I'd rather drink the punch and die
poor
than bite the apple and die
rich.
I'm just trying to find
a way
to get by
and meet people
with out having to take my clothes off.
or write **** me in sharpie all over my forehead.
No matter how it happens,
there needs to be a redistribution of wealth
in a way that isn't stealing, like taxes do to us.
If the people got together and built
an empire,
then together they would rule
it and take care of
all that needs to be done.
Like business
that actually works,
like a friendship,
not a one night stand.

Y'all know what I mean?
I just turned 20.
43 minutes ago, I'm excited.

A nation that bleeds
Unwilling to confront the past
The last thing we need
Is celebration and blasts
The unequal treatment
Race gender and class
Shines so clearly
With Donald Trump laughs
In this time reflection
Will shine a better path
Reconstruction Redistribution
Instead of indifference and death

Some budding minds of larvae
become slaves to indoctrination
holding ransom to their morals
with mundane anticipation.
Ants and Bees take to the streets
dragging dignity through the trip
while sharks above hound them
discipline at the crack of a whip.
The struggle of paying to work
catches the children by surprise
though the nature of nepotism
gives others meteoric rise.
Ragged, they stay warm
through the fires of finance killing
so that the glutenous worms
can feed off the standard of living.
And those who live in glass mansions
have their view clouded by rain
as they look down at the masses
with contempt and disdain.

I don’t mind being criticized
If I’m wrong, tell me so
Let me know, so
I can go about doing right
And I just might find the solution
The retribution
The redistribution of answers
Being held from us
Preventing us from knowing
What knowledge is growing somewhere else in life

That’s what they say
But that’s what they all say
Convey threats to war
Scare us because they know we’re not sure
Send warnings then bombings exploding
everything, incessant destruction
so maybe it doesn't matter
if I'm right or wrong, I'm being criticized
as long as I can adapt to thinking
and can think about adapting
I just want to do what's right
so I write to figure it out
But I doubt what I see,
do my hand deceive me when
my words show that everything is wrong?

The wind is cold this morning
and howls.
Frustrated perhaps that there is so much to do.
To move powder
from roofs,
decks
and lawns.
Heaping it in great dunes
against my windows,
on my porch
and at my door.

I really wanna write pretty ****
Like about birds singing at night
or the tired steps of the one Mexican maid
as she passes by my house before and after work

I want to write pretty ****
About my mother’s resilience
Her words of encouragement
And the sound of defeat in her “mijo no tengo ni pa’ la leche”

I want to write pretty ****, academic ****, deep ****,
About beautiful man of color
Trying to be anything but black or brown
Girlfriends claiming their white side
The silencing of accented voices
I am dying to write pretty ****

I want to write about her big *** eyelashes
And her fierce makeup
And how her face was flawless when they found her laying there
In a poodle of blood
Why would anyone **** someone so pretty?
It’s as if they hated pretty ****
Like the color of brown and black skin
And green trees and ****
Why do they like to **** pretty ****?
Like spirituality and native languages?
And they give nobel peace prizes to ****** up institutions with ****** up policies that push people to desperation, bomb them, starve them, and at the end blame them,
They like to blame pretty **** too

I want to write pretty ****
Like waking up to the bright sun
And driving by the day laborers at home depot
Some of them look so hopeful, and some of them so defeated
Some of them sleep beneath the little tree on the parking lot
Why do you illegalize pretty people?

Ain’t freedom pretty and injustice ugly?
Then why don’t we write about justice and ****
About the caribou not having to be fenced
And native land returned to indigenous peoples

Why don’t we claim our inner beauty
And recycle all them ****** up magazines filled with cropped bodies treated as money, souless bodies,
The fashion industry is ugly

And why don’t obama talk about pretty ****
Like reparations and wealth redistribution
And getting rid of Deportations, Deportations that’s some ugly ****

enslaved by the dollar
that's what we are
and the pittance received
it don't go very far

folks keep working harder
and production goes up
while their wages stay flat
the profits go up

often forced to apply
for help from the state
workers become labeled takers
was this stigma their fate

then complaints are put forth
about the redistribution of wealth
but that's how capitalism is supposed to work
thanks trickle down stealth

today's dollar trickles up
to the pockets of the rich
as daily more do without
ain't redistribution a *****!

Let's say I am in love with Ms. B
Being a hypothetical situation, there is no need to use proper names
So, here it goes
Dear B,
You mean the world to me
For you, I am willing to do anything
That is, of course, anything ethical
You can rant all day as you like
I will listen, understand and empathise
I can be a shoulder for you to cry on
Your happiness, is all that matters to me
You lose your temper? that's fine
After all, it happens to me too
More frequently that you would imagine
You need some space?
Of course, I will give you space
I understand what it means
To be surrounded by people all the time
And thus end up losing the opportunity
To have some "me time"
After all, not only am I an introvert
I am also autistic
And too much talking often drains the hell outta me
Except when it comes to topics I am comfortable with
Such as trains, Harris Jayaraj music, food, Harry Potter
Agatha Christie ****** mysteries, cricket, tennis
And of course, anything to do with Aishwarya Lekshmi
Anyway, I will do my very best
To make our relationship work
I will always be there for you
Through good and bad times
Of course, that doesn't mean
That I will be overprotective
You must have your independence
I'm pretty sure you can take care of yourself
However, when it comes to a situation
Where you end up biting more than you can chew
You just have to say the word
And I will be at your side
You have a few male friends
With whom you are intimate?
That's completely okay with me
Of course, my best friend is a woman
You should be okay with that
Remember, it works both ways
Then, there is the sheer pain you have to go through
When it comes to having a baby
In order to avoid that, I am open for adoption
Or even test tube babies
Of course, only if you are okay with either option
Remember, I will always love you
Whether you are at your best
Or at your worst
However, I expect the same from you as well
As I mentioned earlier, I am autistic
Which means I am socially awkward
And also socially awkward
Though I come from a vegetarian family
I eat a lot of meat
Chicken, mutton, prawn, pork, beef
You name it, you have it
Of course, unfortunately not within the boundaries of my home
Also, my political views are often radical
For instance, I do not consider Kashmir as a part of India
And I am all for a radical redistribution of power
On the basis of class and caste
Such that the poor and the underprivileged get back what is theirs
In fact, what has been theirs for three thousand years
Also, though I was born a Hindu
I actually pray to Jesus
That is, I have been doing it for the last nine months
But I don't go to church
Nor do I follow any traditions or rituals
Jesus is simply a friend to me
I believe everything will work out eventually
If I place my faith in him
Finally, I am not interested in ***
Except as a means of reproduction
I need emotional and psychological intimacy
I will share everything with you
And I expect the same from you as well
If you are okay with all this
Then we can be a team
Until Death do us part
If you are not okay
Then maybe we can just be friends
If you are not comfortable with that as well
Then we are free
To go our own separate ways
On this note, let me end my musings
And return to reality

Nobody should believe you
You’re a world class liar.
You’re going to burn your ****
‘Cause your pants are on fire!
You’ve always been a liar
Even back in your youth.
The only thing you fear is
Having to tell the truth.

If you shake hands with him
Count your fingers right quick
Be sure you still have them all.
Never trust his sneaky tricks.
He can stand right in front of you
And baldfacedly he can lie
While smiling like and angel
And looking you in the eye.

Olly, olly, oxen hook
This guy is a nasty crook.
Keep track of all he took
Then sentence him, by the book.
Heckley, Jekylly, criminal
He prefers to be subliminal.
But mostly he’s a bad motor scooter
A cutpurse and a poorhouse looter.

He would rob widows and orphans
And claim he was aiding charity
As if he is the only person who
Sees the world with clarity.
He calls it redistribution work
Of the world’s hard-earned wealth.
But he is fooling nobody, really,
Or he wouldn’t need to use stealth.

And when he runs for office, he
Can refine his art of playing *****
By hiding behind closed doors
And stealing from us covertly.
He will join the political machine
That is already firmly in place
And work in his mirror every day
To hone that public smiling face.

Olly, olly, oxen hook
This guy is a nasty crook.
Keep track of all he took
Then sentence him, by the book.
Heckley, Jekylly, criminal
He prefers to be subliminal.
But mostly he’s a bad motor scooter
A cutpurse and a poorhouse looter.

did you ride a dirt road to work today?
no, your tires glided across
the pock marked *** holed streets that are paved
and if you feel that you bought the cement, asphalt, and tar
then I guess we all owe you a round of applause
because you did this all by yourself no help right
can you eat a sandwich while waiting for the bread to rise?
or maybe your parents and mine grandparents and the like
paid a fair adjusted tax rate so we could have these streets and lights
the hospitals to heal and schools to educate
filled with people who work jobs you didn't create
and the socialist programs that make you so sad
have you been to a socialist country? we don't have it so bad

it's not fair you scream
the redistribution of wealth you haven't earned
that's their problem why are you so concerned
have you elevated your status and YTD to a quarter of a mil
or are you just like the rest of us just crawling uphill
there’s not a single person you know that sits on the Forbes' list
and if there is then this question might make you ******
did you do all you could for the greater good
or did you focus your off shore funds on your laurel resting brood?
is your deductible charity limited to the parish of your choice?
it's not like the whole world should be privy to your voice
if you read these words and think loaded with liberal bias
opinion is within our rights but maybe you might just
review these criticisms and see if they apply to the life that you lead
would you still co sign or even agree with the grand ole party

HOT, INCITING ****- MATURE, sensually COSY, COMPLACENT "INDEPENDENT" OPEN HOURS FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE. IF YOU LIKE TO SEE The order of the body increasing but on condition that the amount of clutter around also increases LOVINGLY and UNCENSORED, REAL KISSES Like PASSIONATE ***** COUPLES, with CARESSES ON **** LINGERIE, socks, garter belts, SHOES AND thong. UNPARALLELED NATURAL ORAL Knowing that 99 of the universe is plasma, a state of matter in which the particles do not engage one another UNLESS objects exist as individualS with ALL POSITIONS UNEDITED in HOTELS where Disorder, the greater redistribution and maximum entropy, order and chaos, feedback one another and the unstable tension creates an enormously creative field.

The Year Was 2017... Globalization and Relocation thru Financial Incentives had been occurring at an Increasingly Rapid Rate...for 4 years
Human Sorting thru the Spheres Program had accelerated, and Talent Acquisition and Identification was Rampant in the Building of Ministry States, and Six Nation Civil/ Financial  Armies....
Ownership of Brick and Mortar Businesses in Each Free Country by Aggressive Interests Had become Maximized
Psychological War had been expanded

Martial Law Is Declared:
      in the event Civil War Breaks out...
     1) physical fitness at military Grade necessary
     2) able to read color based code and signage without computer
          - Rank and Order; For the purpose of Martial Law Leadership Positions/ Ruling Standard: Royal Dictatorship
         - Order of Social Value in the event of Planet Drought and Overheating, Mass starvation
         - Human Potential Project Government assisted for rapid acceleration of Skill to combat business collapse, acceleration pop Intuition and Physic listening ability
         - Disaster Training  and Skills organized
          - Passing of Fake Wills and................... for redistribution of Wealth
          - Fake......., wikipedia installs, and Search engine Lies to alter World Voting Perceptions for Tech  endorsed candidates in UN positions
        - Fake NGO's ,  Subject Matter Expertise Areas based in Branding and advertising as Influencers,  
          Conflict of Interest Rampant throughout; Corruption Widespread,
Secret Hostile Foreign Influence mixed with Oneness Agenda of Globalists
         Interference with mail (taken over by Foreign interests
          - arranged ****** partnerships/marriages for maximum efficiency of family structure in loss of familiar Central Government, increase of wellness and rabid growth of NEW potentials

Prepare: physically fit, for operation
                 eat organic foods
                Elliminate all debt, minimize expenses
                ORDER, reduce clutter, attachments
                ID primary relationships
        

              At Risk: Forests, Farmlands, National Parks, Utilities, Water
              At risk: Cultural Artifacts(Psychological War Target)
              At Risk: Kids of Philanthropists, Leadership
              At Risk: Family Businesses
              At Risk: Planet, All Life

In the movie she says "lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, but it's better if you do."
And I don't know if she meant that lying improves with the removal of clothing, or that what you do afterwards is a kind of lie
Or at least a masking of the truth, behind need, by omission.
What I would say in the dark if *** had the prerequisite of honesty
Is that I want you to **** me until I do not feel anymore,
until I do not love him anymore.
That I am performing this act as a therapeutic redistribution of my sadness
Across a map in my brain that has beds with stained sheets and parked cars with windows fogged up from the inside-
I want distraction. A lie by way of sweat on your back and the pleasure of forgetting for a moment, hot breath on our necks
I can't ******* as hard
as I miss him.

you begat it all wrong with your genesis story: i don't think i'm hot ****, i doubt that i am, hot ****.

when i cite communism i don't imply:
a redistribution of wealth -
me? i'm happy with a good night's sleep...
i mean capitalism has lost the essence
of work -
         in that: there is no respect for labour...
such a trivial "thing"!
god... this sounds oh so awful -
      and in "career" one always ends up
sounding a crude as a lumberjack's echo
in a forest - chop chop - gunner on the tilt -
crude writing that comes when one has
ingested too much of foreign opinion,
via audio, and not via reading...
            i have to find myself apologising
for this outpouring -
       but then again sometimes the most
mundane "things" have to be said,
for *per se reasons, than for any vector
purpose culminating in a reached point (b)...
when people trivialise work is the worst
kind of times...
          when so many trivialise work by
contesting in karaoke sundays in england,
or "masterchef" kitchens on mondays
tuesdays through to fridays...
  how about honing in on the immediate
concerns, the near-breathing-aching-tomorrows
of these closest to you?
   how a father will complain to a son
that he made him too much lunch food:
what? it would be easier to complain had
there been too little, and that you didn't have
to throw excesses into the bin?
i had to outthink heidegger in his "fetish"
of dasein... it was too remote for me in
the end...
      and since i've never come across
a philosophy book that utilises grammatically
categorical words (e.g. noun, verb, adjective etc.)
i feel a veil has been lifted...
  the curtain of sleep -
and when i see how heidegger took to stressing
dasein: being "there" - i think of
journalism first, and how to excuse the world
and turn to hermitic ways,
  for there is a there, as there is also a "there",
i.e. there isn't any!
but that is much more an allocation of
counter-verbalising events -
      there's no talk of adrenaline when speaking
of a terrorist attack far far away,
       there's only the word: tragedy;
the terrorist is immediately felt,
but the post-scriptum is but a "loser" in
the descriptive allocations -
would you fancy facing this "loser" face to face?!
i envisioned heidegger's dasein to be
more procreative, more centred to
       a fickle coordinate of media attention...
   more the engaging "plotline"...
less a case of demanding aristotelian
post-etymological correction facility of nouns
i.e. calling things by their proper names -
and more engaging, always engaging,
even if by a centimetres' worth of engagement...
that old shambles of tornado in the west,
a butterfly in the east with equal event impressions
complimentary...
    of all places, my grandfather managed to
visit auschwitz three times, upon the third
he resigned from the encounter with the gas chambers,
but i somehow always seem to be trapped
in these barbwire confines, given that i've never
visited: romancing h. h. holmes earth...
    but i took to this **** philosopher like
a fish takes to water: the reason?
        defunct complexity of the prose
     in other writers...
                        notably aristotle;
i had to chop up history as some sort of
inheritance, that had to be kept for reasons
of posterity, rather than nostalgic romance:
for one, i hate history to be kept for
reasons of posterity,
   achilles or homer was not kept to this day
for reasons of posterity, they were kept
out romantic reasons...
      history as posterity belongs to scare children,
in the classroom...
      and nowhere else,
  but authentic history: desires no teacher
and no pupil...
           it just has the authenticity that becomes
ultra-history... myth!
   therefore my gateway to the ancient times
resides with heidegger's dasein
with? zusein -
         and yes, not being a native german speaker
i can understand the "mistake" of
this sort of "nuance" -
             again in inverted commas,
for lack of a better word, or a desire to open
a thesaurus (rex) -
           in auschwitz 2.0:
                     respect work, to be free -
it is this, in the concentrate form that's most
demanding: toward being -
     in a cubicle, in a tightly knit tartar patchwork
on a kilt...
     we're not going anywhere if
work, esp. manual labour is not respected,
or is frowned upon...
              when work becomes all software,
and little if no presence of work as hardware;
i guess that's one of the reasons
   i'm on comfortable terms with the supermarket
staff at my local...
  i go there so often, i'm so *******
predictable with my purchases i am almost like
the one ready to become part of
the flying dutchman ship... immersed in
my everyday recurrent predictability...
no qualms with the staff, just the frankly friendly
            'alright mate, how are you?'
'fine mate, how are you?'
    'oh, not bad.'
          'good good.'
i know i can be the most pompous ***** on
paper from time to time,
  but then my writing is one thing,
and i know there's an umbilical chord of segregation
between the hungry foetus of a blank page,
and me binging on pickled gherkins and
     raw herrings in a cream sauce with this
blah, as every over blah, turning into a blur
the moment i wake up the next day;
and in grammatical terms (i.e. categories) -
i have already given dasein a name (a noun)
in that i call it an offshoot of journalism -
whereas in the instance of zusein:
i invoke the notion of some act (i.e. a verb
dimension) - i.e. the acquisition of action
through non verbal involvement -
beyond the hier & the da...
        something that becomes a mongrel
of the two positions, to a non-relativistic
  compendium...
      and if we all assembled ourselves,
or simply had the ambitions of simple verse,
or complying to simplifying language
in order to "appear" simple -
well, what would happens to those of us
who wrote to attain complications -
and thereby remain the simple brutish folk
of easily understandable manners,
   and tactful hushes -
                and the awry grafts of hubris?
the worst enemy of staying awake is
the enemy of all of us: the simplified &
therefore overused craft of using language...
i am not writing a ******* lullaby!
       josé! pronto! yalla, imshi!,
i don't write for either children or for rhyme,
i have my reasons for this being
more than true...
        simple language is repugnant to me,
it just serves the purpose of itemising
the person who writes it as:
    well, **** me for trying to understand
that sort of writer for a year,
  i can sniff a rat with one line of verse,
neurotic, despotic,
      cleverly encrusted in homogeneity,
******, under-fed, just *******,
       language is there to be mishandled,
complicated, diversified, turned into
an amazonian cocoon,
                   something out the blue -
  something lost in space -
  opulent, high on fibre -
             i can't stomach reading works
that are nothing short of a geometric
precision & predictability of drawing
a circle, or a square...
  which is why, whenever i watch american
films i get bored...
   because i managed to integrate this
knack of seeing past the already recurrent
plotline predictability...
  so much for those "creative" writing courses.

Three men put Steele in his body and drained it out,
Draped him over the top rail like a rug and they hanged him off of it.
His last breath was deep and could be heard down the 100 yard stretch of concrete walls and cell space.
He kicked until the last ounce of energy was finally released from his body into what one would hope to be heaven.



We just want justice and a little bit of sustenance,
Forced to hate ourselves they call us a suspect.
The substance of colorful minds in a dangerous town



The new wisdom of ancient civilizations Produced in a slave ship
Concret walls embedded in the thick of a desert -
I used to get  anxious
Chalk it up to the theory of natural selection

I'm the product of my enviornment but who’s the supplier
economic redistribution  and product exchanges

Open source the government for growth and development
Enlightenment is just becoming reunited with the mother ship
Paradoxically I went to the Darkside to find this convenient
Mash up of asatru, Egyptian archetypes and Aztec brother hoods

Im the type to get lost in the stars
while they'd rather have me masked up in the back of a cop car

this is not poetry
Tactical plots and pre calculated attacks on geographical  chalk boards.
this is not poetry this is math
geo logical rock wars
This is not poetry
Striped up and tattooed in patches we fought for.

Dear illustrious Republicans in Congress,
You can run, but don't think you can hide,
As more Americans come to understand
How you've taken the people for a ride.

A tax reform bill you call it. Please!
Doesn't it more resemble a tax deformity?
Or better yet a vicious and outrageous
And monstrous act known as an enormity?

Something wasn't on the up-and-up.
Your great desire for secrecy underscores
The fact that you were hiding something big
When you wrote the bill behind closed doors.

Your suspicious need to rush it through
Made us wonder why you'd vote to embed it
In our system of laws when there were many
Members of Congress who hadn't even read it.

Hasn't the thought ever occurred to you
That one doesn't have to be a ****
To see your great desire to pass a bill
Before people could see how bad it is?

You'll make your donors happy; that is true.
Their money hasn't lost its strong appeal.
Now you have to convince the people you've *******
How they are all getting a wonderful deal.

What a bold redistribution of wealth
To rich Americans, who will benefit most!
You pulled off an outrageous scam,
And then you raised your glass and made a toast.

That millions lose their health care doesn't faze you.
The deficit? Oh, that's an easy fix.
You'll just target Americans' earned benefits.
(That's how Paul Ryan gets his kicks.)

Go ahead: throw us under the bus.
Expect, however, that people will verbally smite you.
Prepare for consequences of your actions:
Your callous decision will soon come back to bite you.

-by Bob B (12-20-17)

Eventide had blushed listless. Its once slick pink lips chapped filmy white until faded darkness claimed the screen. Crouching shelf clouds growl. The distinction between cloud and breath is long lost.

Bedroom-jailed for pre-teen misdeeds, I break out to watch the sky. My slack-jawed shutter yawns wide enough for a grateful, lithe-graceful, exit. I land dully on dust-crusted, dinner roll earth, too dry to crunch. Each damp footfall collects another coating of soft, fine flour, congealing into ghostly pedicure foam. Outside is airless, closer than my detention. There is no freshing comfort here.

As the prescient cumulus towers, the earth and I expect. We are storm-primed, desperate for the great release. We sit torrent-wired, tongues out to taste the fat rain drops. Our tardy Robin Hood will come to steal the pressing moisture from the air and send it groundward. We are alert for his redistribution. His deeds will turn flour puffs to glueing paste, and free wheezing chests in sweet, wet, relief. Low thunder is our drumroll with intermittent cymbal crashes. We wait for the splashes in slick, fuggy, discomfort.

The earth is waiting to breathe, and so am I.

Soft, sweet, silence:

Sitting solitarily still
sinking, slowly, sadly in solemnity.

Quickly sour thee land and home
that's been stript and slashed and sewn

Redistribution of raw potential
Reappropriation of determination

Suddenly aware, light ensures
Yet darkness lingers evermore.
Unbalanced Harmony, everlasting
Necrotic neuroses, drowning water-bearer
Near nagging noise, feeling fulfilled.

Nearly nothing to conceive
Barely breathtaking belief.

Scattered.
Sunken.
Sign.

when death casts its long shadow / when you kneel to it in a grave / head bowed, fingertips aching for something that lies beyond the dirt / is this too a kind of prayer?

a malediction spoken between the fragile stems of chrysanthemums / wing-clipped moths sedentary against the empty coffin / a rotting in progress / a funeral prepared, a body unburied, a grief that could swallow the world.

call it armageddon / call it a girl in agony / call it the act of dying slowly.

make it an act of rebellion / make the heavens fall / in a sheet of rain as sharp as silver spears / so that even the divine know your name / and the earth shakes at your passing.

the result: a redistribution of matter gone wrong / more of you left in the space where your molecules once were / a ghost that can be touched / a ghost that doesn’t know it has died / a girl turned tragedy turned monster turned memory.

It's one eighty and
here in blighty
by the crypt
we're being stripped
of our dignity

It might be hopeless
we might be helpless
and I confess
I do not know.

The weather's warmer now,
but
little choice for them
a line for tea at ten
and back on the street again.

That pile of rags you see
is a dying humanity
crying profanities
shouting obscenities
I understand why.

In a City that flows.

you'd think that
they would engineer
solutions
and get us away from here
but
that's not cost effective
not a priority
no government directive.

This is
the threshing machine
sorting
the wheat from the chaff.

I'm following the times
time's following me
and all around me I see
piles of rags.

London,
paved with
for sale and sold signs

redistribution by stealth
a wealth tax on the poor.

We should get out
leave them to it
but
the glue holds fast
and
we'll never do it.

We're like rats on a ship
the pied piper trip
sinking and hoping
we float.

I vote to sink
let them ******* think
I'm done,
but when the
safety valve blows in
the city that flows
when the crying humanity
rises as one
It'll be them that's done.


it's still one eighty
I could be early
a bit premature
a Johnny come lately
love me
hate me,
but
ignore me at
your peril.

i think, which is synonymous with...
the plethora of feelings
most associated with doubt:
that there are as many thoughts
as there are doubts:
which stress the atomised creature:
this qua se:
     etc.
              the internet ended up
being a... ******* terrible idea...
for the worth of a postman...
the "world" trudged on...
ploughing the fields while anchoring
in the dead...
time was history of Neptune...
   space a self-contained "self"...
                the decrepit insurgence
of a gush of air teased with
avatar ice-sprinkle... bombast
after every bombast of the most
choicest effort of wording achieved
nil - or there-about(s)...
we were so solemnly sworn into an "oath"...
loitering there was this miracle drag
of a drug... upon sedation little
things exploded without q.
or -west borne... the migrating harangue...
sleepy whittle england of
those on a suffix leash of -ish...
like a teasing of....
making amends to (a) prior
scrutiny...
the internet was a terrible idea
it's also  terrible idea to...
listen to BBC radio 3...
all the tax payers' "communism" of worthwhile
redistribution tail end of chimera work
marvels...
no adverts... or... rather...
very little of 'em to mind...
but then again:
there aren't enough hours...
to have to listen to... what the radio kept
while the t.v. medium "forgot"...
via too much interruption of
being almost telepathic:
  the insomnia per se
coupled with the u.v. charged libido
overt-stimulus of completing
a hard-on...
of the last, at Ypres and near
to the heart of Ilford... the nerve to...
buy a ***** mag from a "******"
of jazzy stash...
prior to the internet there was
this glamorous itching:
a momentary lapse in hierarchy demands...
etc. etc. ehyeh asher...
       the world was enough: involving...
it wasn't so... bogus  entrapping
fickle...
i could have understood fake:
but fickle... and fake... simulated
at the speeds of simultaneous?

si-mul-ten-ous...
   sim-ul-ten-us...
like simulation of "ten" is upon...
"us"...
    to archive the 29th century is to
archive the "concept" / therefore use
of paper...
      my paper this paper...
a tree a breeding of  feeding
of all that's leftover and in the eyes
of all: however quick the Ronin
involvement... there's this stretch of
imagination that comes across an:
impasse... alternatively prescribed
as: quo, status...

one cigarette, two cigarette: fold...
a crow with but one wing managed
to scoop up the entire leafage of:
this autumn, this crispness...
this drunken...
         death-fetish sickly sweet
addition of decay: prospect...
prospect of revised invigoration:
via the drying of blood...
my new... quench-thirst scrutiny...
how these implosions happen and
"happen"...

and it's not like i'm missing
viral elements
to **** enough happy
to later produce drone strikes
of the hammer happily
every after children for
a sikh g.p. to "look after":
but... what i am stressing is...
this particular end of misery...
it ends with me...
it ends here...
it ends now...

           i don't need this worth
of an inheritance tax...
this clingy "necessary"... additional
bulls-eye blank stake at
a viper's bite...
a (wo)man by the name of:
sarah everard...
             was never reported missing...
was ever to be found...
the world is b.f.g. and by now
i presume there's a special assortment
of a hell for the deeds in reverse...

a wasting of a womb...
but thank **** and all the critters &
grasshoppers
this is a heavily arrived at sigh of...
well, yes... "potential"...
who would have guessed that...
***** was her way to tabloid a "go"...

the internet was a terrible idea
as ideas go it
was ******* pink pretty of me to
think of having "bypassed the editorial critique"
while only having attained a
Pavlov's sick'em tactic:
succinctly less exploited:
  beside this... hard boiled egg:
with a runny yoke... sort of... moi...

that she is... a pretty "Colette" of a sarah everard;
morbid torso tossing:
invigoration prone asp... bite & nibble...
numbing... like the loss-of-a-trill-R
in both French und Hen-gleash...
blister... button...
               agitating a burning of butter...
for signature that's
additionally:
           a statement of refining dough
used in poach:
     alias with the addition of -ing.

2020 is a puzzle of a year
the earth’s redistribution of circumstances
beyond crazy political activity
lies expressed in so, so many manners
science was told to be productive
mankind was pushed to uncommon practices
2020 will have a special place in history...
The puzzle will have pieces in place one day

Brian Hill - 2020 # 133

A redistribution of confusion and misrepresentation
Cultural assimilation appropriated itself too swiftly
Yes i'm disappointed but please tell me something new

The law of non-compliance persists
We take our love wherever it fits
And lately I've grown accustomed to it
Really