the narrative does not cling to classicalism of stating whether the pronoun usage is either singular or plural or both to allow an armchair of expression; after all... there's enough for us to bypass the classical philosophical debate about subject and object, simply investigating pronoun usage in relation to singularity or pluralism.*

there’s a theory where poetry came from,
one read: cleopatra wanted to hear sweet-nothings
calibrating a razor with a viper’s kiss...
another read: she báthory?
she báthory? she the one that turned milk into blood?
she can burn in hell.
i thought we were un-dialectical in the realms of concern?
no... you see... poetry came from punctuated-impressionism...
or a fear of it... punctuation of course, not from the impressionism...
poets fear punctuation...
give them a semi-colon
and
they
treat
it
like a sidelined line of verse.
this is poetry in mathematical equations:
i had a pear(,)
it was a spare(.)
i had a care for traffic(-)
so i missed( )
the expressions and started using an obelisk to quarter up the mammoth
into chop suey...
poets simple say: next line! when prose says next paragraph
and the prized execution of the 100m sprint . . . (.)
that’s universal alpha romeo with alfa bravo charlie delta (echo)...
come on in the u-turn... give us a smile......... :),
poets says... i need breathing space
without sentenced timing of silence, for the toad to feed inspiration
and envy!
no wonder you came with the alpha - zulu
alphabet given that you used ɪɡ and zoʊ...
so tell me... where’s this copernican west upside down
(this heliocentric west with east being the big bang)?!
i'd swear the thing stopped orbiting in circles
and a thing that's on it's thought started to become
orbital... a fashion sense of the 60s 70s 80s 90s repeated -
that's right, the whole thing became heliocentric
and we became narcissists instead of solipsists
in the geocentric system of worked-up plagiarism
with adequate excuses.)
it's here it the poets apprehensive of punctuation symbology
and instead writing "sparingly,"
to write, e.g.:
i
hate
        this
love
                affair
claimed
                     to
be
          the
world...
                 i
rather
                         chisel
chequers
                         into
geometry
                     of
x4
              90º.
makes sense poets begot fear of
punctuation and not grammar, they
serviced to explore nothing else,
leaving grammar open long enough to *****
mathematics in... remember...
poets are firstly concerned with punctuation...
secondly with grammar...
philosophy for poets is grammar;
**** i'm um um so drunk i'll need to revise.

She said yes but it sounded like a no to me . . . Feathers make the toes giddy . . . Goodbyes make you weep . . . we bottled up sunshine in empty plastic bags . . . Friday was the first day of the beginning of the week . . . Doc said your tonsils have to go . . . they were supposed to go out with your adnoids last week . . . the storm was catastrophic . . . we cut up trees for twenty weeks . . . I had her engine running . . . purring like a kitten . . . as I stroke her fur she said that she was hot and sorely smitten . . . then she pulled me on top of her . . . "You can kiss me now", she said . . . the wind was howling just outside the shed . . . the lightning flashed across our faces . . . the thunder shook the bed . . . the Saturday Evening Post . . . the pictures I so attentively read . . . when she said she was finished with me , then I finished up with her . . . the storm had passed leaving life now in the dust . . . still her yes it lingers . . . saintlike in the vaults of memory . . . you should have said "no" to yourself and returned the book to the presence of the shelf .

"This is a song..."
"This is uhh, This is a new song..."
"It's through the eyes of one of the greatest people alive, I feel..."
"The Lunchlady"
[Laughing]

Woke up in the morning
Put on my new plastic glove
Served some reheated salisbury steak
With a little slice of love
Got no clue what the chicken *** pie is made of
Just know everything's doing fine
Down here in Lunchlady Land

Well I wear this net on my head
'Cause my red hair is fallin' out
I wear these brown orthopedic shoes
'Cause I got a bad case of the gout
I know you want seconds on the corndogs
But there's no reason to shout
Everybody gets enough food
Down here in Lunchlady Land

Well yesterday's meatloaf is today's sloppy joes
And my breath reeks of tuna
And there's lots of black hairs coming out of my nose
In Lunchlady Land your dreams come true
Clouds made of carrots and peas
Mountains built of shepherds pie
And rivers made of macaroni and cheese
But don't forget to return your trays
And try to ignore my gum disease
No student can escape the magic of Lunchlady Land

Hoagies & grinders, hoagies & grinders
Hoagies & grinders, hoagies & grinders
Navy beans, navy beans, navy beans
Hoagies & grinders, hoagies & grinders
Navy beans, navy beans
Meatloaf sandwich
sloppy joe, slop, sloppy joe
sloppy joe, slop, sloppy joe
sloppy joe, slop, sloppy joe
sloppy joe, slop, sloppy joe

Well I dreamt one morning
That I woke up to see
All the pepperoni pizza
Was a-looking at me
It screamed, why do you burn me
And serve me up cold
I said I got the spatula
Just do what you're told
Then the liver & onions
Started joining the fight
And the chocolate pudding
Pushed me with all its might
And the chop suey slapped me
And it kicked me in the head
It's called revenge Lunchlady
Said the garlic bread
I said what did I do
To make you all so mad
They said you got flabby arms
And your breath is bad
Then the green beans said
You better run and hide
But then my friend sloppy joe came
And joined my side
He said if it wasn't for the Lunchlady
The kids wouldn't eatcha
You should be shakin' her hand
And sayin' please to meet ya
She gives you a purpose
And she gives you a goal
You should be kissin' her feet
And kissin' her mole
Now all the angry foods
Just leave me alone
And we all live together
In a happy home

Thanks to
sloppy joe, slop, sloppy joe
sloppy joe, slop, sloppy joe
sloppy joe, slop, sloppy joe
sloppy joe, slop, sloppy joe

[Spoken]
Well me & sloppy joe got married
We got six kids and we're doing' just fine
Down in Lunchlady Land

no one as distant as I the one step I know
me and I haven't indemnified
one leap of faith as I have me to thank
for prosperity said I with a vertigo air

see slits cthulhu whips chains or switchy knives
see marriage prosperity demonstrative
satisfactions one lady not wives

I see the world icy the world I C D whirled in does in
a were illed ensign take your medicine!

this can go... to that can do what you believe already went
faintly cut mean blank reality
acclimate morning prayers that you
stopped before the rain cowl sent

so that's when they do...what if though you know
at least its a start how can it be
what makes the I introduced be more than those were through
and then on the first that was late through that to me

people sweep words that don't get us to complain
trying to starting over is more a major ******* PAIN in the ***

I'm expected by me now
a kid then rude a beast that saved
only thought inappropriate levels were do
faces make nor laces
nor or with of the knowledge
stagger free victory twist and pound
aye Jaime to the ground

Now that's the EEEE of Chop suey dude

I gave it up for lent
or whatever went before
and I don't think it anymore
well not so's you'd notice
but if a kiss is just a kiss
why do I miss it so?
Ah
old men and pipedreams
where it all seems so long ago
and long ago is where the old folk go
to talk their tales.

The outlaw Josey Wales had no time for that
flat out on the badlands with his big sixguns in two big hands
I wish I were him
life here is grim
like in a Northern town
where the Moon rises and never goes down
where the Sun can't be found
and daylight never touches the ground
and the soot is something we cook with.

I give notice here and now that somewhere,somehow
I will shine
or sail off in a dhow to no man's land
and will my life away in a shotgun shell
Life here is hell.

I
in my instability cannot see
what's in front of me
and irrationally
I think I'm in a bind
blind to all these other things that this good life brings
but not wise enough or even tough enough to tough it out.

About ten o-clock
when I have taken stock and the food is running low
I go again to the corner shop where I take a pop at Majid and his fancy prices
I tell him rice grows in the paddy fields
he yields and lets me off for sixpence.
I feel so grand as if he'd broken wind and kissed my hand
and now I go
before the police arrive
can't survive on bread and water
ask my daughter
she feeds me when I hunger for
chop suey from the Chinese store.

All this with just one thought
one kiss
I ramble on
Life has gone and passed me by
I try with *****,coke
a smoke or two
and it doesn't do it
life here is ****
but I remember down the pit with props and pony
only I could tolerate
second rate is what I got
not a lot but it will do
until the life I have is through
but had I been the outlaw Wales
I would have told such different tales
and life is but a coffin full of nails
awaiting on the hammer.

Nine Lives (Cat From Hell)

I have a cat that just wont die,
trust me, I gave it the old college try.
It pukes, pees and poops on the floor,
brings dead animals to my front door.
I've dropped him off many of miles,
but it always comes back after awhile's.
No food or water for many of weeks,
my water bed now has many leaks.
Killing this cat is so **** tricky,
whenever I **** it, he comes back like Little Nicky.
Poisoned its food with lots of cyanide,
into the window it would collide.
Stabbed it twice, buried it in the yard,
but in like Pet Sematary, this cat will die hard.
Ran it over and over with my truck,
he just makes me look like a schmuck.
Tried to drown it in my bath tub,
this cat belongs to the nine lives club.
Every morning, I wake up in my own blood,
it laughs at me while he smokes my last bud.
He breathes fire from its meowing mouth,
he definitely came from the deep south.
I'm like Tom, he's like Jerry,
its favorite drink is a ****** Mary.
I once even fed him to my dog,
next day it came back inside a brown log.
I've punched it hard, and kicked it far,
this hell cat is the most bizarre.
Tried killing it with a single gun shot,
burned it with water that was boiling hot.
No matter what I tried it wouldn't work,
he always made me look like a stupid ****.
I even burned down my own house,
there he was carrying out a dead mouse.
My whole body burning from cat scratch fever,
I chopped off its head with a sharp meat cleaver.
Put it in a huge ***, and made some cat chop suey,
it tasted bad and very gooey.
After that day, I felt scratching from the inside,
two weeks later, internal bleeding is how I died.

Dressed in pink
her hair a cute kink
a sweet button nose
dainty little toes
giggles so sweet
when I tickle her feet
my friends toddler
an awkward waddler
she calls me Suey
makes me all gooey
china blue eyes
hypnotise
skin like porcelain
I drink her in
fills me with desire
lights my maternal fire

All he Oh! Ee-ee easy-does-it
Swift mastery_Crazy-has - its
shape me-energy love form
True witness philosophy
Silently neck to neck sadness
her pearls split pulled
her down into poverty

The emergency, madness
the young ones or wild ones
fertility all pearls majesty
of greatness
innocently, existentially
Her down-side persistently
lift divinely hands Manly-lovely

        (Pearl jewelry box)
His swift moves love ecstasy
My swift lift any of so many
True Fox another Lift- to see
Eyes to his left territory his turf

He is the lefty so pearly for her
So cultured girly pearly
Those were the days dosing off
My friends all daisy
*    _    _    _ *  _    _    _    

What a phaseout/ lazy fuse
But perk me up pink pearls
of white
His swift moves took a day off
Trying so hard to be polite
Hands work into tandem
Her rhythm Pearly  kingdom
She chopped him
like chop suey
Her skin on the bread rise
All floured white specks

Pearly spa cream perfect
Facelift Eeey foggy day in
London pearly glow
rainy town

Everything turned like a
A cafe without the group
Well cultured Dowop
The pearl paint swirl crop
The heroes and beloved
In the Holy Land

Come to me casual softly
spoken lend me your hand
pearly gloves
The pearl potential
the feeling mutual
Fitting and tasseled roped
into the musical
Swift flowing hair's no rings
 attached
to the back of our chairs

The darkness of the lover  
The black/gray pearls two pairs
Spiritual mundane existence
Karmic cycle her game portal
Spiritual plan of ritual

Eating pearl white chocolate morsels

The Steam, dream, in between,
Fundamental not comical
Something in the way she knows
Not really superhuman star how
it faded or belated feel be traded
She submerged beyond mortal

In her Galley cooking up
French cream sauce how
it sparkled Eeey milky
Ms. Mallery was pearlized
so traumatized so sulky
by his presence

Hides her pearl key-note
In her swift lift
(Artsy Gallery)
His face blended into the
pearl all framed

All the pearly Wedgewood
plates looking glass
world gates
Pearly cream color stage duet
To the sun pearly necklace
Cost her a delicate cream neck
Her Spa Tra  he hands her la la
Eeey milky honey smile
Hot MaMa
pearly text me trail

Her emails mount Fuji
Her striking pearls got to his heart
The film hum yum bite
The pearl jam flew
The big show nibble
Her bible she felt gullible
The words deepened ******
But the soft low key
Key lime mixed with coconut
           *Pearl Hey?
So swiftly swirled vanilla sky
sold her photograph
and chinchilla

The Seashell cottage her
footprints 'Pearl Rock" band

She was devoted to him truly
Pearl pledge was our duty
Swiftly mixed the marbelized
white/cream floor loved
and cared for protected
The Dr. pearl met Melody
Money like commodity
The patients pearled better care

With her  Moms, pearls mixing twirls
On his trimming suits cuffs of pearls
She was the pies smile every day
Swift honey eyes Winnie the Pooh

But more adult Eeeey truly I love you
Her silken strand's tightrope loop
Her power pearl British Colony
of Hong Kong exile

Morning draped dawn
The Chelsea ride of dusk
  Her favorite hint of
(Pearl Rose)
The musk elephant pearls
on his tusk
High up her pearly stocking,
Like her pride, was rocking
he took out the joy of her gift

The writing clause feathered
pearl drops the pen took her
dream away like a truce
The Gods know they love
The Gleam through her
windows
Left a strand of her starry
eyes of pearls were shut closed

1/20/10


thrill me
oh dangle tooth will
& chop shop boy
& chop suey love
  rain spilling in the park
a child in the dark
lost on the broken bench
beneath the old iron light
green, hungry, oh
want
thrill me
dying flame thrill
ill with ur 1 way so down
highway
paving the sound    track of our death

Locked up in a sealed, squat jar
Levelling out the fragile playing fields
Which separate our stupid lives from your pre-natal bliss,
I gazed upon you in constant amazement,
As your watered and eager soul shook against the thick glass.

In the comfort of a forgotten cupboard,
You peer out daily through your half-shut pink eyes,
Watching the cogs of our legs grind up and down stairwells,
Oiled by fear and glistening in blind faith.
And, still, you make the glass rock and tilt with your Buddha laughs!

Quite a charming crew, you had there!
Magical bones and limp lizards
(Amongst other players) gathered together for science’s sake,
Only to be glimpsed at briefly in-between breaks.
Kids came and went, things were built - you never changed.

It was better that you never tasted life’s lost lustre.
Had you past through the wet, wobbly womb,
Only a few options would have awaited you –
Pet, chop suey or a pitiful pawn on Squealer’s chessboard.
You’re too sweet for all of that – stay bottled up.

All-Ziggy in--- one
He's the dockers
Let's zoom in clickers- - -
The computer meets
Mr. hackers
Deleted all my cookie's
All we need is love and crackers
Am I bookedslightly jammed jar?
Just like Romeo huh? love-scarred?
So hurried ((Agatha Christie))

Overwhelmed worded
Overboard been thrown
Inside her mystery
drunks of the
Dynasty

Lippy all snappy
G-Q this isn't a
book quiz

I Quit Hippety-Dippetty
Hungry Hippos
Hop(scotch) drinkers
Queen hoarder of junk
ZZZZ Tiara with *****

Zillions got jealous
Charlie of the sea
tuna fish clunky
Where is the Pasta
So Sticky (Seashells),
Bowie bow-ties Z
ZitiMan of La Mancha
Like a muzzle puzzle
Mr. Mancini Ronzoni
Meet musical genius
Bowie**

((Ziggy Stardust Wish)

Ziggy zero 000-000

The zoo-keeper Mr. Bentley
So zealous fast food
jealous and devious
Mistress of the
Agatha got tedious
Jean Jeanie magician

Music notes and
  Stripey stars Bass
Her speakeasy pass

((Breakfast at Tiffany)).....**
The Auditor of the
Audry Zig Zag
Putting on the ritz
Hip Hop Hepburn
Zigziggary
book narrowminded
Zachery? Broad-sworded
Ziggy Star Dust
David Bowie talent to trust
The ground
control___**
to Major Tummy Zonky
And Slinky got stepped on
Over her ring pinky

Zionist Benny and the Jets
Elton John pianist hits

Zoonotic Gin and tonic
zigzag Zebra
style purse
Where are her show
Polish up my poodles
The restaurant was cursed
Zagat rating
leash she went out*
hypnotic ZZzzzz's
Queen buZzzzz Twiggy
Fame whose to
blame
Zoe her macaroni
Twist and snout Grill

Cherry blossom
Shiba Uni
Was her best thrill
his zig-zag tongue
Ziggy playing rugby
She was stretched

((Ziggy Book like Gumby))

Zonked spaced out
the Zonka truck
Phantom
Theatre Dig her Dorothy
red slippers

Ziggy Stardust
Disney Pixar Flippers
Totally Rad Toto
Zoe met Joey GoGo
Felt like Chop Suey
Agatha high drama
African Queen Jungle
Dr. Suess bald eagle boss
No ******* to twinkle
The bad day of
tendinitis
The ringing cheering ear

Martha my dear
Never beat Beatles
Jim Carey hell of a
sleigh rideTinnitus
At the Marilyn
Millionaire bar-hop
bus stop wiggles
Some snags fishnets
  Trump it up
everyone shut up_$$$
The *******_
Zillion Price tags
on the plane
The Easter basket
Just Sunny she's over easy
eggs ramble

Ziggy Scandals
Odd-couple Oscar
Trumpets Tony Randal
Zip of the lip
Miss fuss ***
She needs her
diapers

Beach Boys Truffles
Sherry baby got poison
mushrooms
The bed end__
(All Z) initial bookmarker
The end of her sleepwear
Her backpack bad crow
eye pack
and zigzagged---///---
Ozzy Oz land
Arrowsmith dead-on
nailed it, witch
A to Zzzz's H Harrods
Her London's hair
The rock (Fritz) That's
Showeyyy biz
Cleopatra
He's the Mantra zestier
Zoological Mixed greens
Ziggy zig-zag salad

All wormy Planet
Humming and rhyming
Wiggly but not ugly_>>>
here's to all of
you Ziggy Huggy

kung fu
feng shui
wing nut
shang hai
chow mein
chop suey

fu manchu to you, too

and i will go to her,
either monday, or tuesday,
and ask her:

doctor...
what is the lesser
of the two evils...

drinking less,
or rather, not drinking
at all,
    and only being
able to find roughly
2 hours of sleep
in 50 hours?

or drinking...
ending up waking up
imbued with
a body odour best
ascribed
to a whiskey brewery,
and being awake
for about 14 hours
of the 60 or so available
hours?

     do any of these
hallucinations come
from sleep deprivation,
while all these
        omamy of a
      desperate tongue...
translated into
    a language of despair...

in the newspapers...
the opinion is:
    prison cells are not
schizophrenic hotels...
funny...
   i must be the oddest
variant of a "schizophrenic"...

i was mistook
   a police van for a taxi cab...
lying near to death
from alcohol poisoning
at a bus stop...
a passer-by called
the police,
we exchanged courtesy
with the police-officer...
he was pleasant enough
to put me into
a police van cage....
and he drove me home...

i must be an oddity...
   my reaction to psychotic
anger is like a turtle...

mixed opinion about
my experiences
with the police...
one cadet cuffed me
while i was on my knees
and shouted at me
for ******* in an alleyway
on drunk friday
in romford...
while i just refused
to get up...

          hand-cuffed
one minute,
   hand-cuffs missing
the next...

   it's either i was a good
liar, or wasn't a liar
at all...
  like: what sort of idiot
would lie about
being schizoid?
   for a meagre social
"allowance"
   of 120 quid a week?
**** me...
7 years later and i'm
stretching it...
stretched it as far
to travel to Athens,
through the Balkans,
Poland, Amsterdam
  and back to London...

hence my dissonance
when it comes
to the "question" of,
   "reality"...
             like i ever tried
talking "reality"
  on a scale of inquest by
the physics department
of Edinburgh university...

and then the radio
spews out:
  bruce hornsby -
i start thinking about
the neurotic cage
of the lyrics of
   2pac and the "stealth tax"
of... ******...
        we just borrowed...
and then my reply:
so when
is my chance
to play the tennis back?

   it was never
a harsh: plagiarism...
but in all honesty?
  i felt more free being
hand-cuffed
on my knees telling
a colt police cadet
that: as much as he
was going to scream
at me:
i would not stand up,
he'd have to pick me...
getting kicked
in the *****
at one of those martial
arts classes
for not shouting
HA my making
a martial law chop-suey
walk...
was easier...
   than all these mental
cages...
   fake *******
of saying: 'the "n" word'...
no...
   i'm pretty sure
those people
   are saying: 'the n- word',
   see...
i don't see the "air" quotes...
i see there's a hyphen
in that...
   so...
   it's a prefix statement...
of the already apparent
thought: screaming
for some retribution
of a past,
  which has not currency
for me in the present,
other than...
     bruce hornsby
                              ft. 2pac...
so where's my tennis
moment?

        coolio ft. pachelbel...
being thrown under
the multicultural bus...
    like:
   i might even want to relate...
but being born
into a very monochromatic
society...
  monogomous-in-ethno-centrism...
but...­
   police officer
care for no *****?
   in london,
given the knife crime
epidemic:
   it's more ***** care
for no *****?

    - but i'm cool with that...
white boy uncomfortable
    posit...
         can only ever become
a mental health patient...
who has never been
section, doesn't know what
a mental asylum looks
like...
   know how psychiatrists
employ false regression...
know the chemcial
cocktail...
             insinuations
of: "abused as a child"
   talked about in third person:
talked aloud...

i should have just left
this night with
gyöngyhajú lány...
but then this song came on,
this piano...
  and i thought
about my childhood
friend samuel...
  how i walk across
st. valentine's park
from my house to his,
and from his house to school...
and we'd spend about 3 hours
per day walking
and talking...
  we'd pretend to be
skateboarders...
   and all round
   basic ****-ups...

and seriously: some of the language
is just bait...
   such a base piano
originality...
    being taxed with
      so many words akin
           to 2pac's... sample;
just when when words
are polarizing,
and they're not philip glass,
or krzysztof penderecki,
   seemingly the:
      last chance script.

p.s. samuel,
who introduced me to
old jamaican cream soda...
and...
     how to not
    don a mohican haircut...
and...
           what is ever
come from within
   the circus of memory.

It's what we're drawn to
and what we draw

a teapot
painted face
a plain table

along with muddy light
from a ***** window

and the rest of the canvas
only there to encourage ownership

is it a dream
personal memory

or does the mind
surely jest

whit howland © 2021

i kept but one name-given namesake -
finally!
now it has become clear:
the german definite article -
die: implies definite article plural -
der: implies definite article singular -

i've become prone to german songs -
more than i'd like -
but i'd sooner die than have to recount
'hej hej sokoły' -
as the only folk song my ear was lent to...

an hour well spent:
a sudoku puzzle and some workhorse
germanic folk -
or listening the pearls and wisdom
of shane macgowan:
point being: the words come from
the tooth -
but only the french and the irish girls
can pull off... wearing short hair like
she'd be a boy...
perhaps those physiognomy details
of shy and porcelain:
faces that were only ever kissed
by the moon - the hair was was only
ever combed by the wind -
and she can come among the brothers
as a amber nectar gem ruffian in disguise...

sinead o'connor, alizée jacotey -
how the hell does tuba büyüküstün come
into the mix? ever so slyly...

bbc4 : 'when it was unpolular and unfashionable
to be irish in england'...
"unfashionable"? the drunken paddy -
the respectable ireland and its own...

conrad - conrad of masovia -
perhaps i just liked the names given unto me
that i chose not to be confirmed
at the brentwood diocees -
all whole lot of it: with a bishop clad in thistle -
the surname was always insignificant:
paperwork -
but at least the names allow you derive
meaning -

poor you alexander -
no minor roles to attach yourself to -
beside the glaring obvious...
st. levi: my former...

- i have only met one woman who ever
wanted to fiddle with my beard -
does it matter that she's my grandmother?
itchy fingers reach in and
pluck out a quartet of violins...

lie eines tambours:
die toten, die toten des regiments
(the dead, the dead of the regiment)

der tod in flandern:
der tod reit't auf einen kohlschwarzen rappe
(death rides on a coalblack horse)
in flandern reitet der tod
(in flanders death rides)
der tod reit't auf einem lichten schimmel
(death rides a pale horse)

teutonic marching party hum:
no wagner! murmurs and mumbling of disgruntled
baritone:
rataplan don diri don!
back from the east and there was
no cleavage to the british ways...
there was always the old one,
the alles vater of germanic roots and rot...
even in multicultural Loon'don...

but now know of the definite article distinction
in german:
der tod: definite singular...
die tod: definite plural... ja! jetzt isch sehen!

fa'lalala... fa'lalala... tamtaradej! tamtaradej!
niemec norweg duńczyk szwed!

a television - a phone no one rings -
all the blessings of the age -
better still - ghost in a skeleton suckling off
flesh - or staging: no soul welcome...
congested and freed from the loitering of
labour -

i would hardly imitate the irish as the dogs
of the british - sinking teeth into gaelic -
i would -
but since i do not have to...
i'd lend my ear toward speaking:
father german - of what this british brat
is worth...
father... alt-vater ßaß!
tease him, or tickle him...
give him a peacock as a gift for the missing
eye...
watch the crow zeppelins come knowing
how to knock...

i very much believe in a linguistic integrity
of a people - a language is beside the waving of
the flag - perhaps i am inclined
to skin of the supposed irish that do not
speak a word of gaelic: more so...
if they have tatoos on their skin?

the welsh have been given a strict overlord -
even though the english claim they
are the one *****-slap shy of donning
a gimp suit...
loud mouths from scotland...
but nothing in their native spreschen!
exfoliating "orthography" glaswegian...

oh but i would be willing to succumb to
this leprechaun sing-alongs...
i'm a workhorse of folk -
i need the drums and the vocals will do the rest -
no need for bagpipes -
or fiddling or dread the banjo...
old continent yawns...

who is the father of the english?
when the english start to... become too over-confident...
arrogant and atypical islander mentality that
doesn't borrow anything from the isolationism
of the Faroe Island people?
the forbidden fruit of the same language
being spoken "across the pond"...
unlike island dwelling people...
who want to be left alone...
strange... that so much media attention must
be given to a people:
that clearly do not want to be left alone!
who said the british didn't just generate
4 years of journalistic pay-cheques for
newspapers and other outlets?
stalling tactics... feeding tactics...
feed the propaganda hogs who will
gobble down anything and regurgitate with
an alistair cambell at the fore...

i was expecting to read some keneth koch,
listening to something beside german folk songs...
solving a sudoku...
and finally deciding... it would be worthwhile
to invest almost 30 quid in a complete works
of this poet...
one thing i've noticed...
the price of books has gone up dractically!
i once thought: paying 30 quid for heidegger's
ponderings VII - XI and II - VI is a bit steep...
but not all the poetry books i want to buy
cost just as much!

30 quid... em... that's almost a carton
of cigarettes...
and i've been hoping to save up to visit a brothel
and forget something:
of no immediate concern...
but poetry books were never this dear to buy...
i was rather spontaneous when
making a recommendation: kenneth koch...
perhaps i should read some more
before i buy this kilogram's worth
of compressed forest of a book...

but that's all the way into a tomorrow's
sitting before: this will never become
a Balzac 14 coffee work-ethic output...
writing: making sure the reader
has no chance to reflect -
nothing to introspect with or for...
then again:
what's any of this supposed to do
with: beside the reflexive?

man's transcendental love will never compensate
for the pragmatic love of a woman
in need for a, kettle...

shady lots of the unforgiving blue-snippet
of jazz and all the better:
that could happen that didn't originate
with british punk...
1960s screaming girls -
1970s and the boys could come around...

yeah, i've been to Ypres - where as pseudo-children
we played hide-and-seek trade-offs
in the trenches...
where the anglo-spreschen graveyards
have signatures: names -
and individual graves...
the german graves? the german graves
of 1st world war?
wilhelm! are you listening?!
apparently the jews were also
trafficed into the slaughter camps...

i have stood in the graveyards
of the germans - the en masse graves sites -
i have witnessed the silence of these graves...
camaraderie of the dead...
nothing of which the english
would ever learn...
in the graveyards
of a "communal"...

the mass graves of the fallen german
"hitlerjunge"... alles im schwarz...
keiner im khaki: senf hinter abendessen!

i stood in the graveyard of the world war
german en masse graveyards...
no sparrow will sing: when the dead sing among
each other...
i will not visit the slaughterhouse
of auschwitz... the cow-towing...
i will not bow before those that were naive...
but i will nonetheless...
succumb to the idiots...

and the Helmut: die eisenhelmkopf: knock-knock...
echo? echo?
among the english...
one is supposed to reach toward
loving the german
(then again one isn't);
feeling indifferent to this lot...
not being quiet the h'american expatriates
they could have been...
old father sax...

the world can heave: settle for the concentration
camps...
i must savor the bounty found in
german en masse graveyards from
the first world world war
if any slaughterhouse is willing to open
its gates to an esque auschwitz...
so be it... but the graveyard
to the youth of germany, wilhelm youth...
camaraderie: freundschaft-im-tod

mutter-tod!
i need not see the concentration camps,
i've seen the graveyards of germany from
the first world war...
if you've seen one sardaine crammed closure
ground...
and the silence...
what does it matter, regarding the people
so naive?

vier! 4th! alternatively: fear!
the mass graves of the youth under Wilhelm
in the vicinity of Ypres...
that acidic silence...
piquant...
and i am supposed to visit the concentration
camp the slaughterhouse?
what will always die
with being naive... trust... and love...
and disinhibition and...
lingua franca ergonomics of
selling stale wood in the form
of antiques...

i know one way of failing to integrate
into english society...
look down... learn some german...
learn what the old father spoke when
he started to brew these unforgiving children
of the chandelier maze...

i'll be singing these germanic folk songs...
x-ray flag of cornwall -
teutonic - black cross upon the white flag...
muslims nearing jerusalem -
old pagans of lithuania
remnants of the golden horde having settled
in ukraine's crimea -

best felt: of what it feels to be alive,
in england...
tinging the old ****** with a dalmation specker
full blodied worth of:
zee ols: germanicus inhibutus -
because there's not need for *****...
as far as the british go...
in... ***** first: welcome! the conquering
par'tayh!

******* soft-ball dodgers and ****-*******
pinzetteblödsinnausweichmanöver:
ease a coming... you *******
weiser herr misers!
lovecraftian video vermont
aenemic *****-liquor...

poetryfoundation.org poet:
is he / she dead?!
they're dead? they're dead?!
oh thank god there's a dead...
and body worthwhile to **** with...
because safety... safety...
and no bit of h. h. holmes
will ever grace the pish-poor pasrty...
party... oops...
******* yankies...

horror is a fetish...
poor croat poor yugoslav...
unless you mention
the serbs and the balkan "muslims"...
high-brow expectation -
until i am willing to meet
not meat...
my fore-bride... death...
honk honk!
i am more than willing top die
via the swizz affair than all this,
******* fawty towers agony...
pristine and puritanical...
the living better excused to live...
enough to buy them life insurance...
and, otherwise... the remains of
dead willing to pop the cork...

the sane always have their: two pence shave
worth of flip: they know-it-how...
the sane will alway know what to write
about insanity...
problem? when the insane write about sanity...
and the mole-hills and whatever it left
becomes the windowlicker down-dyndrome
chop-suey "oops"?
retro-****: or simply: re-...
the sane have authority over the insane...
what happens when the insane have a crab-bite
on the concept of "sanity"...
people elsewhere also die... no?

sanity that requires grey-matter peep-show
peoples to run miles for:
the dying auntie and her cancerous loved-up
"french"...
the sane speak of the insane
i almost forget: the insane would never
speak about the sane... because...
it's nostalgia: papa roach:
between angels and insects...
as dostoyevsky said:
for angels... the sight of god's throne...
for insects... something associated with
succumbing to soap opera and itchy ***
disinhibitions...

why would i visit these concentration camps?
living in western europe first world war
was more important than the 2nd world war...
i've visited a german world war I mass grave...
why would i subsequently visit
the remains of a concentration camp?
a site near Ypres where no sparrow
will cling to branch or to song...

for no reason: don't tease... stop teasing...
if you life is all mud and mediocre and
soap opera... stop teasing!
i will not visit a concentration camp...
appeasing the hebrew...
only when... the graveyard of the en masse
dead of german youth is visited from
the 1st world war...
where... bullet, mud...
fingerprints not welcome...
citizens non-anon...
auschwitz and death the addressee...

the sane and their stipends concerning insanity!
but then one diagnosis falls foul...
and the straitjacket jack starts speaking...
oh! oh then!
the usual story...
the usual *******-become-bells-and-church-uvulas...
and the rest is just a cry, a sigh,
a boring reminder of the british raj...

learn some german...
the peasants will retain theirs with some velsh...
and that's how you
react to be... "leisured with a caption
of being measured via
the focus of having a father"...

liebe: zu nicht lassen gehen...
liebe: das alles ich können behalten!

i rather speak some german on these isles...
this is not ******* h'america...
this is the old continent..
england serves for *******'s worth of nothing
when it is excused to speak german...
while english is relegated for chinese tourists...
and... the faroe island farmers of sheeps' **** and wool...

it's not like you'd expect to become welcome
these days, or any other days...
as a tourist or as a ******* trader...
of "goods"...
made in chine is the broker's deal to begin with...
on the broken bone signature...

i too thought the english were prized on
giving stipends on how:
how to best keep things cordial...
champagne, oysters... the eton mess...
a good round of polo and ******* wacking...
no?

i do admire the early exits of the suicide prone...
i would too...
but i do crave... for the platic 20 quid banknote...
and what would become of charles III
should he chose a different name...
and i really wish that lizzie lives her most...
but then... her current grin is already
tombstone... and she...
well... she's bothersome in that she's pradictable...
and that's boring and bongo-bongo boorish...

****'s sake: two popes teamed up to try
and topple her off the throne and play snooker
into a dead-8 with her crown...
better speak some german: for jokes...
among... the british... that did live through
the 60s of the 20th century...
but... will never relive the same cushioning
of history to somehow "compensate"
the rolling stones dinosaur of the:
most welcome pensioner rock & zimmer framers...
roll with that sort of shaky stephens
park-on-eire-n-son?

just drop the delayed nuke...
we're all done and b.b.q. readied
recounting what's interpreted as "trauma"...
superiority / the messiah complex
of the english...
but you speak a word of german...
you think a word of german and...

do these people care, to, remember,
their, natural, neighbourly...
competitive streaks with the fwench?
it's just like "us"... the polacks with the russians...
with the germans...
i too thought that the ukranians were
better represented by competing with
leftover mongols of crimea.

Microscopic handling of words
The craft of turning nuclear bombs
into wounded birds
It took thirty generations to stop
the growing bulbous tumor
the second heavy head that dragged them to hell
Personal Lucifer
Jesus of Nazareth
Nails deep in hands and feet
Why have you forsaken me?

There was no warning.
Only the waves of skin melting radiation
Hairy wax.
My spine collapsed into dust.

Thirty kilometers has the bird walked
and it can finally kind of sing
(Chop Suey! of course)
after 30 generations of shrieks
in front of the closed capitol
And it is finally told
after 30 generations of songs
“We could have extinguished your kind.”
and nothing more.

Feathery wax.

last time i heard: memory is worth more than gold...
well... that's how it seemed
when my dementia riddle grandfather
spoke nothing of memories...
sometimes shifting to current events...
to events of yesterday: family grievances: kept...
like tidy Lego projects...
memory is worth more than gold...
the memory i have of him during the summer
holidays i spent with him
and the last years of his life...
chalk & cheese...
he was a finicky character to begin with...
as you might be:
heard shouting: herr! bite bon-bon with memories
of world war II... and actually running up
to two black-clad SS-men manning
some anti-aircraft thump! pump up lead...
being given sweets and
having to go back home... putting your hands:
glued together... under the tap...
ah... memories... more solid than gold...
quick... no... wait...
german for gold is: geld...
back into latin:
               grammatically it changes...
aurumvelox...
     gold-quick...
           they are: here was a drowning man
gripping to a razor's edge...
what did he have as armour?
memories...
not... don quixotic delusions...
he had... a cinema of memory...
what stalled his final demise....
it wasn't solving a ******* su doku puzzle...
the irony of "mental brain power":
associations with purple throbbing muscles...
oddly enough:
killer proteins **** the fat that's the ******* brain...
oddly enough...
i write: i was never good with crosswords...

i will never be good with crosswords...
but listening to come in with a reel of memories:
i always thought that memories
were exclusively personal: but as an old man might:
share...
his bothered brain skimmed and repeated
itself... at times i think i was talking to someone
frothing at the posit of: in third person...
even though he never consciously ventured
to stress third person pronouns...

interlude: i'm a sucker for pop...
an absolutely sucker...
girls aloud - the show...
it's not a guilty pleasure...
it's just an unadulterated pleasure: period...
i'm not going to turn into a Bukowski
and cite you, you, mythical "you": reader
with a higher taste akin to citing

eh... dogs might be immediately suspicious of
you drinking...
cats are late on the mark...
after all... they ******* for most of the day
into the realm of nacht... nox (noch)
and that doesn't seem t bother anyone...
solipsistic cre-ah-tures...
the hyphens are utilised so that diacritical
markers can be omitted...
i'd love to own a dog...
but... also owning a leash and a muzzle...
walking them in public to take a public ****
and ****...
i sometimes forget i'm not a dog: too...
i like the balancing act i have gathered myself
to perform when ******* at the end
of the garden... five finger chess "groping"
a tree for balance...
sure... the imagination lifts the release
of a waterfall of **** like
i might be getting a circumcision via
some *******... but who cares...
i still have the "excess" skin so i can
do my solo bit... then have to intuitively
pull it back to "perform"...

memory then...
   prior to: Charles Olson... Lamantia, Phillip, no?
i'm starting to think we're misunderstood creatures...
men are... hunters... in the domain of ***?
oh i'll give you "that" women conquer and control
by having more experience...
some beta-provider cuck...
maybe... maybe that's why i prefer
women who tell me to keep my hands off my
phallus when she's enjoying giving me *******...
the experienced woman: i'm hardly a ******:

wait wait... one... memorable ****** encouner
in what became a tease of "abstinence" spanning:
half a decade? of course i'm going to milk it!
it's the ******* equivalent of a:

i'm savouring a "plan": take hallucinogenic
mushrooms when old age finally arrives...
but i'm not willing it to come...
the ******* of what happens under the Hippocratic
arch... there's a...

where was i? apparently "here"...
where's "here"?
i once had an "argument" with a guy in Camden...
well... he prompted me...
i bought him a pint he thought i was hitting on
him...
- you look familiar... everyone's looking at you...
- oh, you know... i just have one of memorable
faces...
the best music producer...
he cited Timberland...
i started thinking of hiking shoes...
i retorted with: Rick Rubin...
the magic he did surrounding johnny cash...
the johnny cash revival...

give the old some new tricks...
of course the cover is better than the nine inch nail
original!
if London is haunting me...
wait till i start haunting it...
all the way from Loughton through
to Stratford... speed-demon on a bicycle...
the juice of momentum straight out of
Beijing... no... believe me: no Mongol army...
we giggle... we leave things hanging: not dragged...

i beg to differ: the authenticity of advertisement
when you don't have the money
to spend... contra: journalistic adventures when
you sponge-of-a-brain-of-prematurely-impressionable
isn't-off-the-cuf­f-"simply"-*******-on...
is that an... "oops" moment...
oh i still have some momentum left in me...

advertising slogans: maxims in vivo!
i trust that more than anything curated by journalism...
stale oh god... the stale rusty propaganda
machinery... i chuckle: i buckle...
here's a keeper of knitted onion ring
being excavated with a copper sheen...

Glasbury...
me, Peter Richardson... Kieran O'Mahoney signed
up for the trip...
oddly enough... not odd at all:
the meningitis curse came...
so did the mad cow disease...
this was prior to us taking our GCSE exams...
they left school while i took up my A-levels...
Kieran became a bouncer at a nightclub:
last time i saw him... last time i saw him
i was walking into an alley to take a ****...
i was handcuffed and was shouted at by some eager
polizei-mensch...
i talked to him calmly why some female police
officer took notes... i was... un-cuffed
and walked home scot-free...
that's the last i remember of Kieran...
Peter though... he was dating this bombshell...
he had some teeth missing... more tattoos than skin...
if wanting the sort of women
that might turn me into "that"?
no... no thank you...

we were supposed to travel to a little village
in Wales (Glasbury)
and experience... i stuck around the education
"prison":... canoeing...
caving... horse-riding (timidly... there was no gallop
invoked)...

i can tell you what book i was reading while
the white boys started to imitate black
boy bulk of urbanity: while sniffing sherbert
playing ping-pong against the walls:
marquid de sade's: ******...
i was first introduced to the jeff buckley
rendition of leonard cohen's hallelujah then...

(sherbert: i don't even, mildly begin
to invoke: sorbet... sherbert... the powdered
dummy gimmick... they sniffed it right before
my eyes... while i read marquis de sade's ******)...

is it just me or... if you've drank enough...
red wine and pepsi: kalimotxo.. aztec revival:
long enough... all the homemade
hard-pressed juice... starts to taste a bit like:
you're drinking... for ****'s sake...
Balsamic vinegar?

- and so we were splint into two groups...
we were only a year apart...
the older girls were dropped off at a location
much earlier to where we were supposed
to find our way back from...
i was in the category of older boys
dropped off with a bunch of younger girls
dropped off much later...

we were given the option:
walk back en route you were dropped off at...
or... read the map...
upon being dropped off
i asked: where are we?
i don't think i was cheating:
all the maps in the city
always reveal a: you are, here!
so i asked and i was given an answer...
i span the: the world-isn't-flat map in real life
and also in my head:
i found a short-cut...
it would involve storming a field filled
with cows... pushing some to sleep
via also invoking a a thunderstorm...

we beat the other team...
this memory is fire in my eyes already
left for dead in my mind...
the girls were exercising in the yard
while the defeated team were walking down
the hill... somewhat mesmerised...
there was no sensation of: i won...
no... there was only: i came first...

Glasbury... in the mess-hall...
all the Celts congregated and excluded me...
i ended up spending each morning
at a table with a bunch of black dudes...
i was the only white in the "confirmation":
who were they?
Ivory Coast, can't tell a Nigerian
from a Kenyan apart?
race was always second... the spaghetti of
ethnicity comes first: like a thirst...
i can be mishandled as a German
or an Englishman by a Pakistani or a Turk...
for a while...
but trip me up supposing i'm Russian...
oh... that's no go...
i will, not, begin with you supposing me
being a ******* *****!

well... wow! aren't we all supposedly: merely:
white?
one whitey sitting at a breakfast table
lined with blacks...
give me that spread of butter:
women tend to ruin things associated
with men associating themselves to men...
only now: while i remember it...
give me a war! not this ******* pharmacological
adventures of the sedated thirst for life!

i've been down this avenue of secrets...
i know where it leads...
"secrets"...
i'm to be most sedated: most crucified...
all metaphors... all metaphors...
if i wait long enough the women will start
to dish out white feathers...
seeing me as some impostor of:
where masculine / machismo ought to lie:
dead...
what's the phrase, turned colloquial?
oh... wait... i knot it...
   "it's...               complicated..."

perhaps i'll refrain from phrasing:
no... i won't...
i'm... supposed to... somehow...
feel... emasculated... for wanting... to live...
in a clean... abode... owning cats:
but being free from feline "perfumery"?!
i'm... somehow... to feed...
emasculation? i want to live in a scent-free environment?
this is the right time: appropriate
of imitating that m.t.v. video of the queen song:
i want to break free?
      
sure: dogs and men and all that:
i don't like owning a leash:
i don't like the idea of taking a dog to take a ****
in public...
i have cat-litter... but on the odd occassion
the cats will take a **** in secret: revenge
against the neighbours...
look at me... walking around the shadow
of a dog's ****: jazz hand clapping
picking up leftovers of a chop suey... mulled:
into a tired worm of an ****: last reserved:
wriggle (put) out...

here's a banknote: piglet smear worth of
"brains" all-over-it...
bend one knee: bend two... hell!
chop my legs off while you're at it!
i always thought myself as being non-racist...
but i can hardly find a least exhaustive route
debating the natives as king:
to find... the anti-racist conundrum...
chop the legs and arms off!
throw the torso into the pool
and watch the para-olympians take turns!

i can be non-racist: african-american though...
when did the Arabs absolve the slave trade?
the 1970s?
last time i heard...
eh... whatever...
                      but i can't be anti-racist...
it's impossible for the Hindus to not feed into
feeling some sort of superiority...
after all... they freely joked when the hilly-billy-benders
of the joke-brigade of...
the Vishnu-halfwits... whatever you want
to call them: decided: Utopia daydream...

hippies! yeah... the squares were all: trouble when
Kerouac made his...
reading...
   i fear fame more than i fear death...
i always have three posits to make a puncture...
you can't read a pulse at the pivot of the wrist!
you have to search for it lower down...
pulse... puncture...
just above the collar bone on the right side...
and under the the right arm-pit...

i fear fame more than i fear death:
i can stomach posthumous fame...
like Christ born on a crucifix...

oh Emma... Emma Emma Emma Emma...
i asked for your picture: you gave it to me:
how badly i wanted to sketch you...
i did...
what a glorious rag of a ***** you later
became...
beautiful... here's me drinking to a lost
ambition of: not being a plumber with you
by my side: ha ha!
just moments are only worth scribbling
into the depth of night...
they honestly are...
what compensational comparative?
spotting a sparrow...
at the en masse graves
of the Germans... fallen during world war I...

siusiumajtki: 16 year old girls:
****-pants...
i don't like inexperienced girls...
i prefer prostitutes...
it's ******* tongue-numbing to have to encounter
these prospects...
it's no fun...i'll leave it to the pornographers
to agitate...
the east... the south... the mongols... the russians...
the Chinese...
whoever... the Pak-stubs...
conquer all you want... i believe i can attest
with: there's nothing worth to preserve:
or defend...

   first you want to defend all the **** erectile joystick
ups... and then... you... somehow...
"forget"... to defend... where all your...
deviances come from... from the carnal farm
of hetrosexuality?
but... what if... some of us... don't want t breed?
where are you going to breed the argument from?
a curriculum of surrogate mothers?
you *******... **** qwanks?!
don't worry... i know my kamikaze pinpoints...
i'll gladly *******...
but don't you require breeders...
don't you require breeders with a consistency
of conservative antithesis arguments
to compete / combat (against)?

well... if no! dodo project worked...
look at me... i'm ******* happy...
mission accomplished!
crystal clear... whatever the hell that "thing"
was... iron maiden clad... the renovation
of thought as soul as salvation prone...
blah blah... blah.

Locked up in a sealed, squat jar
Leveling out the fragile playing fields
Which separate our stupid lives from your pre-natal bliss,
I gazed upon you in constant amazement,
As your watered and eager soul shook against the thick glass.

In the comfort of a forgotten cupboard,
You peer out daily through your half-shut pink eyes,
Watching the cogs of our legs grind up and down stairwells,
Oiled by fear and glistening in blind faith.
And, still, you make the glass rock and tilt with your Buddha laughs!

Quite a charming crew, you had there!
Magical bones and limp lizards
(Amongst other players) gathered together for science’s sake,
Only to be glimpsed at briefly in-between breaks.
Kids came and went, things were built - you never changed.

It was better that you never tasted life’s lost lustre.
Had you past through the wet, wobbly womb,
Only a few options would have awaited you –
Pet, chop suey or a pitiful pawn on Squealer’s chessboard.
You’re too sweet for all of that – stay bottled up.