Finality in sodality

I can't believe this is happening

it's happened,
Once or twice before but
its getting easy to ignore
The folklore behind said words:

Noise of fidelity in the thick of empty echoes who whisper “resolution”
Elocution for the pollution of picayune particulars
Skip the singulars;
Trip the light of day under the sundry array of the mistakes you play everyday

I suppose
some songs will always be sung
Hung tongues from foreign beaches
Within reach, you said, all the time, but
I wouldn't be here
i shouldn't be here
(I wouldn't be finding the time)

i shouldn't be trying so hard to catch a rhyme

there was drooping violet
  spate generally on the still noble sky
    by who ridiculous punctuation slammed
      unsleeping winds all about this lean laughing
        hound of plural singulars bounding intaglio rivulets
         slightly rosy chunks of love
              and love  was
                                           punching  gradually
       every lips
                            and lightly whorish
     bruises slapped the pavements
          by the
                         B!r.Ea     k     I,N;g'     surf

I / Before

I moved slowly,
always wanting to reach
the end of the narrow roads.

I found deceptions and satisfactions;
more deceptions than satisfactions
and more plurals than singulars.

I coveted everything
beyond these high walls,
even so I didn't rush my life.

I believed in other people's beliefs
and I hoped which from me
the time to slip away... killing me, then.

II / During

However, neither it I could get.
I followed so many ways
and neither they could help me.

Ocasionally I sighted daisies
blossoming on the walls
and among the tiles of the streets.

Sighting so many daisies was madness.
Well, to hell with sanity!
And what would be of life without its paradoxicality?

Much suffering for little time!
Little contemplation for much beauty!
Much anguishe for little heart!

III / After*

Oh, the other side:
feared by a few,
coveted by others.

Although the labyrinth
seems infinite and sufferable,
we can find the exit together.

The question is not how we can get out,
reaching, at last, the afterlife;
and yes, how we can end with so much suffering.

To start over, we must wake up!
To wake up, we must exist!
And like this, life will wait for us!

(I this very am a contradiction to itself)
this which is
the very thing i am
is not at all a multitude of singularities
but a single multitude of multiple singulars
i am large
                and small
                                and enormously
                                                           a colour daft as starry days
                                                                                                         and brightly nights
and with pale meter
my hards are soft
and softs are hard
                                         (and i am like an onion
                                          in petals of purple skin
                                          an acrid flavour imps
                                          my beam of darkly
                                          steeply cooler hotter
                                          breaths that buzz
                                          like wondrous flies
                                          in ample valleys or
                                          cotton pasted flesh
                                          in denim
                                          )your jeans were on my floorIfoundthemthismorning
and i woke up to call you just so i could touch your voice with my ears
and kiss the treble of its throat with my gangling soul waxing profusely
with sparks of verdant poems blossoming in the uncommon pit of the stomach of my gross futile blithe brain because you made them with the
errant tattoo of your slight and tremendous music bustling its enormous
yawn over the roof of (my) rainbow hard heart that would like to comment in Your plunk of navel ringing tiny glittering barely hairs my smooth and
pinkish crumpled crumbs of love and sprinkle you with careless *** sometime maybe SWOON.

In every century
You will hear of a comet lost in time;
Haley's was here an eye blink ago,
And the rivers replenish the oceans
One and again.
There will be a small light in the sky
That you will not see tomorrow
Because it is now dead,
And it died millions of years
Before the luminous rays hit
The first womb of Eve.
     There will be children grown
Into formidable singulars,
     And each one is barely here
When the sun yawns, another passes away.
    And when the sky is full
You will count the stars
With your child, just to teach them how
To count.
        The eclipse will haunt one because it is
Like a darkness that comes to visit
       In between one decade and another,
You will question yourself to see
    Where you were before.
And there are premature moons,
     Babies of the cosmos,
And you will name one after your daughters
That brought you to look
Again at the hopeful skies.
    And when you are done here,
As you leave for eternity
To the Blue Sun,
You will look back
And see the tiny miniscule miracle
That was a star being born.

I'm called crazy but I just sit back and watch the act
The shot to the mouth is the sign of a hostile compromise
A sick twisted envy broadcasts deception into the pit of my stomach
It boils with hot gastric sincerity
A slow linger of anxious bog settled with indecency
The attention craving singulars throw me into the fiery pit
Almost composed, I dread my held patience with a static vein stemming out of my lobe
Unwanted friends stir me into ambivalence
The devil tells me to ridicule their faults and flaws, alike my fully functional conscience
It's hard to see my bigger person but he's there with his list, shaking his head and telling me I am right
Brimming with rage I am told to reveal their ugliness; strip them down to their flesh and bones with a wax Carver and humiliate the vulnerable ego, which coexists in every living, breathing and selfish waste
To ask how it feels​ now is an enduring moment for them and their self-interested pursuits
They are now feeling from me and not from themselves
They are drawn into a self pity I had handed to them; treated as a raw strange delicacy
The ******* can all shrivel into their newly pivotal grave
My one and only lesson I favour to give to those shrivelled, now-benign *******; to them a ****** so unfaithful and sacraliged​, it is the most unbearably important stake in the heart that they have learned

the regression of progressives:

**** me, it could have worked,

i'd be happy, being a free-floating
free-radical

   biting on rather than snuggling
on the **** of
some demi goddess -

   but? no.

         i could have been an advocate of
progressive grammar...
i'm not a ******, i'm a Brit
sort of "machismo"...
but, no... no...

some people had to attack grammar?
oh... right...
so the Platonic
universals contra particulars question
was solved,
without my knowing?

**** me!

              so.....
you want me... to abandon organic proofs
of my ethnicity,
built upon quasi
   Marxist, more like:
globalist biases?
           while you unravel
the English grammar?

you out of your, ******* mind?!?!
learn the language, good,
use it, good,
then speak it better than the natives,
subsequently the copper skinned
immigrants... not so good...
the ****?!
              good luck Brexit
when your children feign
to speak a word of French....
good luck teaching them
Mandarin...
good luck!

promises promises...
the road to heaven is hardly
intentional -
it's like the road to heaven:
paved by promises...
or politico lies...


                   now, if you do not breed
a generation of youngsters who
are at least bilingual in one other
European tongue?
the **** are the cobblers going
to do... sell bananas
like some Banana Republic of
South America?!

*******...
           great... we can nuke the *******
island and exp0ect a shift
in the ripple effect of a *******
tide off the coast of Normandy!
******* zombies...

  no... you can attack my "identity politics"...
dfeny my biology... my ethnicity...
you can all do that...
but when you place trans-gender restrictions
on my access of grammar?
now? now you're pushing it...
*******!

                   you leave grammar out of it...
i'm not here to solve
the singular she with a singular he
with  plural non-****** ascription
of a, missing, ******* adjective...
you what a lesson in grammar?!
ask why philosophers
never used grammatical category words...
to walk the short-cut...

            what do you expect?
that i wouldn't revert / rather than regress
to "identity" politics?
what... you're going to rob me off
my ethnicity...
play the Michael Jackson bleach card?!
expect me to shy away like
some ******* Inuit?!

  metrosexuals not welcome,
esp. of a political class of
bogus barons and esquire farts...
            
if these people simply refrained from
toying with grammar...
i'd be all well and dandy...
did these people have to **** around
with grammar?! really?!
   no... i'm not buying it...
whatever you think of the outliers
of urban areas,
the people who tickle the country-folk
for reading lists when it comes
to combating boredom...

   you could have had all you've wanted...
a free floating
pronoun radical with
a noun-censorship implant...
but then you went against
the most intricate basis of a language...

both ******, but also
a plurality / singularity neutrality...
  no...

*******!

               i'm going to drink my
shveedish "absolutist" *****...
  and watch you send your quasi-daughters
back to the Sheiks'
desert to **** in a harem...
protected by castrato slaves...
who occupy the realm as counter
******...
                 has the softy -
missing the ballsy -
                        hey -
better than what Muhammad originally
provided...

                       unless he's high as a kite on
******....
  
           you can't attack both "identity"
politics... and at the same time
create grammar "politics"...
                  
        i call it a reversion drama -
"you" call it a regression grammar...

           see... my singular / plural /
male / female it ****** up...

               it's like the question
posed by Plato about universals and singulars
has been solved...
  with a ******* band aid.