/              sohn! sie sind alle (ich) sehen!
   die nacht!
                                              vorher
     ­                     die kerze!
                        mein licht!
                                      mein gebet!
          mein alle!
             da pacem domine:
is all that i could
                                   ever have!
              not this...
                                this...
              as your mother called:
pitiable refrains of
a boy, that could not
fathom man....
                so let the world...
   turn...
          and set a blind eye
to "mind" the future...
              i kneel,
     serve a prayer...
                  and await the churn...
let your shadow move
as my body once did...

   and all..
                         das haben
                              zu verwelken
...

imagine!
   bruder schütz's murder in 2005,
the founder of taizé!
        
               aren't we all?

         at this point:
  it doesn't really matter -
   war, peace,
        peace, war...
                                 just do
justice to the guillotine,
  and still the gallows will be halved,
by the sparrows singing;

and then, i will hang.
/                  o'keefe music foundation's
   kids cover 46 & 2 by tool...

just a reiteration of
the bass guitar...

    subtle weaver of rhythm -
at first signature,
pronounced -
   suddenly deviating into
a murmur,
  allowing drums and rhythm
guitar
   a play on the ears...

then deviating again:
playing hide & seek within
the confines of other instruments...

and then merging with drums
in synch. making
it undeniably: "lost"...

   and then re-appearing again,
lost in every crescendo
that's not exactly a crescendo,
but a chorus...

and then back into
the verse, or rhythm section,
and then the bass re-appearing
once more...

fuck!
     26+ years in england,
and, could this be my first encounter
with an englishwoman?
    that stealth quasi-whore
sexy cockney accent in these
outskirts of exaggerated london?!
26+ years, or 25+
if you count a crush on samantha,
curly burnt blonde,
   or danielle...
            screaming after me:
              run rabbit! run!

i'm such a heartbreak when it
comes to the littlest of expressions
of affection...
   the more fleeting the expression
the more i remind myself
to take root...

                 but 26+ years to be
given affection by an englishwoman?!
katie has been, only the 2nd woman
in some dire need to play with
my beard...
                      alas, the first was my
grandmother...

                  so what the fuck was i doing
for the past 26+ years...
when all that shit was happening
in rotherham?!

                                huh?!

oh... right...
       i'm not actually english -
  but sure as shit i'll not
   (a) deviate from perfecting this tongue,
and
   (b) nie zapomne tego, z którym
            sie urodziłem.

p.s.
   there actually are orthographic
      jokes when it comes to polish graffiti.

tug a goat by the beard...
   tug a goat by the beard...

       a beard?
    it's like pubic hair, but on your face!
ah katie katie...
  your skin as the gallery
of tattoos...
   the three sexy ribbons
intimidating french tights...
   that enveloping eye in
high detail...
          those chemical puddle
coloured fish scales on your
left arm's tip of hiding
       the shoulder, and blade...

26+ years for this sort
of conversation?!
  fuck me... what was i doing not
"finishing up" in rotherham?!
i guess constant
copper, is not worth the brighton
tan...

            ah katie katie katie...
catherine, my dear...
                         look at how much you
gave, and how little i have
to reply with.

— The End —