why not use ******* to distract ****** young male soldiers? imagine furry rabbit rockets with pink twitchy noses floppy wet lips darting through air shooting everywhere distinctly resembling smell taste warm ***** yet fatal mechanisms that could attach **** **** consume who could resist? probably someone would come up with ***** defense system (PDS) which would intercept scudding ******* before they reached intended targetshe wakes up early disorientated turns on tv commercial TUMS blares in groggy dyslexic state by mistake he reads backwards sees **** on tv questions what is this place i lived in? america fat turkey on map with brains in new york city *** in d.c. paw in miami stomach in midwest ******* in california nested on egg over mexico he writes i envision statue of liberty alive real beautiful woman little children tumble run around her giggling laughing innocently playing hide and seek with her gown then some bigger older men approach offer her gifts to pull up her dress do other things she appears startled at them refusing to accept their crass proposals men continue to bring more gifts promise her things despite her cold-shoulder suddenly she appears worried perhaps she is thinking about someone special maybe her family men’s offers keep piling higher eventually she breaks down accepts their proposals men gather around her very close i cannot see what they are doing but can hear whispering conspiring heavy breathing then i see her hand reach out all at once she spills burning torch catching fire to gown
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
I have a blue blanket, it looks corduroy but it's synthetic polynesian cotton.
Considered by some to be polyester. After the ninth year of ownership I started
Telling house guests it had always been mine; but secretly knowing it came from my
Ex Kristina who left it with some of her other things in 2005 in my grand deluxe Evanston
Apartment. In like some really awesome way, I could fold the corners together to see little blocks
Of the Universe form cubes in the fourth dimension and gain a better understanding of my own
Little black shmata. Top drawer, white dresser, in the back with the leftover girlfriend underwear between
My first ever stuffed animal dog/rabbit.

Amazing how these thinned and frayed azure threads had held so many midnight conversations Together- maybe fifteen other girls had nuzzled with Kristina's blanket. Last year the guilt set in. You Watch a girlfriend, say, ratchet through your room naked for something soft to put over her to listen to
Some half-stanza from the new Yeats critical and that, do-I-tell-her feeling comes over you. Blue Polyester really had a way with women. My last serious crush, the one of six months, the one from the place that was close to where I worked six days a week, would you believe, she had not interest in that heap of thread, under my pillows spying on us sleep for twenty-four long weeks.

"Drop in the bucket" the sixty-year-olds say. I say, bring me my ******* fourth dimension blocks and cubes *******. I want to visit the existential, I want to experience the hoo-ra and Ga-Ga those kids throw around on Milwaukee waiting for $150 NBA slippers.

Wednesday is my day for telling the truth.
2:00p.m. sitting in the front of her alizarin El Dorado.
"I have something I have to tell you,"  I said, my mouth practically filled with marbles as I barely could Utter the words: it's not going to work out.
Written For Jeff Sherfey
EssEss Dec 2022
A tropical paradise island is Hawaii that conjures a feeling of sheer joy,
It’s very mention evokes thoughts of vacationing one can really enjoy,
Location-wise one can state that it is “ far from the madding crowd”,
It is like heaven on earth, meant for visitors to be wowed

Waikiki in Honolulu is the hub for most hotels with proximity to the beach,
It’s just a 16-minute cab ride from the airport and thus quick to reach,
That the closest State to Hawaii is California - a 2500-mile sector,
Just shows how travel time from elsewhere, involves jet lag to factor

Located in the Pacific Ocean, Hawaii is quintessential if one may say so,
It is the only U.S. state outside North America that is an archipelago,
As the only state geographically located in the tropics,
It is a tourist haven, with always an abundance of optics

The word "Aloha" is commonplace in signages and on everyone's lips,
As a form of greeting it implies hello and welcome - a very useful tip,
The locals are very effusive when they greet visitors with Aloha,
One cannot but express delight by silently exclaiming, Aha!

"Mahalo" is another word that visitors get used to hearing frequently,
It means "thank you" - a gracious acceptance of the locals' hospitality,
The infectious warm welcome to visitors has an air of spontaneity,
Syncing with the embracing pervasive Hawaiian culture in it's entirety

The inevitable fresh flower "lei" welcome awaits visitors checking into hotels,
Lei is a symbol of hospitality, love, respect and aloha in which Hawaii excels,
A lei made from sea shells is an alternative option that one can have by choice,
Irrespective of the form of lei offered, wearing it is surely a matter to rejoice

Honolulu is the capital of Hawaii on the island of Oahu's south shore,
It is the largest city and gateway to the U.S. island chain and much more,
As one of the main eight islands in Hawaii, Oahu is the most populous,
It is also the business hub of the Aloha State and hence very famous

Also known as "The Gathering Place", Oahu aptly lives up to it's name,
As home to the majority of Hawaii's diverse population, it has a lot to gain,
There's the fusion of East and West cultures resulting in a delicate balance,
Rooted in the value and cultures of Native Hawaiian people, with no imbalance

The popular bustling and vibrant Waikiki neighborhood within Honolulu city is unique,
It is the epicenter for eclectic restaurants, nightlife and designer fashion boutiques,
Waikiki is also reputed for its white sandy beach that is a whole 2-mile stretch,
Where visitors throng throughout the day, as if there's little else the mind can fetch

Waikiki in Hawaiin means "spouting waters" and is replete with a gamut of water activities,
Surfing, snorkeling, swimming, canoe paddling and boogie boarding are typical beach proclivities,
With matching stunning views of the landscape, visitors can be seen lazing in total relaxation,
It is little wonder that the beach is always crowded and a famed getaway vacation destination

Friday night fireworks by Hilton Hawaiian Village along Waikiki Beach is a must-watch attraction,
The colorful display evoking delightful oohs and aahs from onlookers though, is of short duration,
The razzle-dazzle of the show skillfully transmits joy & happiness through the art of pyrotechniqes,
A feeling of bliss envelops one and all, on witnessing the sound-and-light show marvel mystique

Dole Whip is a popular non-dairy pineapple ice cream and, in Hawaii, is a cult-status confection,
A key ingredient is unsweetened coconut milk that adds creaminess and flavor to the selection,
Fresh lime bumps up the flavor and adds extra zing to the taste of the final Dole Soft Serve swirl,
Savoring the heavenly refreshing unique taste allows the hedonist's squeal of delight to unfurl

A visit to Oahu or any other Hawaii island is never complete without attending a traditional luau,
Luau represents a gathering meal of food, music and dance and is integral with Polynesian milieu,
It is a party like no other with continuous foot-tapping live music accompanied by Hawaiin dancing acts,
While the compere regales guests with anecdotes of Polynesian traditions laced with interesting facts

Hawaii is also famous for it's sensuous mimetic hula dance - traditionally, a form of communication,
Ancient hula, or "kahiko" with undulating gestures to instruments and chant was an original creation,
Transformed under Western influence to "auana", it now involves sinuous movement of limbs and hips,
The accompanying peppy music involves storytelling or place description well in tune with the scripts

The fitting finale to Hawaii luauas is generally the famed Samoan fire knife ceremonial dance,
A knife, partially exposed & wrapped in oil-soaked cloth is set alight for the performer's stance,
Incredible acrobatic stunts involve twirling, tossing and catching the knife to the fast beat of music,
The appreciative response of the audience builds up the momentum, reaching a crescendo almost seismic

Sauntering in the beach, one can watch people meandering about with gay abandon,
The inescapable feeling of blissful relaxation is typical of a destination-Hawaii vacation,
The days fly by, making you wish at the end that the stay could have been a tad longer,
While treasuring joyful memories in the interim, your thoughts go to similar places yonder
sobie Mar 2015
My mother raised me under the belief that monotony was a worse state than death and she lived her life accordingly. She taught me to do the same. About five years ago, my mother died. Her death steered my course from any sort of seated, settled life and into a spiral of new experiences.
For months after she left, I skulked about each day feeling slumped and cynical and finding everything and everyone coated in the sickly metallic taste of loss. I noticed that without her I had allowed myself to settle into a routine of mourning. I pitied myself, knowing what she would have thought.  Life was already so different without her there and I couldn’t continue with life as if nothing had happened, so I jumped from my stagnancy in attempts to forget my mother’s name and to destroy the mundane just like she had taught me to. I had to learn how to live again, and I wanted to find something that would always be there if she wouldn’t. I had a purpose. I tried to start anew and drown myself in change by throwing all that I knew to the wind and leaving my life behind.

I was running away from the fact that she had died for a long time. When I first picked up and left, I befriended the ocean and for many months I soaked my sorrows in salt water and *****, hoping to forget. I repressed my thoughts. Mom’s Gone would paint the inside of my mind and I would cover it up with parties and Polynesian women.
I was the sand on the shores of Tahiti, living on the waves of my own freedom. A freedom I had borrowed from nature. A gift that had been given to me by my birth, by my mother. I tried to lose myself in those waves and they treated me with limited respect. More often than not, they kicked me up against their black walls of water. They were made of such immense freedom that many times made me scream and **** my pants in fear, but they shoved loads that fear into my arms and forced me to eventually overcome the burden.
As time slipped by unnoticed, I created routine around the unpredictability of the tides and the cycle of developing alcoholism. One night after a full day of making love to the Tahitian waters, my buddies and I celebrated the big waves by filling our aching bodies with a good bit of Bourbon. By morning time, a good bit of Bourbon had become a fog of drink after drink of not-so-good *****? Gin maybe? I awoke to the sight of the godly sunrise glinting off of the wet beach around me, pitying my trouser-less hungover self. With sand in every orifice, I took a swim to wash me of the night before. I floated on my back in silence while the birds taunted me. I felt the ocean fill every nook and cranny of my body, each pulse of my heartbeat sending ripples through it. My heart was the moon that pressed the waves of my freedom onward and it was sore for different waters. The ache for elsewhere was coming back, and the hole she left in my gut that was once filled with Tahiti was now almost gaping. It had been a beautiful ride in Tahiti but I had not found solace, only distraction. The currents were shifting towards something new.
She had always said that the mountains brought her a solace that she never felt in church. They were her place to pray and they were the gods that fulfilled her. She told me this under the sheets at bedtime as if it were her biggest secret. I had delusional hope that she might be somewhere, she might not be gone. I thought if I would find her anywhere it would be there, up in the clouds on the highest peaks.
The next day, I was on the plane back to the States where I would gather gear. The mountains had called and left a needy voicemail, so I told them I was on my way.

In Bozeman, the home I had run from when I left, every street and friend was a reminder of my childhood and of her. I was only there to trade out my dive mask for my goggles. I had sold most of my stuff and had no house, apartment, or any place of residence to return to except for a small public storage unit where I’d stashed the rest of my goods. Almost everything I owned was kept in a roomy 25 square foot space, the rest was in my duffel. I’d left my pick-up in the hands of my good man, Max, and he returned her to me *****, gleaming, and with the tank full. I took her down to the storage yard and opened my unit to see that everything remained untouched. Beautifully, gracefully, precariously piled just as it was when I left. I transitioned what I carried in my duffel from surf to snow. I made my trades: flip flops for boots, bare chest for base layers, board shorts for snow pants, and of course, board for skis. Ah, my skis… sweet and tender pieces of soulful engineering, how I missed them. They still suffered core-shots and scratches from last season. I embraced them like the old friends they were.
I loaded up the pick-up with all the necessities and hit the road before anyone could give me condolences for a loss I didn’t want to believe. I could not stray from my path to forget her or find her or figure out how to live again. I did not know exactly what I wanted but I could not let myself hear my mother’s name. She was not a constant; that was now true.  

My truck made it half way there and across the Canadian border before I had to set her free. She had been my stallion for some time, but her miles got the best of her. It was only another loss, another betrayal of constancy. I walked with everything on my back until I eventually thumbed my way to the edge of the wild forest beneath the mountains that I had dreamt of. They were looming ahead but I swore I caught a whiff of hope in their cool breeze.
With skis and skins strapped to my feet, I took off into the wilderness. My eyes were peeled looking for something more than myself, and I found some things. There were icy streams and a few fattened birds and hidden rocks and tracks from wolves and barks of their pups off in the distance. But what I found within all of these things was just the constant reminder of my own loneliness.
I spent the days pushing on towards some unknown relief from the pain. On good days there fresh snow to carry me and on most days storms came and pounded me further into my seclusion. The trees bowed heavy to me as I inched forward on my skis, my only loyal companions; I only hoped they would not betray me on this journey. I could not afford to lose any more, I was alone enough. My mother was no where to be found. The snow seemed to miss her too and sometimes I think it sympathized with me.
I spent the nights warmed with a whimpy fire lying on my back in wait hoping that from out of the darkness she would speak to me, give me some guidance or explanation on how I could live happily and wildly without her. Where was this solace she had spoken of? Where was she? She was not with me, yet everything told me about her. The sun sparkled with her laughter, the air was as crisp as her wit, the cold carried her scent. I could feel her embrace around me in her hand-me-downs that I wore. They were family heirlooms that had been passed to her through generations, and then to me. The lives that had been lived in these jackets and sweaters were lived on through me. Though the stories hidden in the seams of these Greats had long been forgotten, died off with their original masters, I could feel the warmth of their memories cradle me whenever I wore them. I cringed to think about what was lost from their lives that did not live on. I was the only one left of my family to tell the world of the things they had done. I was all that was left of my mother. She had left her mark on the world, that was clear. It was a mark that stained my existence.
These forested mountain hills held a tragic beauty that I wish I could have appreciated more, but I felt heavy with heartache. Nature was not always sweet to me. For days storms surged without end and I coughed up crystals, feeling the snowflake’s dendrites tickle at my throat. I had gotten a cold. Snot oozed from my nostrils, my eyes itched, my schnoz glowed pink, my voice was hoarse, and I wanted nothing but to go home to a home that no longer existed. But I chose to go it alone on this quest and I knew the dangers in the freedom of going solo. The winds were strong and the snow was sharp. New ice glazed once powdery fields and the storms of yesterday came again and there was nothing I could do except cower at the magnificence of Nature’s sword: a thing so grand and powerful that it has slayed armies of men with merely a windy slash. I was nature’s *****. I felt no promise in pressing on, but I did so only to keep the snow from burying me alive in my tent.
And I am so glad that I did, because when the great storm finally passed I looked up to see the sky so hopeful and blue bordering the mountains I knew to be the ones I was searching for. I recognized them from the bedtime stories. She had said that when she saw them for the first time that she felt a sudden understanding that all the many hundred miles she’d ever walked were supposed to take her here. She said that the mere sight of them gave her purpose. These were those mountains. I knew because the purpose I had lost sight of came bubbling back out of my aching heart, just as it had for her.

These peaks as barren as plucked pelicans and peacocks, but as beautiful as the feathers taken from them, were beacons in the night for those in search of a world of dreams in which to create a new reality. From them I heard laughter jiggle and echo, hefty and deep in the stomachs of the only people truly living it seemed. When I was scouring the vastness of this wilderness for a sign or a purpose, I followed the scent of their delicious living and I guess my nose led me well.
A glide and a hop further on my skis, there the trees parted and powder deepened and sun shone just a bit brighter. Behind the blinding glare of the snow, faces gleamed from tents and huts and igloos and hammocks. Shrieks of children swinging from branches tickled my ears, which had grown accustomed to the silence of winter. As I approached this camp, I saw they were not kids but grown men and women. It seemed I had stumbled down a rabbit hole while following the tracks of a white jackalope. I had found my world of dreams. I had found them. I had found a home.
I was escaping my lonely, wintery existence into a shared haven perfectly placed beneath the peaks that had plagued my dreams. A place where the only directions that existed were up and down the slopes and forwards to the future. Never Eat Soggy Waffles did not matter anymore. By the end of my time there, I had even forgotten my lefts and rights. The camp had been assembled with the leftovers of the modern world and looked like a puzzle with mismatched pieces from fifty different pictures. At first glance, it could have been a snow covered trash heap, but there was a sentimental glow on each broken appliance that told me otherwise. Everything had a use, though it was not usually what was intended. The homes of these families and friends were made of tarp or blankets or animal hides and had smelly socks or utensils or boots or bones hanging from their openings. There were homemade hot springs made of bathtubs placed above fires with water bubbling. Unplugged ovens buried in snow and ice kept the beer cooled. Trees doubled as diving boards for jumping into the deep pits of powder around them. The masterminds behind this camp were geniuses of invention and creation. Their most impressive creation was their lifestyle; it was one that had been deemed impossible by society. This place promised the solace I had been searching for.
A hefty mass of man and dogs galumphed its way through the snow. Rosy cheeks and big hands came to greet me. This was Angus. His face grew a beard that scratched the skies; it was a doppelganger to the mossy branches above us. But his smile shone through the hairs like the moon. There are people in this world whose presence alone is magic, an anomaly among existence. Angus was one of them. Not an ounce of his being made sense. The gut that hung from his broad-shouldered bodice was its own entity and it swung with rhythms unknown to any man; it was known only to the laughter that shook it. Gently perched atop this, was his shaggy white head that flew backwards and into the clouds each time he laughed, which was often. Angus fathered and fed the folks who’d found their way to this wintery oasis, none of which were of the ordinary. There was a lady with snakes tattooed to her temples, parents who’d birthed their babies here beneath the full moon, couples who went bankrupt and eloped to Canada, men and women who felt the itch just as me and my mother had. The itch for something beyond the mundane that left us unsatisfied with life out in the real world. All of them came out of their lives’ hardships with hilarious belligerence and wit, each with their own story to tell. The common thread sewn between all these dangerous minds was an undeniable lust for life.
The man who represented this lust more than any other was Wiley and wily he was. He’d seen near-death countless times and every time he saw the light at the end of the tunnel, he would run like a fool in the other direction. He lived on borrowed time. You could see that restlessness driving him in each step he took. Each step was a leap from the edges of what you thought possible. Wiley was a man of serious grit, skill, and intelligence and never did he let his mortality shake him from living like the animal he was. He’d surely forgotten where and whence he came from and, until finding his way here, had made homes out of any place that offered him beer and some good eatin’. Within moments of shaking hands, he and I created instant brotherhood.
The next few days turned into months and I eventually lost track of time all together. I could have stayed there forever and no day would have been the same. I played with these people in the mountains and pretended it was childhood again. We lived with the wind and the wildness the way my mother had once shown me how to live. I had forgotten how to live this way without her and I was learning it all over again. We awoke when we pleased and trekked about when weather permitted, and sometimes when it didn’t. Each day the sun rose ripe with opportunities for new lines to ski and new peaks to explore. The backcountry was ours and only ours to explore. We were its residents just like the moose and the wolves. My body grew stinky and hairy with joy and pushed limits. Hair that stank of musk and days of labor was washed only with painful whitewashes courtesy of Wiley. Generally after a nice run, we’d exchange them, shoving each other’s faces deep into the icy layers of snow, which would be followed with some hardy wrestling. By the end of each day, if we didn’t have blood coming out of at least two holes in our faces then it wasn’t a good day.
I never could wait to get my life’s adventures in and here I was having them, recalling the unsatisfied ache I had before I left. Life was lost to me before. I had forgotten how to live it after she had died. Modern monotony had taken control until my life became starved of genuine purity and all that was left then was mimicry. But the hair grown long on these men and smiles grown large on these woman showed no remembrance of such an earth I had come from. They had long ago cast themselves away from such a society to relish in all they knew to be right, all their guts told them to pursue: the truth that nature supplies. Still I worried I would not remember these people and these moments, knowing how they would be ****** into the abyss of loss and time like all the others. But we lived too loud and the sounds of my worries were often drowned in fun.
     We spent the nights beside the fire and listened to Wiley softly plucking strings, that was when I always liked to look at Yona. Her curls endlessly waterfalled down her chest and the fire made her hair shimmer gold in its glow. She was the spark among us, and if we weren’t careful she could light up the whole forest.  She was a drum, beating fast and strong. Never did she lose track of herself in the clashing rhythms of the world. She had ripped herself from the hands of the education system at a young age and had learned from the ways of the changing seasons f
lorilynn Sep 2010
my world has many colors like the prism;
the blue hues of glistening waters of greece
against the white stucco adobes.
dancing tap shoes of flamencos
while visiting in spain.
autumn hues of russian reds, gold, cobalt, greens, oranges and black co-mingling.
asian tastes of polynesian spices in the philippines.
safaris in africa witnessing the awesomeness
of massive mammals.
sophistication from the streets of champ elysees, sipping cappuccino
and i will have some creme brulee please.
or perhaps go to italy and sit on the spanish steps
with a cup of expresso. i will take along a cannoli
and count the steps.
while back at home reminiscing over a cup of joe
with a friend in tucson arizona.
after exchanging our love for art
i will read my mail from friends afar;
the outback to talk about the love
pocketed in the kangaroo’s pouch and discover
new zealand, the unfamiliar territory.
we share our secrets who have been there.
reading beautiful poetry like never before.
all the while being reminded
i have been blessed by the HOLY ONE.
you see my friends, my world has forever changed
since i have met all of you.
getting up each day having my coffee
welcoming me to another day with my friends
from the east, west, north and south.
upon dusk we say so long, see you soon.~~by lorilynn

copyright*lorilynn 2010
When a woman says: she likes
The man to take the initiative;
What she is really saying is:
“Yes, I will *******, just ask.”
As I write these words,
I rent The Eugene O’Neill Theater,
Located between Broadway &
8th Ave, on West 49th Street,
No shabby venue, I might add.
Then I stage & cast the play,
Choosing for the role of me,
Myself:  Queequeg.
Ishmael’s Crypto-Gay,
New Bedford, Mass bedmate,
A large, well-toned, muscled
Man of much ink & few words,
Just short pigeon-English phrases,
Utterances such as: “I likee.”
That’s right, playing me is
Melville’s freaky, tattooed,
Polynesian harpooner,
Right out of Moby ****.
And should the ****** imagery &
Metaphor of me—yours truly—
Packing a harpoon in my trousers,
Prove a trifle too scrumptiously
Potent for you, consider please the
****** potential of a three-way with
*Chingachgook.
Marshal Gebbie Nov 2012
(With gratitude to two lovely Polynesian ladies)*

Wondrous, in the light of dawn
Two ladies came with curtains drawn,
To sponge my back and smelly ***
With warming suds, so overcome
With gratitude, was I, to feel so clean
And freshly cared for, in between
Clean sheets and laundered, buttoned gown
Amidst their chatter, cast around,
Their laughter and efficient way
To start, so well,  this budding day.

Patient Marshalg
Ascot Orthopaedics
Auckland
17 November 2012
Get up and dance  
Put on those moccasins that make you move from out in France 
Into the Indies then Polynesian isles.
Pour the green skies upon those frozen and dried out. 
Bring gratitude to those whom frequently pout 
And the mission to gain commission
How the mantras from mamas mouth 

Shoot from the sky.
So sly the way we will slip into the nostalgic reminisce 
Lights on the red carpet 
And the set of lies 
Are we doing this? 

We don't mention How Buddha ******. 
Budapest in the name of the most auromatheraputic 
And orginally  
tell the Chinese nike labourers  
who do this. 

Though they suit me, 
I resuit this with prudent force for those law benders 
Of the b.a.r.
We will cough on tough tycoons and yet bow to stars. 

Oh my legend, how far have we looked and have we come 
Jumping out of the Nintendo Nes(t)
We have entertained our self enough  
We've won son.

But find me lagging on a wooden broom 
Brimming on the outskirts of your psyche 
Just when you thought 
Sike you didn't not cite me.

Please bibliograph my flight plan or pattern 
And as you gaze upon the moon I make my second meander on Saturn 
The orbit 

In finding sudden satisfaction with norbit 
I've asked. How bliss is ignorance? 
We blend all the blinding lights of the prism and still white and **** 
Siss 

Disdain on dose dat ain't domestic 
Still ******* kicking and 
My legs are there to test this 

Theory 
and jeering with slack 
I'm looking back. 
I fear the peers of tired whites and blacks 

Those that act that they have nothing to loose 
By continually hitting the snooze 
Oh we will leave you like leaves grounded in the grooves 

These four leaf clues 
Clovers, slipping out of my palms 
Mark you like wolverines claws 
Like jar heads
Jumpin in to the jabber jagged jaw of jaws 

Subservient marine. 
Prate in the truth of those words until you(they) know just what they mean. 
Ya seen? 
Good?
softcomponent Dec 2014
"there's all these worlds I just want to explode into, and I.. I haven't been able to.. haven't-- part of me is really excited while another part of me-- another part of me is like aahhh very nervous, you know" she sits and talks like fire thunder water rain, the lesser part of me is still stung with an arrogant confusion. No reality is my reality is the reality of things around-- sometimes it hurts to be alive-- aches and bleeds-- other times it's like gym-pain-hurt or classroom significance with a keepers knowledge base but a lot of fear of fluorescent lights (of and for said fluorescent lights).

There's only silence now-- silence in the modern sense of silence of speech-- the drone of water-drips and espresso machines and underquiet music from ceiling speakers is the whitenoise of the world when everyone decides to shut-up. I will begin to read into the world the same way I read up on it.. I will sling my own roadkill carcass across my left-shouldered sweater.. cross myself off your bucketlist; wish I had some adderal to weather me up like a cloud.

I'm not gonna lie and pretend to be 'okay.' Per se, I'm 'okay,' but as a business-as-usual assumptive process of 'yes I will see you tomorrow afternoon and we will meet in the cafe downstreet from the market' sense of the phrase I am not okay and in fact sat alone ontop my sheets and for 27 minutes straight gazed into my bookshelf wondering why it all seemed so uninteresting when 30 minutes ago the topic of Islamic extremism tethered me in with wonder and fright.

- - -

If you want to meet a boy, meet him in a library. Meet him in your favorite section and next to your favorite author, next to your favorite subject-- perhaps your forte is the trading history of ancient Polynesian tribes--- they had oversized canoes and somehow managed to sail thousands and thousands of oceanic kilometres unto ancient Australia, Pitcairn, Wallis and Futuna... perhaps it is a cultural conceit of ours to look down in awe and wonder, "how, in the name of Judaeo-Christianity, were a group of savages able to spread across an expanse of ocean the size of several Roman Empires?"

shut the **** up and drink yr fluoride water, whiteman

- - -

There are a thousand different ways to spell a name.

Pronunciation means so little—so desperately trying to fit itself securely into the matrix-belt of existence—no, I said, you can't use my toothbrush. It goes in my mouth.

With the sertraline still sifting its way thru my veins, I arranged another line of ******* upon the cloud-white-black-stripe plate and saw that—except for the light—it was almost entirely invisible. I rolled up Chris's 5 dollar bill and then pinched both ends to draw the makeshift drug-hose into an even tighter loop. Chris paced back and forth in fueled thoughtfulness, unperturbed at my disallowance of his using my toothbrush to assuage his plaque-plagued jaws. He was on about the lowest common denominator as we discussed the folly of all orthodoxy—I held the bill up to my left nostril, inhaling with rapid force to push the drug past my nasal cavity and toward the closest vessels capable of breaking blood-brain barrier for ecstatic 30-minutes of internal spirit-fame.

most of the time, my bad habits are just telling my thoughts to shuddup.  

(quiet little Angels; confused Holy Ghosts. That's all we really are, innit, kid?)
Ottar Apr 2014
Colonies more like,
little islands, of freedom,
to express, you.

Not Polynesian,
get aways, not tropical
until, hot August nights.

Rolling in like waves,
     make me crave,
gritty sandy lave.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Wait is the word
heard,
sensed, is, perhaps, the better way to say
wait is the thought

the sign, signal initial init,
to wit,

you, you wit this by your wittiness, as you
wish
you could crawl from the cave

Imagine it were you, bred and fed in dark,
flicker lit shadows on the rocks

name them, name these things you see in
flicker lit shadows on the rocks


Send the hunters now to find them, gift them
fire to see their way,
good light,
gluck, gut gluck

Between the rivers of Babylon, we wept
not for the city, but
for the peace.

Words with out, out with words,
mean meant words, anger, hate

what thought is this in this word hate,
evil, in a word.
taste and see, sweet. Venge again,
love it, love it love it
oops.

Dopamagic
rewarded
safe, senseless, sleep. Wait.

Waiting is, suffer it to be so.
waiting brings no pain,
waiting is watching

Time is spent
perceiving
receiving
conceiving
conceit
deceipitic deception revere

the be guiled named the beguiler
hell is imagined

Satan, the Great Shatan, the deceiver,
the poets who prospered
while lying

and adding lies to the canon included
in the fruit of the tree of knowledge

The unconscienced demi-urge, oh Jah,
in a word
hmmmm in Polynesian POV

Imaginary hells work, why then,
should no trials imagining
heaven work as well?

The old man at the back, raises one digit,
he bids us wait, and
slowly rises

full height, he is not bent with care,
flicted with spotty doubt nor
wavering aim.

You, also know,
Christ had no mythology.

you know that. You know that.
you know
absolute knowledge

you trust that's known, right.
you trust that's known right.

No, you don't.
I do.

You must wait to prove me wrong.
Meanwhile,
watch and see.
All these are trials, samples in Costco, take some home and bake them or eat them raw one after another, as free as you dare careless to be, tru res
daniel f Jul 2014
atop an azure ocean
old Polynesian pearl
Omnipresent Overwhelming.
Illuminating all before it,
Waves glow soft,
pushed and pulled
by lunar cycles.
Once the sun slumps dormant,
the evening air a world away
from a swollen summer afternoon.




Leave me in stone!
Quartz or Marble.
I've never been fussy,
Anything to ensure,
my name remains mentioned
when my bones are only barely there.



The bayeux tapestry.

Crafted by artisans
Pulled by times tide
Eternity echoed in cloth.

Faces faded expression empty
Tales told only so long
Swordsman standing ready,
Baying for blood forever.

Wild joy when stared upon,
replaced by dull admiration
Oh how things change!



The tactician.

The tactician casts his able gaze,
upon his silent subject.
All manner of analysis ensues,
there are many factors to consider.
This he knows more than most.
Sam Temple Apr 2015
a tiny bell rings and I smile
Pavlov-ian slave
to the google chat box
at the chance my darling wife
would like to talk –
escaping the doldrums of daily drudgery
I delve into non-work related conversation
as we discuss dinner options
and what to do about the old dying dog
expression of love
sprinkle the text
as we consider vacations
and when to speak with a broker about buying a home
again…
Then it happens
like a hurricane destroying a small Polynesian village
the boss comes in
and I must close my little green box
and get back to work --
If you ask me how I am I just might tell you. If I feel like it.
I might tell you that there are weeds growing willful up
around the old shed, that the creepers are out of control,
that there are multi-coloured ladybirds ******* at old wounds
in the hollow of my heart, that acres of wild white daisies
are mad with Spring in the fields but that soon they shall wilt
because that's how it goes. If you ask I may tell you how
I drew blood from a prickly rose I couldn't stop myself from
touching and that it still hurts years later,
that some short-sighted clever creatures devoured too much
honey from the beehive in my back yard and died there fat and over-fed.
If you ask me how I feel I might say 'fine' but don't believe a word.
Fine!!
If you ask me how I am, and you really want to know, then search
my eyes for the spark that links souls and breathes new life
into old secret hiding places we didn't know existed, down there
in the gully where maggots love to linger and make silage, where
tombs are built to keep dead things buried and comatose.
if you ask me and I'm not saying you will, then be prepared to
drop down to where lifeless things may want to come back to life.
If you ask me who I am, I may say that I'm a cosmic river of luminous
liquid that spares no gellyfish from their own refection, where
dolphins stare speechless into the lost Polynesian deep blue of rusting
wreckage. If you ask me how I am, be sure you really want to know cause if
I'm in the mood, it may be a long trip and you may need a toothbrush.
So if you ask me and you probably won't now, but if you do we shall
sip wine of a kind for drunken lovers lush with the alchemy of bitter
grapes aged and morphed into the sweet drippings of reckless
angels ready to yank off another lid.
The attempt to go beyond 'fine' and the typical responses when we don't really feel or want to really open up the whole can of worms or whatever..
Creepstar Feb 2016
Good afternoon,
what can I tattoo
Ah,half sleeve of Polynesian
To fill left arm on you.

Smoke a joint first?
Whatever you say
As long as your good with it
wouldn't want you slumping,but hey.

If you'd allow me to sketch
clean on to your skin
A few hours of this
we should be ready to begin.

Yes,please tell me of your ****** conquests
of the past week.
I agree if pick up girls from bars
it can be pretty bleak.

Okay we're mapped out
and read to go
Yes bud,it may hurt
that's a given you know.

I've opted for a seven round linner
Not to wide not to thin
I think for the style
it should fit right in.

Should take a few hours
give or take plus time for break
By the end I imagine
there'll be quite the dull ache.

So,how's work been
are you still paid to pave a drive?
Yeah I know it tedious
but you work to survive.

Another spliff break?
Of course you can dude
To stop you having the breaks you need
would be just rude.

I could do with another
cigarette myself
I'm aware that smoking these things
Are bad for my health.

Well we're almost done,
what do you think
Glad you like it
so let's go have a drink.
"Are you happy with the placement and design of your tattoo,remember its a permanent change to your athstetic features and though it can be removed with laser removal surgery at a later date your skin will never be the same again"
"Keep it clean,keep it creamed,don't pick it,don't scratch it,if it itches slap it"
sobroquet Feb 2020
Please Approximate/Designate   Race: check  all that apply (if any)
pre employment query (optional ostensibly)

🀆American Indian
🀆 White
🀆Tenderfoot
🀆Half-Breed
🀆Crackers
🀆***
🀆*****
🀆Guineas
🀆Pol­acks
🀆Micks
🀆Black
🀆African American
🀆Hispanic
🀆 Non-Hispanic Latino
🀆Asian
🀆Ending in ease, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese…
🀆Filipino’s  (flips)
🀆Calico
🀆Hindi Indian, ****, Middle Eastern, Bedouins, Persian…
🀆Hawaiian, Polynesian, Oceanian
🀆Mixed Plate
🀆Semitic (****’s and Arabs)
🀆Translucent
🀆Freakasoides  (human)
🀆Alien, (outer space kine)
🀆Tuna-neck (any variety)
🀆Other
🀆Undecided
🀆None of your biz wax
🀆Beats all hell outta me
🀆WAT
🀆***
🀆Cannot compute
🀆Complete Miscegenation
🀆From whence do we commence this abstruse extrapolation?   (anglo saxon)
🀆**** All


©kwr
colloquial aspersions, slang, ancestry, race, anthropology, genealogy, time
https://www.pbs.org/show/your-inner-fish/
Big Virge Dec 2020
Now They STRESS That In Chess....
It's ESSENTIAL For You...
To Make The Right Move... !!!

Well In The... “ Game of Life “...

…. That's ALSO TRUE....

But Life’s NOT A Game...
... It Can Bring PAIN... !!!!!!

So Let Me Make This...
... CLEAR To You... !!!

I Know The Coup'....

I Don't Believe In Preaching COOL... !!!
Dismiss My Speech If You Want To... !!!

I'm Merely Giving My Point of View...
About The Moves We Sometimes Choose...

So Far I've Chosen Pretty Well....
I Claim No Wealth...
Other Than My Health....
And Knowledge of Self... !!!

IMPORTANT Tools In Making Moves......
That Enable You To Stay Well Schooled...
And Move With A Groove...
That's Cool And Smooth... !!!

So Yeah That's Me...
So Far... BELIEVE... !!!

I've Travelled And Been...
To... BEAUTIFUL Scenes... !!!

From The West Indies To Hawaii...
Waikiki To Hong Kong's Streets...

Polynesian Views...
Wakatipu Hues And Mountains TOO... !!!
From Austrian Slopes To Fijian Homes...

Well I Mean... “ HUTS “...
That Left Me STUNNED... !!!!

Due To Artistry And Tapestries....
That Showed Me That...
Their Cultures... DEEP... !!!

Africa TOO But That's A Move...
That NEEDS To Be SHREWD... !!!

And NEEDS To Be RIGHT... !!!!
BELIEVE... That's TRUE... !!!!

See Moves I Make Do NOT Relate...
To Doing So Because of... RACE... !!!!

Because Racist Moves Are Living PROOF...
That People NEED To... TRULY CEASE...

HATRED Because of Skin They SEE...
That Doesn't FIT Their Colour Scheme... !!!

WRONG MOVE Dude... !!!
How About You Cool Like Joe And Tune...

Yourself... INTO...
A Frequency MORE Loving And Be...

MORE Accepting And Less Defensive...

A GOOD Defence... !!!!!
If You're In Court Or Playing Ball...

Is The RIGHT MOVE...
And That's For SURE... !!!!

I Wish Liverpool Would Defend Like THOR... !!!!!
When They Have Got Some Strikers Who...
Can Help Them WIN The Premiership... !!!

Cos' Moves They've Made...
Since The League Was Changed...

Have CLEARLY Been...
... ALL WRONG Okay... !?!

Which Goes To SHOW...
That From Corporate Folds...
To The... " Average Joe "...

Right Moves Can WIN...
While Others... LOSE... !!!

So My Advice...
Is... BE WISE Y’all... !!!!!
BEFORE You FALL... !!!!!!
For The WRONG Girl...
Or The WRONG Guy...

I've Been Quite Wise...
With Women I've Found... !!!
ENJOYED The Ride When it Was Time...
For The Lights To Go Down... !!!

So That I Could Make Moves...
In... Their BEDROOMS... !!!

It's All A Game...
of... “ Give And Take “...

NOT Making Waves... !!!
Unless They BREAK...
And... POINT You To...

A Place Where FATE...
Deals You Cards...
Where You CAN LAUGH...
Because You CRUISE Through...

While Others CONFUSE... ?!!!!!?
Themselves... Due To....

Making Moves..
That Just AREN’T COOL... !!!!!

So REMEMBER This Piece...
And THINK It Through...

The Way To ACHIEVE...
And NOT BE... “ Duped “...

Is By Taking Roads...
Where The Route Is SMOOTH........

Cos’ They Lead You To...

Make...

..... “ The Right Move “.....
We all try to make em' ...
since the hour left when our voices were together blended like a mousse apples in the oven baking like a cake feathers in the dressers hanging like a rake lips are moving but i can’t hear the words you are saying your face is gloomy moody like the birds with strands of rope and sheets of cotton make a nest in hampers for laundry and light for nothing autumn summers humid air arias drifting everywhere Polynesian seasonings feet on the ground forms are wasted in the clouds fade again has no end fingers stroke toes and hair we make love in gardens make jokes and touch each others bodies i am making flying carpets silhouettes on a page silent like rage houses the same dancers are awake does it apply and can we supply oh apple of my eye and pear of my ear dreamer of the earth what will appear its apparently clear that grief is profound and so is the sound of water splashing down i drown in pounding waves one breaks so please come and save me again today
sergiodib Jul 2021
What use was this creation,

If it delivered boastful, vain, narcissism and loveless, black depression?

If it is directing decision making from biological, human intelligence to unemotional, artificial intelligence?

If it is drowning azure, Polynesian islands and raising polymeric, garbage archipelagos?

If Amazon is no more a forest of lush, stunning biodiversity
but a world wide jungle of objects to be consumed?

If “this piece of work, man”, “the quintessence of dust”, is
the CREATOR of utter, hydrogen destruction, capable of annihilating any form of life seven times in a row?
Carefree
Mitchell Jun 2018
Present Past the Future
For the page.

Nothing comes
Of me,
Solely me,

If I'm
Not
Here.

What a brat I am.
What self-righteousness I have.
What an American.

At times
At my most important
High-dive
I pay attention yet all attention
To no detail

Every detail
So committed
To the page
As an incandescent soul
Such as I,
Understands and accepts
The futility, ney, the fat-headed audacity
To think
They and their hand,
They and their mind,
Could get
Every last one.

To be a poet
Is to be attempting
The unattainable
Forever grateful
To even be given a glimpse
To the labyrinth
Of catacombs

A being
Who knows not their own madness
Will always,
When catching
Sight
Of their own eye in the mirror,
Will quickly look away.

Multitudes, He muttered,
As a cymbal eclipse ricocheted
And dissolved
Sprinkling the off forest green pine needles
Seconds before dawn.

*

There is no action without
The narrative
The framework of our lives
If we like it or not starts
With the vaginal stork,
Carrying you from holy non-existence to,
I guess, sorta-kinda, holy existence.

I try
Not to think
Of my mother
Giving birth to me.

I don't like to imagine
Her
In too much pain.

Just a little sometimes,
Like when she fake cried
When she was cutting onions or
She stubbed her toe
And punched a hole
In our new mauve colored iMac.

Those scenes of temporary agony
I could get behind

See,
These nights
Are nothing but
The page.

I forgot
I forget
How to even
Talk to myself

Sometimes.

Is that age?
Is that growth?
Is that the next
30
Years?

Luckily,
I only have myself so even when
I don't have myself,
They'll be roaming around
Somewhere around
In there

Of course,
There will be the page.
The pen.
The lack of thought;
The surplus of it.

Sometimes I wonder,
Sometimes I think,
Sometimes I query my own queries:
What if there was
Only my time,
My way,
My stay or the highway?

What would
Become of me?
My misery?
Would my self-worth
Evaporate to merely drift
Skyward - Cloud-ward?

Or would I become
Something else
Entirely?

Would I become the I
Unshackled?

Then, I see my parents, my father
On a fishing boat, his giant tanned gut
(Like the middle knuckle
Of a worn out leather baseball mitt)
Jutted out catching the 2PM sun, just a
Finishing pole in his hand, the line loose, perhaps
A fresh glass bubbled Corona in his hand.

I see my mother:
She's smiling at me,
Her red cheeks propelled by
The Polynesian breeze,
Forever content, eternally grateful,
For simply presence,
For simply time,
For nothing more
But experiencing in this life
What she never thought she would.

I see my sister:
She is nose deep in books
(As I always was an am)
And I smack her on the back of the head
And she screams, HEY!
And I scream, HEY!
And she chases me down the beach
To the beach bar where we drink
Daquiris and talk about what kind of people
We would be
If mom and dad had never split up.

"Someone's else entirely," I say.

I'm drunk and I admit it whole-heartedly.

"Yeah," Sister nods.

She was always one for math.
I was always one for words.

We were always ones
To survive,
With a smile,
And a spent mile

Under our feet.

Always
Ready
Thereafter.
Benson Jun 2023
Courageous Stowe's sought – to disrupt a mushroom cloud  
Aboard rusty hardy, trawler –  defiant, loud & proud
  
Kaleidoscope colours – dove and olive branch
A non violent mission - to halt an eco avalanche                                            
  
An indigenous Canadian tribe – foresee’s the future
If prophecies materialise – our planet needs healing & nurture

Instilling fear & exposure - the environmental villain
Eyes of fire are watching – the Cree Indian cries “listen !”
  
A friendly Auckland harbour – witnessed ****** & destruction
Concern for Polynesian friends - amidst nuclear  eruption
  
Operation Satanique could  never distract the peaceful ambitions
Arose like the phoenix – forever determined never contrition

Artic sunrise & witness - sisters to protest & protect
No-one has the right to destroy our biodiversity  - reckless & unchecked

Keep people informed - involved & inspired
We need education – empowerment & remain hardwired
  
Corporate greed, indifference & madness is upon us
Warriors remain valiant - united for climate justice
FY
Southampton vs Leeds
today at Wembley

yesterday the whole of
Manchester came
to London (also Wembley):

there's something infuriating
about the spirit of the north
especially in England
some old tale of Vikings

because the north like
the north Norway and Finland
is: well
the Polacks had a long ago
allegiance with the Norsemen

but the spirit of the north
in England
that land between London
and Scotland
because i don't think
i can relate to the spirit of the dragon
of the west of Bristol

no: much different
but in the same vein:
i think i should travel for a weekend
trip to Manchester
or Newcastle
or even perhaps Leeds

but i'd need to own a car for that
and not use trains
get out
experience a driving holiday
across England
and write...
i think i need a writer's holiday
unlike what could never
have been promised on Kauai
in terms of writing
and growing:

i think i need to grow intellectually
and for that i need alone time
perhaps i will not philosophy
maxims or aphorisms because
i find that when writing
wisdom is cheap because not actually lived
counter to the wisdom invoked
none of it is ascribed to a life

only from word of mouth
sorry therefore
but from word of mouth i find the accounts
of Socrates more involving, inviting,
sensibly middle Buddhist path...

but i don't even have a driving license...
that's plan B
so plan A is to travel to Poland
and get a driving license
and from there look in on Martin
in the care home now
walking
but obviously the mind regardless: fried
scrambled or i best
like to think an omelette...

there's this favorite Indian place of mine
just in the shadow of Wembley
with great great Samosa
vegetarian
something i see too much meat
i want to try some ape-thinking
or rather

     koala in an eucalyptus tree
like some birch standing upside down
but no
the forest shifts to bamboos
and a panda
this forest this river this sea of people:
the people: regardless of the social
construct of sobering democracy
rather than the drunken ripple into time
en masse
like circling around the Kaaba
in Mecca
or circling around the Pitch (Pi)
or Wembley in London...

sporting events replaced the failed
christianity in Europe
the failed christianity in Europe:
which is not to say that
Christianity isn't thriving in Africa
Asia
South America is the New Europe
of Christianity
and pockets of insanity in the North
of the Americas...

but Europe isn't dead: it simply turned
covert...
there is a narrative i need to be part of
and this cannot invite an Edie
and a Reyla when i am of the "class" of people
that need to hear people
speak
and i need to listen and watch and record
but unlike journalism
poetry is a question to the butcher:
would you butcher a meat twice
by overcooking it?
beef is safe
but dare to under-cook chicken? no...
would rather eat raw fish
than under-cooked chicken...
TEXTURE...
a problem with texture regardless of those
allergic to peanuts
and all the microcosms of what if Darwinian
laws were in place
not nature's as ontological specific to man
but rather as Darwinian laws
of appropriating the stasis ontologies
of animals
to the singleton humanoid-hood of mankind

Darwinism is an Ontological Disney-Magic-Place
then some recoil back
to basics of: morality as prejudice...
not as something crippling
but as a prejudice of character...

one shift we were singing Champagne Supernova
then i got high
when i was alone at home
and listening to headphones
i'll still drink in public
but alone
at Marleboune...

a new lease on life...
took a different route than my usual
using the stop ahead
of the crowd
going back to Preston Road
on the Metropolitan Line
then ahead to Liverpool St
and perhaps chance the express Greater Anglia
two stops to Romford
otherwise speeding to Shenfield
and then onto Southend

Diamond Boy Diamond Boy said this one
Leeds fan...
another promised me to jug jug down a pint
of beer
before me and then kissed my clenched
fist with a wet kiss of charcoal ego of the sun

now  i feel the love of humanity
like it's a welcome burden
it truly can be i can allow myself to differentiate
the good from the bad
only today i passed a man
lying with head exposed on the pavement
outside Romford station
to later come home
and find him sitting in decent clothing
and temporarily homeless
because clearly he broke someone's heart
and not all rough sleeping
is a horror but the same sun and same
moon in the sky
and by so transient and glass like
to the everyday mirror be behold
those homeless men peering at themselves
in glass
to those homed and baron with silver spoon born
looking at themselves
in mirror
and even in the future now of the photograph
and movie and what used to be the arena
of the artist's self-portrait...

                   more in the idea of riding
my first worm of steel
if any myth the metal worms of the geology
of a planet equivalent to a desert sea...
yet in the ultra cold
less the fiction of Dune and more the Reality-Mars...

but the original plan is to travel
to Poland to get a driving license...
then probably buying a cheap car
and travelling alone across Europe...
that's more realistic
than anything concerning Edie as far as i am concerned
that is finished...

i saw Warren send heartheartheartheart
emojis...
out *** has returned to quick(s) and quirps
and talking points
we still have talking points of wonder
and bewilderment
but i know: those several days have been long
and thorough on the observant i

Mary Le Bon! that's it!
i found her...
                 she was hiding in my favorite places
of London
less a trainspotter but but but
more an aesthetic appreciator
notably when it comes to the London Underground
but more so
i wondered there are poems plastered across
the worms
and people get bored and sometimes even read
or rather start to write not having
read enough to bury gems among rocks...
better still
the aesthetic of the Bakerloo Line
a living museum in transit...
please do not update the Bakerloo Line
petition.... 1st signature: X
please do not update the Barkerloo Line
the Jeckyll and Hyde Station that is Baker Street
while sorry:
Sherlock Holmes will have to move
in with Shakespeare's Shylock somewhere
on Bond Street...
to give us James, King and Country...

                         but Mary Le Bon station is just
another weird ******* beautiful
ginger cat story
especially after having your hands kissed

but a holiday like that
to live a life my uncle should have lived
but instead didn't
probably he didn't love just yet
a woman who could perform both
******* and absolute freedom all at once
by every ounce of one more once
and how this memory and her as memory
will mold me i don't know
but if i'm not seeing women differently
then i don't understand why women are
looking at me differently...

i do wonder: the CCTV rat network
and couple in the cult of the soap opera...
well: mismatched with a football sulk hug-out
of a ghoul: pelican -
if i can't solve be-done crossword
puzzle i think i just wrote
a question:

football sulk hug-out
of a ghoul: pelican -

          i.e. a hooligan:

   ave maria ave maria
now i want to understand christianity but only via christ
or perhaps
socrates' life through his ****** sons?
and the younger argumentative seller of **** potions
of a wife?
well:
perhaps islam can be understood through Maria...
just saying:
lost - no annals of children of christ
although i'll admit: i'd like to see a book made up
of little words and little nouns
with no names of people and no history...

              for the aesthetic...

but a holiday for myself...
getting a license and exploring further further
that only oar and boat could
but couldn't solve on Kauai
and no Polynesian dream then
but such good ****... it wasn't about the ****
although that was a learning curve
away from the brothel...
a ******* was nothing like having ***
with this woman,
this fruit of carnage from apple juice
to cider of 55 springs moisturized...
into a glowing Aladdin's rub rub rub rub rub
*** up blind
hurt
definitely hurt

definitely a life ahead of me
still talking to parents
about relationships
and opera
and they seemingly know i'm planning
a solo trip and
this trip alone
no i'm not going back to Ilona
come on
some new treaty of not from Versailles
but adventures with cats
the two gingers will gang up
on that brutal thung
who is ****** himself into a spirit
of the culled pets
who have not been given the snip
yes
pets
pets can be given special treatment
as pets
as petted-animals
only if there is the imposed cruelty
of castration
leaving the best genes in a harem pool
which doesn't translate into humanity
employing this already human maniability
of: cats and dogs replaced
angels and demons
because they could become more real

i have a life here too
i don't mean
a girl wants to live in London type of life
whereby i meet my dad for
a football match and we patch up
on our commute but ****'s going
wrong and the conversation drops off
as: we can't relate
by the glass wall of people gorging
on burgers at the Five Guy's of Baker Street:
genius marketing think-tank of solo-tank
periodical that ought to be
written about:
because saved up so much on adverts....
just glass and people eating
best "anti-AI" advert
because it's also a real place... ha ha...

                   yes....
on Kauai i'd experience true schizophrenia:
premature dementia...
what i experienced as god
in my 20s early beginning at 21
was probably me readying myself to the future
that would encompass me aged
38
her being 56
me fulfilling all my wanking
******* watching fancies and fetishes
oh god this was anti-Oedipal
seriously she looks nothing like my mother
oh my god
she was like
a breach of justice for me being attracted
to black and asian girls...
Sudanese though... now you have me curious...

concerning Ilona but there was
not real breakdown because of her
no... even when i remember it now
she was a ghost
i was 21 and my peers were seriously afraid:
this has nothing to do with Edie
we live several lives apart
i mean she throws away Depeche Mode vinyls
while i collect them
and now
i think i'm so calm and the breakup was
so amicable in my mind
that i know that i want something more
and this argument is not based on who used who
or who gained what
we gained and lost some time...
that's it...
we gained and lost some time...
could i would i should i...
first two yes
but on count of three?         no... *****: me just a man-child:
no sorry mate...

       ha ha: sorry mate...
middle aged women still desperate
are only allowed Harry Styles...
last time i heard the butch-*****-slap was single:
a name a persona
i know his tenderness does not speak
FREAK PR HERNANDEZ gaPPa...

i experienced something with Promis...
of the three names:
Promis, Ilona, Edie..
these are my free...
what? how many i ****** like the ****
actually meant a hug?
do i want, to?
don't think so...
but if i'm 3D and i'm currently 38
and i have no ring on my finger
and i'm still to have a driving license
because i preferred
horses and bicycles
to traffic jams and M25 songs by Chris Rea
and Grandma
and the sexuality of pedophiles as
as i die he will **** you
and **** Reylah
then yeah
you have, dear Edie... dementia on your side
and brain-freeze on my side:
oh so Martin my mother's brother
is ******* "JARGON" TO YOU?!
EDIE! *******!
******* EDIE!
FOR TREATING MY MOTHER'S BROTHER
AS SIMPLY MY UNCLE!
******* EDIE!
*******!

f.y.f.r:n.t.y.

for your future reference: no thank you.
you ******* north americans
and your shenanigans of acronyms...
******* too! you Ginsbergs and Olsons...
you shoved Ezra into a mental
asylum...
he's the only sane America left...
and the joke being:
he's the DEAD, SANE, AMERICAN...

******* America...
i think i retain my Europe...
well 2000 years of yids...
tickled by Mongols and Turks
who aren't Arabs...
so it's not we didn't like in Serbia
side by side
i don't understand this awe-shocker
who's who and who done what?

it's a... LIFE PROJECT
or a life projection
me?
i've been readying myself for this
break-up
since i was 21
i didn't experience god
i experienced this break-up
in advance:
and no i was not out on a look-out
for a replacement model
this was my epitome
my va va voom
my all **** and all thigh
girl
this was my girl we're talking
about
i mean my EX
like something out of her
sprouted in me...

like i was never a guy for dating apps
but poetry website ruined that
avenue for me
never a poetry website
relationship
not come to think of it
i can replace the bicycle and the horse
for the car

standing on my feet for 12h
it feels comforting
to kneel and "break the shins"
because sitting down
is a fake comfort
to be honest,
kneeling best
after 12h of standing...
this dodge-god giddy style
like i envy the possessors
of both wings and tails,
regardless of halos and horns...
regardless...

wish you were here
with a question, an exclamation mark,
colon, full-stop:
pinkish piglets in a yellow ring of fire
so so
calm
i managed to speak human with the crowd
from Leeds
i think i need to head outside of London
maybe even move to these lands
and accept: goosebumps 2nd or 3rd spring
chicken...
or see an opera or a musical
with me and
at the same time take off all that make-up,
or are you too afraid?
i can understand fear:
but there's a you in between
that conjures the fear of you
and the horror that's you...
how far part
in geo-psychology
is woring: OF from THAT'S...

i ask out of sincerity but no sicerity
here if there's talk of sardines
and the itchy train
and Dover my point of entry
and not Southampton...
because Devon, Heavenport,
some made-up thingy-madzit...
Sir Majid
like aging guitarists
a Layla on the ukulele...
   **** tested sweaty *******...
salt to sprinkle salt to sprinkle...
like goosebumps with an itch:
hard to thrill the... breeze...

                 all these hazards of trees
in the stretching cats before snooze
squeeze: extending by parameter
and parameter and no excuses
for a bad hair day...
all the fringe and paws
like i some vague hello and a vogue of
goodbyes
in the grey and silence...

what bothered me was her reaction
to my mother's brother
and that's what ended it for me,
like my mother could never possibly
have a brother...
like it would forever be
her and her daughter and her mother....
and some future nuisance of
inheritance tax of a sister
from the same mother but a different father.
in close association with the katakana:

       -a                𐀀

to create a D - oblivious me:

having to cut off
the following "matchsticks"

   to create, not a D but a D'ah

     𐀀

|- moved across - slide: amputating |
to create:
    
                               𐀅        

yet so primitive before tangent A:
     Δ came along... linear beta:
prior to standardised A... the tangent

weaving out ideographs...
𐂀 - man
              𐂁 - woman...

like the katakana -
there is DA     but no(t) AD

vowels can stand alone -
but consonants need to precede them
when "complexing"...

added...        impossible in linear B...

προστέθηκε - prosthetics: etymology
from prostethike...

     𐀞𐀫𐀮𐀳𐀴𐀐
pa-ro-se-te-ti-ke

     only much later would an F
emerge from 𐀏        KA

as Θ and Φ           but now i can see how:
and why...

how then similar to katakana?
katakana: 5×10 grid (gojūon)

         ゴユオン (goyuon)

             yīn                   adjective: sonic...    

SA-TA-RA-YE
   satire:       but no saturn... RN...
no two consonants meet...

          サチレ         satire

サツレン         SATUREN: but not SATURN

no L in Kyoto no F on Heraklion...

𐀊𐀆             jade - jay'd but perhaps ja'dé
like rose is to rosé

  hei matau taonga:       タオンガ
                       but see apparent:
possible for consonants
to meet: with diacritical addition on GA
hence how polynesian culture
started in Taiwan almost 5000 years ago...

can i see μυ in 𐀘       ?
      as much as i see γ.      in         Υ

κόλλα γλυε κόλλα γω

oh i'm pretty sure those ancients
                were stupid
as modernity has taught us to believe
that the Medieval
    times were harsh is true
but that somehow stupidity was rife
due to superstitions
                                    astounds me
given our own gallery of whims,
quips (about the past)
and pronoun debauchery...

    ビンゴ         !

possible root of birth of letters:

a special place of N among consonants -
coda:


ナ ニ ヌ ネ ノ
ア イ ウ エ オ

yīn and 🔊
       and 🗣️
       and 💬                sonic:
                           ọrọ ni nwachukwu

kiniun ariwo: eyin ti o padanu
                                  wa sisi: nani anajua

origins in spice - chillies...
🧨       or      𐂑: aroma
🚀

                           repenting me, O repenting me,
silly me, now digressing me.
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2020
Janet and I awoke before the freezing dawn to a cacophony emitting
from my phone. A deafening, repetitive alarm
....What the Hell is that?
My immediate thought was of a massive tsunami wave threatening the  nations shore???

Coronavirus has re-infected us and the government has jolted us out of  sleep to take the matter seriously.

Auckland has been slammed back to Level 3, the rest of NZ to level 2. We have a Polynesian family of 5 who have all been tested positive from an unknown community source.

This has jarred New Zealand out of its smug complacency. This has shocked us all beyond belief. We all truly believed that we were beyond this menace, but the insidious plague has reinserted itself among us.

....and we know not from whence it came?

M
12 August 2020
New Zealand
through the forest: instead of running
simply walking
muddied feet
muddled tongue
  
                       if i could get away
from "getting away" i would call myself
by my name
in third person
and then wonder: what's with this
pronoun gymnastics that
is dumb-    -ing people
who think they are walking on eggshells
but instead: are:
walking on broken glass...

the mirror of the sky
and the mirror of the seas
how entwined without adjectives
sometimes
sometimes things are devoid
of adjectives

a mountain is a mountain is
Moses and Muhammad and they too
are: non-responsive in
definition...

lazily stomaching an afternoon
within a day:

i sNIGGER... snigger -
yet the added S- is somehow not so much
concerning the rest of the word
"somehow": "offensive"?

i'm still astounded by what visualization
was generated from Frank Herbert's
Dune... beside the rather unique
punctuation there is not much to swallow...

willows willows and some drool...
**** and pike and birches for all lost *******
like dissociation with dogs
having *** like we try to think "we" in
the royal sense: devising plans
to outstrip *** from function
like *** is devoid of function
of magnetism like
there is no synonym and no antonym

through the forest: perfect exercise for
both mind and body
not running: oh hell no... no running involved
just hunched for moments at a time
then upright...

sitting on a stump of what was formerly
a prided oak
on a throne of stump
i sat and pondered whether:
is Matthew a good person?

3 years this long distance "relationship"
lasted...
i gave up so much travesty of
the lived, personal, experience
that i found blind-spots concerning
fellow man
and felt more indulgent than
associating Goethe with the title: patriarch...

of whom? artists? like Shakespeare
isn't already the patriarch of actors... isn't he?!
not out of vanity or wounded self-esteem
but paper and ink are readily available
in that: they're no longer necessary...

and all these people attached to miniature
Apocalypses in their pockets
these soft-machine hullabaloos
feats of anti-engineering
it would almost, almost therefore: seemingly
be: best associated with...

seems almost idiotic to pressure the id
to overcome the ego
in the grand scheme of
psy: schematic: associating man with man
within himself:
under what metaphysical scalpel
were these 20th century intrusions:
ventures: in understanding man
how well man became understood
find foundations of such progress
in Auschwitz...

elsewhere life under the Quran was as if
a nightmare to which i woke into
seeing life undisturbed:
with the exception of the unavoidable
outliers akin
to the Pakistani **** gangs of Rotherham

voiceless dental fricative [θ]
or its voiced counterpart [ð]

i think that's the dire consequence
of not keeping check the evolutionary
strategy of language as
its own entity: self... minus my self:
my self: the reflective component
"v" / "vs" the reflexive myself strictness...

forget the aesthetics of spelling
and how it looks on paper...
through the forest
i walked with only one ear...
well... two ears...
but one ear was focused on the parody
of listening to music
while the other ear was honing in
on the furor of the birds
bothered by a pendite...

i literally unearthed this word, right now,
on the spot...
spot of ENSOO... in one sitting:
omicron omega omicron omega:
U turn up to Silon...
up to Silon... my version of Zion...

second-person plural present
             active imperative of pendō

and people come to me with these
iron maiden chambers of grammar solely
on the vestiges of stressing... *******...
pronouns?! seriously?!

what the **** does pendoo mean?
ha ha! well well... just my luck for resurrecitng
old tongues
while i baptized myself in the nettles!
oh the nettles!
i took my shirt off
i was going to take all my clothes off
and run into the nettles
i thought it might suckerpunch me good
to feel the itch crawl into my skin
if i also itched with my testicles
but then again: indecent exposure...
sufficed with rubbing nettles
on my shins
my forearms
my hands
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my face
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my chest and my back

like Husayn -
i became a martyr of self-doubt...
no... it was certain:
there was no affair
no cheating involved
but it would have been cruel
to give hope
when the realist in me knew:
perhaps i do not like my work
but i love the company i keep
at work...

i was thinking about the properties
of doing such a thing
hinging upon a story i once read
about Roman centurions throwing themselves
****-naked into nettles...
duck quack medicine...
chemo... no...
cherry chemistry CH CH CH
choo choo...
  "too many consonants" my scratched ***
and tilting halo: for ****'s sake...

DRAKA: DRADZA: DRA-     -JA
equivalent to DZ...

          quack... duck... medicine... ah!
lost a word for a moment:
HOMEOPATHY!
or hum-pathology: **-meo-pathy...
etymological: where?
    ** in Greek: meo mea yes yes
-pathy yes like -ology...

                   this tongue outside of my
mouth in my head
not exactly a rhetorical gift
but for the duty to interest:
i.e. being invested in being interested:
undying! preserved! mummified!

what comes now is a flood of memories:
one or two hiccups
but compared to what Edie was used
to with her experience of men...
over a stretch of 3 years
we only met twice
and we had Oppenheimer sort of ***

that's what happens when
a cryptic meander:
a recluse... yes yes: once or twice
in the brothel
but what i also learned
when *** is bought / exchanged
that rigid LIMP ******* ****
i'm trying to get my rocks off
want to lick her out
finger her and then she blurbs out:
that will be extra...
she also forgot to peel the banana
sorry
but she forgot what the ******* is
for and isn't for
and that was a waste of time
i ended up paying £130 for massaging her...

and that's what: in the heralded
wisdom of a 55 year old to a 38 year
some ******* clue:
oh yeah, yeah... the younger girls
are *****...
hornier: puppet: you have my strings?
seriously?
am i to believe that women
in the luxury of the menopause
are... wait wait...

  wait wait... menopausal women
are hornier: freer...
than their younger counterparts... period!
the end!
i've heard too much ******* to suffer
the fate of the gullible patrons of:
*** for pleasure...

   and she might have thought me an invalid
for not having secured a progeny
in child of my own
(a)

           but now i just see timidity breeding
fluorescence
if that's even possible whenever
i see women in that brackets of (18 - 45)
that's a good bracket to have...
invigorating: indispensable...
like this was my ONE NOTCH
and a belt of all those times
i wondered whether or not i had erectile
dysfunction: clearly not...

******* the brains out of an older woman:
trick came with the thrice tickle...
tasteless?
current affairs and political lies
are tasteless:
suffice to say that a sound reading
of Marquis de Sade coupled with some
sobering Kant and Bukowski's efforts
yes yes... all a matter of fact: stress...
a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away
so much for apples...
tangerines oranges snakes and ladders...

the realist spoke:
i was never going to leave London
for her
that dynamic of mother daughter
grandmother was strict and Christian-obligatory
i can't do Christian-obligatory
when you have suspicions of
the one and only heresy that is: hypocrisy...

i couldn't leave London for Kauai
i would hate waking up
driving past the golf courses of Princeville
and i would hate to live among
Americans
even if they were Polynesian half-winks
of what the genesis story is
of that vastness: i.e. Taiwan...
too much sun not even *****: ooh! azure!

i'm an urban rat
i need urban slang to surprise me
especially if it's coming from the youths
of Hackney and they're Somalis
or Nigerians ...
i feel sick whenever i travel back to Poland
and am stuck with an ethnic homogeneity

too much white on white
i once stated already that: the future is mixed race...
for all the ills and ailments
we need a genetic vibrancy
and one way is to breed:
no sorry... that **** is on AUTOPILOT right
now... as natural as gravity...
but at least black women will stop
wearing wigs
and their half-kin will have a full crop
of hair and there will be no more
*****-slapping concerning alopecia...
perhaps no teeth-whitening envy too:
orange skin tan peel: blinding ivory: ugh!

                        only in Essex...

plus! i don't want to come across as some
invalid
but i really really don't need a car in London
sure i'm heading to Poland
to get a driving license in September
but that's just a formality blah blah blah
but over there: bicycle: bad bearings...
knock-knock buckling...

             England is an island but Kauai
is a whirlpool of existential constipation
that's equivalent to: ha ha... claustrophobia...
oddly enough it was just that...
plus summer is coming
and with that Wimbledon
and the concert season
and the Euro finals and being a tourist
of bad-mouthed Ahmed Ahmeds
flying in from Sow-Di Land of
the free peoples of Putinphilia... well: you know...
blah blah...

           yes: i am the bad man...
because i'm the realist and i wanted the memory
bank to implode then explode into
stretching time:
that non-linear point of having
a concern for time...
a stretching and juxtaposition of time
and that's also QUANTUM TIME...
as much as i might enjoy the quantum space
of my bedroom and me kneeling
before the bed and typing this out...

memory = quantum time

                       i can play with it as much as i can:
with the additional fervor of having
memory intact outside
of the realm of pedagogic infringement
and acidity once upon a time
constricted by learning irrelevant facts:
it's like: why do they teach us biology
when they know none of us will
be doctors or at least most
why don't they teach us nutrition in school
help us focus on the entire body
rather than bulldozer our experience of
youth with talk of *******
thrombocytes and chlorophyll?

          pedagogy is outdated - clearly:
if it weren't for a self-assured want to grasp
etymology / other languages...
beside from the basics of arithmetic and some
grasp of letters: although nuance
that sound to the letters presented
and what dyslexia is there to be spoken of?

ah ha ha... blah blah...
for all my afternoons to revolve around such
joy: to write.
and when Qais blacked out after a sporadic
moment of "malnutrition"
on a Ramadan bout of "purification":
o.k.: i get the medieval insistence
on the practice, esp given the desert environment
but now: it almost feels like
a stance: albeit i know, i know: it's not that
but in this other kind of desert
of concrete, jungle, concrete:

            anyways: apparently he was calling
me for me or he imagined
i was the face he saw... but i was: "miles" away
yet...
   so it's not even about being "re" educated
when it comes to foreign cultures, peoples,
i'm not going to write **** poetic immigrant
ballads about not fitting in:

as i told: let's call him Richard...
a West Indian: although Indian is hardly
a way to describe...
so now collaborative effort on both parties
involved...
a sensitive topic, considering the bleaching
of history
and how i love Heidegger and his obsession
with historiology:
his, is a writing: filled with allusive -
let's say metaphor-morphing:
i love how he understand his own writing
and the reader: is not supposed to:
like Nietzsche predicted:
the German ethos of idiosyncratic
endeavor:
       even in Thuringia they were spelling
out to the English hooligans
a "welcome home" party slogans

          because Brexit happened because
the Polish plumbers got the better of them:
so i was telling "Richard":
there was once a "thing" called a:
protestant work ethic...
which is not to admit to drinking too much
alcohol on the job...
or the night prior:
           even i don't do that...
but there was such a "thing"...
even...                                          now...
but Brexit happened because
the Slavs "invaded" Europe: or were merely:
neighborly: brotherly: well, apparent: **** that!

so the Empire imploded
and there was no Hippy Regeneration
no Trail of Cid and Acid
and multi-color versat: versing: shortening:
quickened: equipping...

Qais... 21... such a tenderness in man:
wants to bulk up... Hulk mode...
weighing in at 90kg...
give it time, Qais, gravity and time...
by the time you're 40 you'll put on weight
some of it will be useless
like the grudge i now have for cycling
is...

                     just ******* impossible to
deviate from...
i want to canoe, ******* paddle...
then i saw a glimpse of evolution
in the origins of the Polynesian people
a glimpse a ***** a blink
a Thai wink
in this: "brute": and it coincided with:
well thanks for the olives (and skin)
but where did you get your HASEL:
not hustle: HUSSEL? no, not Husserl...
hassle... ah: hassle not hassel:

glum eat the vowel: 'sle not fish netting
'sel
                by what date? sell by?
well...
                    DAHOMEY & ASHANTI

perfectly honest: i don't understand why
these English folk put up with
Sudanese Ahmed(s)
who s.p.e.l.l. out the stink of India
and Israeli skunk bombs
with terms like: NOT ABORIGINAL
but native and PUNK is butter is cute
is like: nothing rebellion against
the tectonic status quo of people
like water constantly: constant "being" born
and "being" dead...
like this preserved instance
in a format of a democratic fashion
exemplified with: squandering the use
of these idle tools of communication:

my grandfather Joseph would be proud
i hate being told
like no other ****** would be told
just endeared with "mr trouble"
but the moment i give Qais
a ******* 10min runner ahead
to catch the train i'm involved with
c.c.t.v. paranoia like the "almighty"
control room doesn't see how
i do my verk...
    
       because that's how shifts go
and how people get all ******* friendly
at work: then start whatsapp groups
and try doubly friendly to be
boss ***** and poor poor pooh bears
and that's just ******* disgusting
i'm not in high school but: there's the yard

one bourbon two bourbons
the kingdom of Burgundy and that was
me ******* into the cup of wine
to spike the aging fruit of garden
and Jerusalem
feeding me happy thoughts...
because new serpent arrived
without an apple but a morphed bunch
of grapes and some fudge packing
**** into bread
resurrected on the crucifix

at least i know that Islam is a religion
for men
and i can't be doing with this
hijacking of words with images
that culminated in emoticons under
the banner of Christianity:
i think i'm smarter than to have to adhere
to Christianity
this religion that's zenith came without
but with the Exodus into Dust of Auschwitz...
and clearly: no one panicked
or picked up on the slaughter
since so much was "achieved" given
the numbers...
now i will clearly spot a few Watermelons
gleeful in my scribble and:
no matter...

              i stopped admiring the American
intellectual English this is just my
Lingua of the commerce of ideas some will
go no further than the sputnik of ****
i flush down the toilet
while jerking off over a could-be Madonna
such a pretty face
but such ugly **** and stomach cramps
when reaching ****** with multiple dudes
and ******

*** some amphetamine vitamin numbing...

i'm still so bummed out about
getting a Green Day t-shirt
from the shift...

do you know your enemy...
do you know your enemy...

sad story about Qais: 21... already
traumatized by women
had a girlfriend and a *******
but still a ******:
was accused of ****
the girl wasn't a ****** but probably
wanted a notch on her girth:
hardly a belt... smacker: push a plum
into a piece of bread:
but him: unwilling became a HASHTAG
memorandum of: dangerous loop...

origins of ****** dynamic failure:
too many drugs now i'm
waiting for the death of the last Holocaust
survivor like i'm waiting
for the last instigator of the 1960s revolution...
when Paul "the pauper don" McCartney
and McCarthy are but recycled newspaper
click-baits: i'll go swimming with the alias:
skinny: for naked...

       i think i might just feel fine: then...
until then:
Qais... i don't suppose i can recommend
you an objective-affection for loss of sentiment
for emotions when having ***:
with prostitutes?

     but why the **** do people speak to me
so openly
then i remember those little ****** and little *****
bothered about social hierarchies and
climbing ranks
and i'm reminded by the demeaning language
they use concerning the roles
they once filled and it's so ****
sad
makes me want to think about being
a garbage man or a poet:
apparently a Swiss entrepreneur would know
how to understand what poet is these
days: a LOSER or NOT a fifty shades
of grey scribbler:            but that's just fine
i'm sort of happy not having
to laugh out loud into his face...

it's a slow burn sort of erosion type of
happiness...

          but i will never "feel" English among
Englishmen and i will never "think"
to be Polish among the Polacks - the John
Lackland luster of history:
sold a land for paupers and Gypsies...
and then bold: behold: bowed and blew
into split grass shafts for lack of proper flutes...

so demeaning that i didn't learn
how to whistle by putting *******
into my mouth:
but sure as **** i managed to teach myself
how to regurgitate doing the same
and whenever overeating
i will resort to a now perfected reflex
of the oesophagus: BLURP BURP BLAH...

but i still feel suffocated by:
well who knows who's right side of a WHIM
i will wake up on and what
sort of SPASTIC MR FANTASTIC
SUPERDYSLEXICMENSCH
will find my writing and achieve a realization
dynamo of: OFFENCE OFFENCE!

i believe that: if the Chinese government
and the Moscow Mongols
are not after my skin:
any attack from the Western Echo Ethos
is more likely to give this feeble dream
of democracy and freedom:
otherwise pandering to the loud-mouth cripples:
even i have to queue even
i have to commute but SPEZIAL TREATS
for SPAZ is like: glory to god the sun is shining
on four wheels and aubergines
contortions in cubism... alive...

because: just because: someone had no
******* clue about the dangers of ***
so they had *** anyway...
sitting in a brothel contemplating STDs...
perplexed: so how come i haven't had any?
personal hygiene?
that's a good start...
            maybe i'm more of a cat or a dog
and i'm sort of able to lick my *******...
although i can't:
but maybe i'm just surrounded by these horrors
and find myself imbecilic
not having to deal with such instances
of being accused of ****...

              so there was Walt Whitman
and i'm dry on pride:
just don't have the stomach of being forcefed
a sexuality
my own is distraught by the distance
from London to Kauai
and i'm not about to go "hunting" for some
fertile 20 year old
just bored of the conversation
just not: having one...

                 the ****** revolution (supposed,
"revolution") brought nothing but
a deepening of: anti-resolve to the revolving
glitter of moon and earth around
a star of many
                       and i'm... not about to start:
but happy to know that other people
will breed indefinitely in grey
to the matter of fact of: like everyone
might need a plumber or a bus driver some
day: like tomorrow...

as long as "we" persuade all those nurses
to stop dancing and making TikTok videos
miming sirens...
                          even writing this: *****.

— The End —