As a darkness descends to these troubled lands,
carefully watching are those who feel a cold shrill,
hear with frozen aching,
breathing in the quickening frost...

Growing hoary slowly,
as the rime it seeds,
pressed blades of grass feel the man in need...
This is a toll that must be paid!

Her fleeting thoughts dance with the wind as she twirls about spinning into the winter’s descent...

Darkness falls and so doth she,
her thoughts in brightness, uncoupled glee,
her heart in love and mind carefree...

A sweeping, dashing, vision he shows,
In moon as deep earth,
her sweet heart glows,

“Forget the quickly, approaching fee!”

“Dear Night, oh Darkness; spare this man!”

“I see you, -hear me for I plead too, I’m watching from your ice-gripped troubled land!”

“Take me instead; I’ll pay his cost or your dark soul is truly lost!”

“I twirl with woe, I dance thus so, -wanton abandon…
the shivering cold and this ice I stand in,
Your chill, the frost, the illness and the terrible cost,
...our crops and all our people lost,
and still I shall ignore your hand!"

THEN HE DIES!

“No, your reparations I thus will pay!
Leave us now, unburden this land, your frory wind is not his plan,
God does love us, -he’ll stay your hand!”

“Some sign, an answer, please, oh please!
On frosted grass I press my knees,
will you not hear my lovelorn cries?
Why must you take him, why must he die?
I cannot stand so idly by!”

“How can you torment such good men, our town, our lands, tis ours, our home this place you’re in?"

Frigid heart of icy Dragon,
feels not nothing, mourns no loss,
bears down harder with his frost
and punishes them all for a sin...

“You beastly anger!”

“The cold hand of darkness in my eyes, my heart burns bright with moonlit scorn!”

A trumpet sounds when lightning strikes,
and thunder heard, it splits the night!

“A toll too great I shall not mourn,
Soulless winter’s passing bound,
in frosted days of chilling found,
You maketh tender hearts thus lost.
Your winter brings her frozen frost,
You tear and break frozen land asunder,
destroy our love our hearts you plunder!
Be gone such evil, lest love soon die, my heart he holds, my soul and sky!”

“Your freezing laughter has distended me…”


Storm God

“Clouds of fury, thunders might, upon that moon, clouds cover her light!"

"Sweeping winds, wisps of ice and snowy swirls opaque the night, freeze that man, take his life!”

“Break, then shatter with my cold spells of ice, he, then she, with no respite; I shall forever control the night!"

“Tell tale of love to me in playful fancy?”

“The darkness I bring; cower as your lives in fright, no man shall evade my thunderous might!”

“Sway me not oh fairy dancer from my cold winter in your bones shall arise a chilling cancer!”

“Destroy I must and hear you not, your land in peril with a wind I roar, cry you will in pain and so much more!”

“I am this world’s white awful sore!”

“Beg you shall, whimpering dearly, for darkness cometh so swift, severely!”

“Feel it, hear it, a painful sound my thunder shatters the peace with world renown!”

“As once, as was, forever more and now I smite so deafening score, I deliver you both to death’s door!”

“There is no heart within this storm; there shall be no heart in earth forevermore!”

“Love you say”

“…as if I know?”


“BE GONE NOW CURSED MOONLIT GLOW!”

“No life, no love, no NOT nothing, no, from nothingness I come and to nothingness you go!”

“Thus an answer to your pathetic dancing, your spinning motions, your frivolous prancing,"

“A stronger wind, a tor-na-do, witness the awful power I sow,”

“...my heartless mind to which you sing, out dance that you spineless twinning!”

“Die!”

“Yes, -die!”

“With his dead heart I’ll crush your soul for yours IS my quest to break!”

“Time is such a fleeting flower and Lo, I come with all my power, your time has come this is the hour!”

“I hate your love; die for me, your bond is cur-sed I decree!”

“My children are the Nephilim, their snowy crystals I turn to rain and freeze it quickly about your ankles for you as he, shall not escape, nothing, no one shall escape, all the creatures shall die this time for I am the maker of the flood, I am the abyss, the king of wisdom, the tree of knowledge, the one of action, crowned master of the earthen plane, the king of gods and king of kings and origin of all things, if God there is then he is I and what I create I shall make die! Know this mere mortal, the name of betwixting thing you learn…”

“I am that old God known as *Sah-turn!”

“My toll do I demand from thou!”

“My toll I ask, I DEMAND IT NOW!”



Sobbing sadness as she prostrates her hands to ice, her ankles bound and crying is the only sound...

The ego of the deity is in question, she searches for another way, a path of inquiry to make him stay, for the horrible fate wrought this day and lands of beauty coldly buried away...

For what could change the mind of darkness?

“Master, I see the wheels have ground to a halt and you’ve descended from the heaven’s vault but how can such lowly animals and nature be at fault, for is it not the goblins of the saw that should be punished, that should be sought?”

“Those who chop away at your great tree are the ones who smile with uncoupled glee for they smite your creation and tear it down and care not for your might, your world renown!”

“All nature is but your possession, oh timeless infinity I do not question, your purpose or need but I do ask, nay beg of thee, allow my love to thus be free, let us hold each other if we die, see my supplication, hear my cry!”


“If let go we will with all haste and prudence, your wrath is great and our presence a nuisance, away from this troubled land you’ve made, the frozen tundra of the grave, a night wrapped by your terrible song in this evil place we do not belong,”


"...please let us run!"


“You have cloaked the beauty of the moon,  covered her sky, I beseech you master hear my cry above the thunders of your sky, wrestle free my love from grip, let us pass, let us slip, let us go this night, oh great black wheel and great north wind and wolf and beast and Dragon from the faraway east and master of the air and seas and Lord of all as your voice decrees, I beg here on my dying knees,”


“The toll you demand is a life for a life, save him, put me under the frosty knife!”


Rumble, rumbling pondered thoughts, the wind is ceased and snow dies down and ground gets soft as air warms up and moonlight shines as clouds dissipate while the god of night decides their fate...

Her sobbing subsides as the ice and snow become water and seep into the earth, her dress soaking and hands covered in mud she addresses this king of kings once more. She stands and fills her lungs with warmth and begins to dance a dance of thanks to him who is hidden but a chilly wind shows that it is still forbidden. Her love watches from yonder far hill as she holds back her dance and stands so still, calling out to the color of night, stern her voice has no sign of fright...

“Punish the land and make your mark for that will teach us to give offerings to the dark,”

“Give rage unto that which hath no heart, pummel the earth and sink the ark.”

“Oh he is such a jewel to me, I’ll dance no more, I’ll show no glee, and no happiness to smite your sea in your great debt I thus will be!”

“Call your hordes, all four to thee, let them of wisdom punish me, my dancing finished great Gyges, your ring of darkness; oh wine-dark seas!”

“The four are eager for the flight to crack the seals and split the night, and show the signs, enact the plan, and run dark in blood this troubled land.”

“You see my master? We know your tales and tell our children the wonder and the mystery of our ark that floats upon your sea and all the things we know you make for we teach our children of them for heaven’s sake!”

“As natures hand you make the call, Oh Famine! Oh Pestilence! Oh Plague! Oh Death, -bring them all!”

“Come now in darkness for your master calls, his voice too loud as to be vague…”

“Run we shall, away, away…”

“Your great power, oh great one, the shatterer, thunderer, the bringer of the nightly fall, watch your subjects cringe and crawl, and supplicate on hands and knees with praise upon your mighty awe.”

“Why not bring them? Bring them all?”

“Enforce your toll, make your presence known, reap the seeds of what you’ve sown, our lives have always been yours to own, for you are great upon this land, your fury descends with mighty hand, now and forever shall it be known, no man can seat above your throne!”

“The trees thus stripped of their leaves and these hands are whipped upon our grieves,”

“Save my love from those stinging leaves from wintery chill and icy snows, hand of darkness, north wind that blows,”

“Lightning strikes and deadly throes,”

“In mercy your true power shows,”

“For you are the master, king of night, maker of fear, of horrible fright, the Ouroboros, the clouds your wings, the heaven’s motions, order of all things, the one who rings the magnificent treasure, the source of all our earthly pleasure, one to which we all do pray, -alas Ethiopia, dawn a new day!”

“The moon descends as does your power tis dawn you fool, that is the hour!”

“You can keep your anger and unpaid toll we’ll keep our love, our lives and my gentle soul.”

Storm God

“YOU DARE! YOU DO! YOU MOCK ME STILL?”

“Here comes my weathering, wintry, malicious chill!”

“Child die as your suitor must, this night, this storm, this hour unto my lightning ******! Rain, hail, fury thehowling winds of wolven glory and end I put to this sorrow’s story, down the trees, wash away the lands, rip apart the heavens know my hand!”

“…and what is this nocturnal noise?”

“In my storm are birds chirping? Is that daylight on horizon now? Nature cannot desert me, no, not now!”

“The daybreak shines, undoes my vow, ceases my storm and scatters my clouds; know this mortal is not the end for I shall come back again!Your words and pleas will not save you then, this trickery I shall not forget, your souls I’m coming back to get and when I do you’ll grovel in fear for you’ll know the moment of death is near!”

“On that night you’ll pay my toll, I SHALL NOT REST WITHOUT YOUR SOUL!”

grammatical geometrics, first words serve best,
a couple smoking marijuana walking into
tinsel town, by myself, drinking, lone wolf
drinks a pact's share of harvest of midnight growls,
they say fear the man walking into a forest
at night by himself: if only his ambitions were
an acquirement for more human fossils...
i could never account for some idiot correlation
linking me to the primate form...
grammar geometry though, imagine it!
nouns are linear consolidations taking for tangents
in trigonometry of slang;
grammar is a Christopher Columbus' worth
of star gazing, overshot the mark from Portugal
and landed at Cape Horn...
bring back 1980s disco! i'll give you epileptic seizures!
honestly, ensure grammar is coupled with geometry,
hard to decipher shares with suffixes
                          -ish or                      -able.
some might say nouns are squares, and adjective are
triangles, while others would say hexagons are
verbs along with pentagons - horseradish scandals
and chicken scratches;
but when it comes to rigid grammar categorisation
you will wonder at the re-categorisation
of certain words, as Nietzsche stated, a disbelief
in grammatical arithmetic counter Cartesian
2 + 2 = i think, therefore, i am. a three times table likewise,
a horse with an apple in its mouth is also a horse
without a stable.
concerning god, i mean to suggest that re be regarded
as a pronoun, uncoupled from garçon service as a prefix...
that clean napkin and a Parisian accent of Dover,
i mean to suggest re be akin to the recycling of
sunset, sunrise, summer, spring, repeat,
the idealised pronoun formulation of any if no activity,
hence grammar and geometry,
shapes from adjectives and shapes from other categorisations;
but still the facts: to speak of god's pronoun usage
is to speak in terms of re, the repetitive cascade of
the many to come from such suggestion:
take for example standing on a bridge over the eastern avenue,
looking at trees and looking at street lamps,
the delta equilibrium balancing the analytical knowledge
of trees, and the synthetic knowledge of street lamps...
if our analytical knowledge of trees was perfected
we'd hardly think of chlorophyll incubators of photosynthesis
with solar shields on suburban roofs in Chernobyl...
we've analysed trees to such an extent as to be
ably providing illumination of "trees" for constant traffic...
term it as revision of ontology, variant:
expressing the relationship of a set to its image under
a mapping when every element of the image set has a
reverse / chiral image in the first set - hence god, in pronoun
categorisation with the standard duo function of
equilibrated thinking with being as neither owner nor
discarder, rather applying some sense of
the grammar complexes with geometrical explanations,
the prime pronoun, sunrise 1996 of may,
sunrise 2006 of may, altogether re - re is the
clarifying pronoun, of course a cause of concern leading
toward Kantian pantheism, but better the pronoun re
describing history and the obvious repeat,
than having to ascribe omni a pronoun status
with the verbs / shapes of both thought and being -
who will decipher the assertion that,
                              geometrically-and-grammatically
sp­eaking an adjective is a square? well, me an Raza
were talking about the European Championships:
- who you supporting?
- Poland.
- ah.
- who you supporting, Turkey, obviously.
- well, kind of.
- i think Iceland will bring the carnival, conquering
the Spaniard Dutch in qualification.
- i'm betting on Italy or France.
- what about England?
- ah, England has a **** team.
- true, the best English squad was 1996.
- andreas möller 1996.
- true - best squad since 1966.
- **** squad after.
- completely; when do you think Turkey will finish,
after the group stage? quarters?
- maybe.
- you think Poland will come out from the group stages?
- valiant Northern Ireland, i wish,
  a bit like agnieszka radwańska hearing the practice
of Japanese culture and lost honour:
lost a bet, early retirement, which is why a Pulitzer prize
is such a gagging instrument ensuring you keep
on speaking a trans-grammatical word going, i.e.
blah blah blah.
but still, the way the pronoun category is exploited to argue
the existence and the non-existence of:
pantheism - omni cogito (all manner of thinking provides no
                                             individualised ref. sigma-replica
                                             that might guarantee
                                             a differing between muscle flex
                                             and ego strained),
theism - re cogito (thinking, again) -
monotheism - mono cogito (thinking, alone) -
                                                      it's like neo-liberalism
politics and... the name of the father, after 2000 years
and we still don't know what his father's name is...
odd, isn't it? is it Jaspers? or is it Tickling Architecture in
Timbuktu? there were some serious problems prior
to 632 of the certified era... like... when what who?!
Phantom of Golgotha... i still want to translate geometry into
grammar - or at least,
what once was tree, that became a lamp post,
what once was onto logic, and became second nature,
what was once the nature of being,
that later became, solely, and purely, technical logistics:
whereby using a smartphone became more complicated
than rigid arithmetic, or checking the twelve hour clock-face.
whatever thought you ascribe the pronoun re,
it instils an apathy, an easily multiplying being,
and whatever thought you ascribe the pronoun omni
only means too much is encapsulated in the individual,
usually translated as an individual with debt
and an amputee story of hurt; i treat re and omni as
higher tier pronouns than i might treat the orthodoxy
currently presiding - after all, in existential parameters
i can affirm myself presiding over ****** functions
of taking a **** in whatever disguise i care to make replica
of the syllables e' 'go, or later, with subsequent theory,
the polymer of all possible affirmations, the anti-theoretical
cuckoo.

i am on a disk
and the pale, blue dot
is paler than ever before
above me
is more blue
a simulated sky
and a basin we've come to call
our shores

uncoupled
untethered and undeterred

there's a tree in my yard
whose roots reach
the barriers of our world
they long to touch
that void
that would see the waves
we tide
frozen still

I

O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,
Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
For he being amorous on that lovely die
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss
But ****’d alas, and then bewayl’d his fatal bliss.

II

For since grim Aquilo his charioter
By boistrous **** th’ Athenian damsel got,
He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th’ infamous blot,
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which ‘mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.

III

So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr,
Through middle empire of the freezing aire
He wanderd long, till thee he spy’d from farr,
There ended was his quest, there ceast his care
Down he descended from his Snow-soft chaire,
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace
Unhous’d thy ****** Soul from her fair hiding place.

IV

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand
Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate
Young Hyacinth born on Eurotas’ strand,
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;
But then transform’d him to a purple flower
Alack that so to change thee winter had no power.

V

Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead
Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed,
Hid from the world in a low delved tombe;
Could Heav’n for pittie thee so strictly doom?
O no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortalitie that shew’d thou wast divine.

VI

Resolve me then oh Soul most surely blest
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where e’re thou hoverest
Whether above that high first-moving Spheare
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)
Oh say me true if thou wert mortal wight
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.

VII

Wert thou some Starr which from the ruin’d roofe
Of shak’t Olympus by mischance didst fall;
Which carefull Jove in natures true behoofe
Took up, and in fit place did reinstall?
Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall
Of sheenie Heav’n, and thou some goddess fled
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar’d head

VIII

Or wert thou that just Maid who once before
Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth
And cam’st again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth!
Or that crown’d Matron sage white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that heav’nly brood
Let down in clowdie throne to do the world some good.

IX

Or wert thou of the golden-winged boast,
Who having clad thy self in humane ****,
To earth from thy praefixed seat didst poast,
And after short abode flie back with speed,
As if to shew what creatures Heav’n doth breed,
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav’n aspire.

X

But oh why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy heav’n-lov’d innocence,
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe
To turn Swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive away the slaughtering  pestilence,
To stand ‘twixt us and our deserved smart
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.

XI

Then thou the mother of so sweet a child
Her false imagin’d loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render him with patience what he lent;
This if thou do he will an off-spring give,
That till the worlds last-end shall make thy name to live.

'Hopes and Dreams'...explores the limitations of perception in more than three dimensions plus time.


I

Uncoupling hopes from truth sometimes reveals reality
Which is hard to bear
According to Eliot.
The difference between hope and what is real
Is sometimes the basis for laughter
Or tears…..
In equal measure
Depending on the deficit
Between reality, and the reality of hoping.
Two sides of the same coin
The masks of theatre,
Comedy and tragedy.

Yet reality is what we face day to day
Uncoupled from hope
An atheistic vision of what is true
In which dreams expire.

Hopes, dreams and reality
Congregate in theistic minds
As a woven integrity
But is the congress true?

Atheist and theist in perpetual conflict
One offering only truth,
The other hoping that belief is true
But, to what ….?
In this world caught in three dimensions
But do not forget time that marks when
We are born and when we die
According to Ecclesiastes.

The atheism of truths of a certain kind
Confined by the question asked
And who is asking, and the way of asking,
Atheist and theist talking at each other
But not in conversation
A dialogue of deafness to other points of view
An unbridged chasm for all of human history.

The certainty of truth is one problem,
Because certainty brooks no other view
But remember the constraints of truth’s
discovery and then assertion
In three dimensions, and do not forget time.

Unwittingly Carl Sagan made the point in flatland
A place of two dimensions,
Breadth and width, but no height
Infinitesimally flat, thin
Flat and thin, so that an apple
In its plump three dimensional roundness
Made its visit, announced its presence
But left only an infinitesimally flat, thin
Impression of its visitation,
With its announcement seemingly coming from wherever,
Infinite confusion.
For flatlanders who perceived a visitation
Without explanation
A mystery within which we experience
The determinism of truth
Not qualified by the dimensions
In which it’s made
Or defined
To the confusion of those who question truth,
If truth means the assertion of certainty.

Was it for flatlanders first cause?
Just like Paley’s watchmaker of the watch
found on the heath,
Each trapped in their respective
Two dimensions and three dimensions
Limited by their dimensionality
Of what they could see or imagine.
Not yet liberated by many dimensions
That liberated Tennyson to understand
That more is achieved by dreaming without limits.

Tennyson said…
That more things are achieved by prayer
Than this world dreams of,
But what are dreams?
Visions of hope, or the darkness of damnation?
But can we imagine these visions
In many dimensions?
And find new truths which we cannot perceive
In the day to day.

II

Dreams can be suspension
Between what is real and what we hope for,
Or ……
A plunge into an abyss of horrors
The nightmare’s nightcrusher
That reflects the fears of our experience,
The fears of Fuseli’s nights
Of grotesque creatures that taunt the hopes
Of our tomorrows
By revealing the layers of yesterday’s experience,
A past that haunts the future
In the day to day.

Yet redeemed by intentions
For the good,
And honourable to the nature of humankind,
And lifekind with which we share organic ancestry.

Dreams release the mind to find another place,
Another dimension, where what happens
Can happen and more than we can suppose
According to Haldane.

Limitless possibilities that dreamtimes
Expose what we do not own
But instead we are a part of.
Land, sea and air fused with the spirit
Of peoples that inhabit distant shores
Where they are one with the place
Where they are, were and will be
For all time.
The dreamtime of Australia’s
Original peoples.

And so the plump apple
Becomes a part of the experience
Of those who live in two dimensions,
Carl’s flatlanders experience their
Dreamtime of first causes
Because the missing dimension disallows
Their understanding of what is real.

So conflate the idea to many dimensions
And you can see what I mean.
Imagine the unimaginable
That cannot be seen
Because of the constraints of three dimensions.

And do not forget time
Perhaps the portal for imagining
What cannot be experienced
In spacetime warped and curved
By the embrace of gravity.

We sail in this cosmic sea
Not seeing its possibilities
Because we are not equipped
To see through a glass darkly
Or so Corinthians says
But to half see, dimly see
Love
And the truth of black holes
Where physics is sundered
Perhaps allowing passage to other creations
To us mere visions of what we aspire to be
And understand
Just as Blake saw heaven in a wild flower.

III

To perceive the possibility of many dimensions
Is to free the mind
From superstition
From the prejudices
That blight the landscape of our thinking,
And the landscape of dreams
When we perceive self
As if disembodied
Floating on the ceiling looking down
Detachedly on what we do
And what others do in the day to day.

Doings driven by the limited framework
Of width, breadth and height.
Width and breadth and height
And do not forget the passage of time
In which our doings take place.

One is singular in mind and body
Meaning self in the day to day.
To be beside oneself is joy and anger
The Janus faced self
Somewhat like the masks of comedy and tragedy
But of emotion and not theatrical circumstance.

How many multiples of
Space and time
Are needed to be beside oneself
In a quantum universe?
Or universes where to touch would be
Annihilation of self
Tracked as energy pure, and as simple
As the dreams of our disembodied self
Looking down from the ceiling.

IV

Is hope the delusion of optimism,
Dreams its manifestation of unreality?
Who can say because analysis
Is limited within the context of our perception.
Perception influenced by prejudice and misunderstanding
Because we are limited by what
Can be understood
In three dimensions,
And do not forget time
And gravity
And the failure of its resolution with dimension
and time
Limiting understanding.



But……
If we acknowledge the limitations
Even if not understanding the quantum context
Then, given we are prepared to accept the
uncertainty
Described by Heisenberg,
Then we are mentally equipped
To understand that truth is provisional
But with verity according to experience
Accumulated through the continuity of history.

We try to resolve contradictions
Because resolution anchors us into
the certainty of
Our present experience,
And certainty is comfort, allowing us to live
Day to day.

David Applin, May 2013

Copyright David Applin 2015

plea of oddities: bring the tinkling back
its bell lies silent


1.
Existing (not entirely) alone
entertaining itself with nightmares witnessed from long ago
It waited and waited
until the neighbour-orb grew to a level sophisticated enough
to house that lovely assortment of fine specimens.. of females
       that flock of dusted-crystals so long dreamt of
       that mould of sensibility, that plug of warmth
       that banner of softness
which all mirrored the opposite of their ways


2.
they fled in quiet-rebellion from inhospitable hands of the boor-males
altogether, in a ship.. down into the bowels of their breaking planet
subtleties long abandoned by the barbed-wire handling of  rough hands
these gentles could take no more and *uncoupled themselves for good
burning, like the bridges behind them
               they disconnected and slid into a nether-sphere

When the males woke in stupor to find them gone
                 they flipped and fed in anger
and with access to goodness gone and unplaced voracious appetites
It decided to encase them.. in a giant glass-jar, preserving them in ire
until the time was right.. like a tea awaiting perfect steeping
In stasis, they remained for what seemed aeons
the glass-jar which held this army of men, was reduced
became small, like a coin.. which Foog summarily swallowed
and waited . . .  


3.
The sun turned its face in blank-horror of severe sights
                                                               splayed across the surface
forests shrank to toothpicks and died
         blue seas curled and dried
                                 meadows melted to greyish slush
every flying creature lost gravity and got ****** away, too high..
                                                        into harsh deafening-holes
when the tall sentries of oxygen.. twisted and became wiry-distorted
the sky sank and folding itself up.. hid in a black corner
                               behind the crumbling mountains

Foog hid beneath a crater made of ice, on the dark side of said planet
and once every millennium
        it felt the colliding-smack of a passing planetessimal
and it swore that somewhere, somehow..
        that punishment awaited new life

So, it shut its senses to the bay of life
       while hankering viciously for the scream of warm blood
The bell-jar inside, silent and
                        also somehow.. obscenely waiting in its oblivion



4.
Then, came Earth spinning round in flourish.. oh, the day on hand
Yet, veryyyyy far away.. an eye slowly opened
                      / /  roused by the smell of fressshhh life . . . / /



5.
A popping sound and the bell-jar was birthed from a slit on its forehead
It looked nearly quizzically at this odd creation beneath the silent-glass
this assortment of creatures trapped in the folly of Foog:
                                                                ­     oh, shall I, or not?
A cosmic joke, almost.. with so few revisions
The lid lifted and with proportion righted once more..
                                they came, oozing out in droves
Roaring from their milleniac-slumber,
                               crazed in half-remembered wounds
But alive with burning-purpose - - to find the equivalent
of
those soft-crystals

To melt the iron.. inside.



(unsolicited but self-warranted visitations:
camouflaged abductions.. secret prodding..
subtlety re-learnt.. poverty rehashed..
Fugue in a glass bell-jar.. unleashed)  



But alas, when sweet-sounds are closed again
see at whose smart-hands calamity befalls Life
Yet.. who are ultimately the ones
picking up the pieces after devastation wrought?




st, 27 march 2014

even wording an intellectual debate
focusing on the word: warrior,
is, to me, something of a ****-in-your-underwear
and then swing it around like a missile
and hope that the other monkey is dead...

what do i find in terms of persistent Darwinism?
media akin to Groundhog day replication,
a distrust of media and politics
doesn't go anywhere akin to El Dorado,
it goes to areas of grey and thistles, and weeds,
and trying to defend a political system
that monopolises on the media? e.g. Iraq.

what's the modern trait of the **** sapiens?
he's not intimidated by the advertisement
industry to spend, he saves his buck...
modern **** sapiens feels no regret at not
having the chance to procreate with neanderthal
women who shout rather than moan,
modern **** sapiens isn't wooed by the ooh's and
the ah's of a modern public audience,
modern **** sapiens man isn't ready to turn
women into butchers in Afghanistan,
or what Sappho called: butch, butch, butchy, butch-butch,
      target practice for the *****:
   now your chance to shoot a machinegun.

the **** sapiens doesn't get the Coliseum,
in whatever shape or form as the modern solution
to what would otherwise be: watching paint dry,
    there's no football Sunday over brunch to
holler and cheer and get things done.

the **** sapiens man will not mate with a neanderthal
woman of these times... he has no need to lose
his integrity to mate with these over-sexualised creatures...
modern **** sapiens lives in a time when
science has lost its mojo,
and became arrogant like a chef cooking up
Sicilian pasta in Chuckle Street...
   modern **** sapiens man does not grace procreating
with the mannequins of neanderthal women...
oversexualised and almost Somali in caricature,
which is hardly 5 brats running around for the stately
                 feeding...

modern **** sapiens isn't interested in how offensive you
sound, or how uninteresting you actually are,
the 26 digits on your tongue will never quill a
woodpecker readied for carpentry...
you have physicists for that and that ancient gauge
of sclera iris and pupil: which kinda looks
like clouds, green, brown, blue, grey,
              pupil and to whatever necessary telescope
for the constellations / twinkle in the eye...

     the modern **** sapiens doesn't want to procreate
with modern neanderthal women because
he thinks his feces will smell of mustard...
          he's ashamed about the way sport has
replaced national identity,
              and that watching ***** do the exodus from
a ******* and assimilate into a genesis of an ****
has become magnified into 22 wankers kicking
a ball between two fishnet stocking pair of legs...
              neanderthal women get it,
**** sapiens man doesn't... he's wondering why
there haven't been many drunk intellectuals...
                to state this case.

**** sapiens man is wondering why this isn't even
an insult... by a version of a continuum
best addressed when worded, rather than
    chess-chanced on a board of fixations and
cheap-labour and psychiatrically guised excuses
that are in concerto: lethargy etiam propus.

   **** sapiens is wondering why history froze,
and this be the new ice age...
and why only one day gets a mention,
he's wondering why there's no media sabbath...
         i.e.: when no news happens.

**** sapiens is bewildered by this fresh zeitgeist
of having a need to speak...
  **** sapiens is wondering: why Ned the Destroyer?
**** sapiens is asking: what about the think?
       **** sapiens says of neanderthals:
i guess they really need to talk
because they cannot accept the monotheistic concept
of thought, and stress the democratic: blah blah brechen
to protest, stitch placards and walk a lot and do
cathedral bells a justice of repeating chants: kneel
to pray! tramps aren't trump! etc.

**** sapiens says: they once imagined telepathic
with telekinetic and then they said no to Marxism...
now there don't seem to be that many individuals around
apart from those in suicidal succor.

all in all, **** sapiens simply says:
i will not fornicate with these neanderthal women!
i don't care what my genetic prenup would look like,
    it might look ugly, it might look pretty...
            if we're going down this route...
there's me: exit,
                and then these women:
            lamenting what queen Sheeba said to
king Solomon:
                          the copper skinned will rule the world.

well, here's me and my automated reliance on
extinction...
                           i'm taking a bow...
i'm bowing out...
                                i find only one sensual solace in
this world...
                    music...
                           ­         i'm bowing out of the rest
that comes like a Mongolian revival of a horde...
          and even if there was a love for a woman worth
defending... i already declassified it as
neanderthal... so much for Darwinism when uncoupled
from theology and coupled to history;
evidently my mind is a bit blank when i try to go beyond
the written records... nice gallery by the way...
sure, the shrunken coccyx gave it away...
and i wish i was... doing acrobatics on trees, still;

**** sapiens said of neanderthals:
if only you had an immune system built to
                                        not succumb to advertisement!

but **** sapiens man said: poach the ivory,
but the elephant will play you a trumpet underwater,
      and you'll ask: why?
              because if the elephant farted you'd
get a methane jacuzzi, and not a quasi-jazz concert...
that wasn't even meant to be funny.

i have three books of poetry in front of me, and i'm asking the preliminary questions that needs to be answered before i add my own little scribble - as always saturated with the cross-Atlantic soul-searching audio, this grand world and this tsunami from across the Atlantic, all ravaging my ancient soul spanning from Iceland to the wheat basin of Ukraine and the Caucus in general (kałczatka), Finnish, Estonian and Hungarian anomalies, sounds exotic i guess, what with Minnesota english, Californian english, Maine english, Texan english - it can almost feel a little sad with so much biodiversity outside the realm of spoken tongue occupying such a vastness - always mesmerising: americans in Europe - ever the few across my path - anyway... the three books, three writers, jack spicer, miroslav holub (czech for pigeon) and j. s. harry - the question? who would i like to imitate, or at least write as? answer? none of them.

like today, cool night, open skies and constellations,
a police helicopter making its ridiculous
coleslaw of sound - chit chit chat chat (my best
approximate, even if that, not really - chop variations
will be better excused for reasons why the words
were include) - change of tactic, uncoupled
the starter of beer before the main course of whiskey
with wine - god, haven't drank it in such a long time,
i forgot how well wine compliments cigarettes,
even if it's drank via the Basque desecration of
the Nazareth covenant, i.e. with coca-cola -
yep, kalimotxo - 2/3 to 1/3 coca-cola - once i gave
it to someone and they went spaghetti knees -
it's a right-odd cherry - shame i drink a bottle of
wine like i drink a bottle of beer - the whole joke
of Nick Harper (turning wine into water) -
2008's most watched sitcom - Chiswick, London -
middle-class family (for whoever is class-conscious) -
my family* - but what i really wanted to mention
was the Babylonian unravelling, it's no big deal,
i didn't exactly want to remember the encoding that much,
but i realised that even though the English do not
use diacritical marks, the French do, but they are worse
at profanities of writing letters but sort of veering off
from using them - Rimbaud in America is apparently
said: 'Rambo' - not Rim-Baud(elaire) - eclair -
dotty d d - surds or cloth softeners? i don't know anymore.
like in the already mentioned example of desecration:
kalimotxo - kali-mo-t'cho'h - a bit like mojito -
mo'he'to'h - surely with the world getting global there
should be a standard, universally speaking -
sure the borders are down, but the phonetics are still
in distinction - like in Czech-mate when asking:
š works with č - sh and ch respectively - or sz and sz
depending if you're germanic with the former and
slavic with the latter encoding - but ě and ň? the alternatives
are ę (a sound that resembles something like an e
          and swallowing your tongue)
                                                                ­and ń (a higher-pitch
of a syllable from knee, a bit like née, but more like
Anaïs Nin) - never mind, wine really compliments cigarettes,
thus the compass:
                                                å     ­         

                   àá                         æ                        ä, ą

                                               ã, â

all roads lead to Rome, you'd never imagine the unravelling
of this ancient γραφεμη would yield so many additions
to the respective letters contained within it,
just look at Adam and the baggage that came with it,
Eve isn't exactly free from the excess baggage either,
if you don't believe me, see the diacritical additions she's
carrying - but who the hell is Oswald? oh right, it's
the 21st century, it might be Ophelia or Olga;
and yes, i'm bypassing the linguistic alphabet - shoving
it into the dark, working from scratch.

When the seventh salvo of silver flashes
cued the blue floaters for the seventh time,
blotting the smaller letters from their sashes,
I mispronounced “Miss Reading”—made it rhyme

with “misleading.” ******* her press agent,
Miss Information, who steamed out to smoke.
But the style writers covering the pageant
called it an unconscious masterstroke.

So I became the Master of Near Misses.
The work kept coming. “You must be Miss Taken,”
I transproposed to the Pork Products Princess
panel, and you should have seen Miss Bacon.

They at it up, though. It was liberating.
Within a month I didn’t even need
my malaprompter. Cheating was creating.
Believing anything I couldn’t read

I crushed my quadrifocals. People shed
their crosshairs and acquired a layer of fuzz.
Consequence came uncoupled. What I said
I saw, and what I saw was what I was.

*just a cute, funny little poem

you are not attached
to a dead weight.

you are heavy.

II


if it bleeds
then it must love.
and the hours swarming the continuum
have no time for the minutes
of your day, you are too full of loss.
uncoupled from  the shelter
of nonexistence.
you grieve in
real time.

you are too beautiful to mean nothing

but can't recall.

Where were you when
The clouds turned pale
And
The moon drank blood
And
The sun took its hand off my heart
Uncoupled and free, my heart ran to the
One thing it knew:
You

But where were you

Heart searching; hands finding, but it was
Not you, only
The ocean that ate
A shell
Held up to the ear, it listened to
You, but the only sound was
Silence.

in the other Turner prize category... a man wearing all black and a white bow-tie, with yellow braces keeping his trousers up... face painted into a loved-up clown... in one pocket candy... in the other? copper pennies... walks in a tube tunnel, sees a busker, doesn't interrupt the musician asking whether it's the 31st of October... slams a handful of copper into the busker's guitar sheath, walks on; well, as saving grace works: not using enough colour ensures just enough happens on the canvas... some say women imagine in black & white... i say: so much more happens in black & white... if i had the oils, i'd just paint a stasis, a pose... with writing i am able to compose constant animation... ants in my pants scenario... sniffing pepper: achoo! hence escaping painting and entering animation... but still the honest and matrimonial ******* of up-kept poetry akin to gardening, unchanged.*

i love how women always
say: there's that voice inside my head...
              that voice
that said to me...
                                  uncoupled narratives,
so... does that mean i
get to paint a ******* oil painting or something?
we get told pink for girls,
blue for boys,
                 Barbies for girls
trucks for boys,
           poetry for girls
and painting for boys...
                                      oh look,
a transgender statement:
                           i'll leave you to your little
political dynamo to censor other
people's oiling of words: i.e. vocabulary -
so it doesn't huh huh hurt.

i was never a fan of acronyms... it must be an w.a.s.p. "thing"
to have fallen in love with acronyms:
white... anglo-saxon... protestant...
i just imagine...
what it the Swabians or the Pomeranians...
were the chosen tourists...
nomads without a lament score...
oh god someone is oppressing the Saxons...
get to it: sort it out!
of all the Germanic peoples that came to these isles
after the fall of Rome...
my my... how the Saxons hijacked
the Welsh and the Scots for a prize of sending postcards
from the Raj... some remote Pacific Islands...
i live among these people...
morphed by some added French...
i don't like acronyms: i don't like acronym speech...
it's like... the alphabet twice-over...
organised to suit some secret society...
yawn...
so when i was living out my: soul-osmosis:
psychosis of my 20s...
mid-way through my 30s i stopped taking
the pills i was prescribed:
what waited was a hunger so cycling...
and ingesting electrolytes...
and vitamin B12 supplements...
which translated into 2 cycling sessions a day...
i was going to ask my mother and my father
concerning being irritated
about some...minor bureaucratic doodle
of a vaccine passport...
i could have been riddled with radioactive
juice from 1986... oh yes... the effects of Chernobyl
came around... some of the trees turned
autumnal in the middle of spring:
with streaks of radioactive death...
19 days... pass enough time just emerging as a foetus:
those just might be aeons...
scribble some radioactive juice...
well... a pretty picture...
i'm giggling though... inside and out...
i hate acronym language...
long before the "movement"...
"lifestyle choice"...
i only heard about it then youtube stopped
suggesting me new music to listen to...
apart from the channel harakiri diiat...
i came across videos of political commentary...
later... the... ahem...
    MIG-TOW... MIG-TAO...
Mikoyan... towing...
       or the Mikoyan Tao...
it's a pseudo-take of the fighter jet...
a Russo-Chinese hybrid project...
it's not a fighter-jet...
unless... fighter-jets have a Taoist sensibility
built in them... ha...
it's this "movement" via the acronym MGTOW...
i don't like acronyms...
point being... you don't really need
classical socialism... or their current
pseudo-arguments of inclusivity... blah blah...
best represented blah blah...
you have these... men... in a society...
where... harem quotas are no met...

daseine: da (there) + seine (being) = concern...
dast seine: da- (there) + i-st (is) + seine (being) = potential...
all on conjured up via a blitzkrieg
on a bicycle... mediating heavy traffic...
happens... all the ******* time...
i curse the nerve-wrecks that drive cars...
a woman in mini-cooper: sized so: ||
will require... this much space: |          |
to overtake you...

but a man in a HGV... or a bus... sized so: |          |
will require... this much space: ||
to overtake you...
as an aggressive cyclist...
i can't exactly indicate cycling up a *******
hill...
it's sometimes too late coming to a roundabout...
but then again: some indicators of direction
are already painted onto the tarmac...
traffic is not a game for solipsists...
when the former happens
i curse: it would have taken you...
20 more bypassing rounds around
me... doubling down:
when i see a Nissan Micra / a mini cooper
overtake me... while it was taking its time:

WHERE'S... THE... *******... PANZER!

- i'll just draw the sketch in writing...
fiddle with some phonetic cul de sacs..
you draw the bigger picture: the Kandinsky moment...
i don't need socialism to argue my point...
as much as abhor the acronym...
what could possibly undermine capitalism:
not that i want it undermined...
men not coupling with women...
men are not the spenders...

i can attest... one visit in a brothel once every half
a decade will not solve the demand for...
her... make-up chemo-therapy....
i mean... i can swap a good enough amount
of *** for... she's charging me £2 per minute...
perhaps dentists own as much...
perhaps... i spend my money on
essentials...
bicycle oil... whiskey... ******* flour...
to thicken a curry sauce...

                  capitalism works when...
men are willing to give up their money
for other men to make money from
the women who will spend it...
what if i'm not willing to couple up
with a woman who will spend it on...
*******-tides-&-screws...
the argument is a softened teddy: bear
of a pork **** hammered flat into a schnitzel...
why is my grandmother becoming more
estranged from...
she kept my grandfather's deterioration
a secret... come death: the end...
hardly any argument willing: to be satiated with
any pleasure for the juice of: life...

who needs socialism... to undermine capitalism?
when you can simply have men
detached... divorced... from the spending spree prowess
of women?!
maybe capitalism is just choking everyone into:
abundantly: more! more!
but what if there's no more to spend?
i don't need socialism...
socialism is for Syria... like it was for Poland
when World War II ended...
it's funny... did "my"... "my" people: ever
relish the concern for democracy...
will Poland become the new Vietnam?
sure... send in the black-*****-black-out
with eager future: single-moms...

do i look like someone willing to earn less
than i might spend more on?
the Teutonic Knights had a brothel
in their citadel of Marienburg...
i visit the brothel... once every half a decade...
i imagine she'll be ready to buy
buttons: a bear cub nibbled off my cardigan
at a Danzig zoo...

oh i can see how capitalism can be
undermined... it's already undermined...
the two tiers of spending...
i am prone to advertisement as a joke...
since i don't trust journalism..
but then i'm immune to advertisement
because...
i don't want to spend money...
i'd need a woman for that...
while a woman would eagerly spend:
spend... even if she doesn't have the money...

this one... softness for Islamic economics
hits true: all the time...
to abhor... the become tantamount in abhorring:
usury... this is the only redeeming
quality of Islam..
to hell with their theology...

if i were to... be loaned a pile of rubble...
why should i have to repay you...
a ******* mountain (of rubble)?

not being attached to a spending prowess of
a woman...
stale society: a walking abortion case...
must be designated a psychiatric diagnosis
to function: debilitated...
so much for those freed up lovers
of questionable purpose...
an hour with a ***** will "save" your economy...

the **** of the Sabine women...
too far fetched... for the quake of kings
resurrected for the hindsight of world war I...
the solo project: as each man be his...
tomb...

dasein(e) morphed -
a bit like with the clinger of Bastille...
marquis de sadé... no... women love to ****...
da (there) ist (is): sein (being)....
lightning stroked me...
sensible...

i like to "think" of pedestrians when cycling...
as.. pockets iof potential:
this "****" philosophical project
of "concern" is beside me....

dasein units of "potential concern":
versus... dastsein: units of "concerning potential"...
sharoened:
dasein: concern...
   dastsein: potential...
there is... being...
not that: there...not beng...
some germanic oops!

da-st'-sein...
DAST-SEIN...
  
it will not take socialism to undermine
the current schema of capitalism...
it will require the men themselves...
men uncoupled from the spending habits of
of... women....

bad cocktail... bad bad cocktail...
b'ah... the forest needs to breahe...
lend it some fire...
by way of:
i'll suffocate the whole economy with
replicas of moi...
she needs to spend:
but if i'm not coupled to a she:
who'll willing to sped...

who's spending who's tax-for-*******...
free?!

what would you call me? If I wasn’t attached
to a person, as a daughter, wife, mother or friend
you couldn’t say this is so and so’s daughter, wife,
mother or friend. What if I didn’t have a job or

a hobby? You couldn’t say she does this
or that. What if I didn’t even have an address? You
couldn’t say she lives there. All of the spaces would
be blank, because there wouldn’t be anything to fill

them in with. People would wonder about
such a person like this, unhitched and uncoupled. Would I
still exist? I would still have my thoughts; I would still have
my brain. I would still be me, the same.

for
A noticeable change in the moon,
You actually made me grieve.

You actually made me cry, for once
And feel the emotion that pervaded me for at least
Four moons and months.
How I cried thrice alone,
and twice with your friends,
Who so surprisingly took my side for once.

What was worse than the time I snuck off with your best friend?
And we did the ONETHING that still tarnishes my reputation.

It was worse when you ****** your ex,
who you said to not worry about,
"I just go to the gym with him"
all behind my back, with the knife you
gave me for my eighteenth, and said to protect you with.

I used the knife to distress my pants and cut tobacco leaves,
and to uncouple the filth,
the blacktar poppy from the filthy phone screen,
where after you uncoupled me, I
Looked for filth in my friends,
who still had boyfriends.





I thought I would be alone, still.
And after two months you'd accept a desperate plea of mine,
and it would all be back to normal,
except for the engraved back of my mind,
which I could patch up for you.

But you wouldn't do the same,
hold everything I ever do against myself against me.
I'm not a ****** or a thief anymore, contrary to your thoughts.
I'm as good as I ever was, and I love the friends you abandonded for temporary relief,
And they love me, because you abandonded me for,



temporary relief.

When you stop mourning over your biological family's absence
You'll come to mourn our collective absence.
Because only a few treated you like family, rather than friend.

And even if some forgive you,
you've made me forgive my shutout hate,
welcomed back, forever against you,

If I die first, I don't want you to see me
If you die, I won't come see you.

Dispense sing with fidelity blithely agog
just me and mine dark shadow
slinking along the edge of night doth blog
passivity, the path of least resistance ohm my dog,
shocking voltage surges an emphatic YES,
verboten fruit adrip with succulent juices as eggnog,
a legitimately valid reason and rhyme to flog
reprobate yours truly figuratively emasculate,
thee catchword to extricate
being emotionally hogtied
warrants immediate attention,
regarding consummating series
of prurient disadvantageous
née self destructive events.
  
The best idea to expound upon,
while attempting creative
exuding genital intonations to jog
all mein kampf, I felt like a bump on a log
please... don't be hesitant
not to reserve judgement
towards this miscreant husband
whom identifies himself
as a dirt Poe imp of the pervert
analogous to rumpelstiltskin fable

whereby Lothario wannabe
boasts stud deed fallaciousness,
whose noggin of mine shaped as an egghead
topped off with pinhead blocked nog,
one aging long haired pencil neck geek
never reached maturity forever a pollywog
until froggy went a courtin'
into marital quagmire
woody ******* did slog.

More clearly, plainly and succinctly,
one sniveling poor excuse for masculinity,
(and upstanding laughingstock
regarding spindleshanks),
I continually experience
unrepentant (unforgivable) humility,
hence lame justification
Matthew Scott Harris
sought adultery, cuckoldry, effrontery...,
which unwise choices attempted
(pun intended) to fill a void
****** propensity linkedin with precepts

attributed courtesy Sigmund Freud,
though skepticism skirted
shirked getting caught red handed
sneaky shenanigans employed
barenaked lady ******* psychoanalysis
downplayed, or Oedipus complex
shrugged off Fountainhead (heavier imposition
versus Atlas) fails to bridge
(do not as Kwai)
any heavy mettle alloyed
within me psyche, and windmills of my mind.

Handy dandy blues clues
existential mid life crisis
lacked absolute zero justification
why yours truly fraught
with hormonal secretion
embarked on warpath for concupiscence
gallivanting foot loose and fancy free
sabotaged matrimonial covenant,
whereby I regularly posted and answered
personal classified advertisement
with popular Craigslist website,
thus no surprise when presto digitation,
I met gal headquartered in Coatesville;

she drove to Evansburg State Park
rearing to tame bucking bronco (me)
quashing, invalidating, contravening...
conjugal contractual obligation
renting asunder mine vocalized vow
to remain faithful thru thick and/or thin
seeking alternative ******* opportunity
feeble minded excuse
regarding irreconcilable differences
a vague catchall phrase
antithetical contrary to pledged troth,
embarking on maiden voyage
nsync with barenaked lady
partaking moist and meaty tender vittles.

I feebly attempted to compensate  
for dearth of absent teenage
Ninja mutant turtles
reptile brain and brawn bravado
investigated dating app experiences,
thus violated wedded vow think tryst
I yearned, trended and jump/kick started
Casanova paramour wannabe
years later subsequently regretted philandering
utterly disgusted at my illicit behavior
and negligence neglecting
attentiveness to offspring and spouse
forswore doting upon then
high school age daughters,
rightfully thee eldest one

(born 12/22/1996) still ******
and compromised paternal priority spawning
selfish prurient dalliances,
I das scribe, how now brown cow objectionable
frolicking courtesy Sly And The Family Stone
payback a *****, cuz feel in funky (flunky) mood,
verses when scads of Earth orbitz ago,
he profusely kissed
mouth of other voluptuous
(zoftig) older women
(consensually, flatteringly, indiscriminately)
and amazingly, kindly, thankfully... enough
in due time spouse did willingly insist

to forgive, boot never forget
long since discounting divorce from wife
nevertheless, remaining thermally uncoupled
mandated unconditional armistice
eventually note hissed
matter of fact I dreamt
(earlier today May twenty ninth
two thousand and twenty two), the gist
regarding soldier of self made misfortune
toying and tinkering harming self
casually eyed sharp pointed objects
offered especial attraction

pondering hoop fully connive fist
(cuffed) around handles of cutlery
at primal, gonadal, and brutal predilections
now... finding very little reason to exist,
hence understandably dissed
(until death do me part)
unbridled love and apology
toward thee missus and progeny,
who forever did blacklist
writ blood ginned curse with barbs.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
thus very little paternal (filial) love expressed
and she chose to live yonder
Oakland, California her temporary dwelling
no matter, her papa blatantly confessed depravity
YES, more'n his eye did wonder.

At present petty coated junction
non petty irreparable schism
doth rank as horrendous
on par me adopting fascism
forever sullied image ("daddy's girl"),
who once thought the world of me
selfish misdeeds buzzfeeding swelling egoism
no more how enlightened I became

ex post facto, pure unconditional acceptance
refracted light risqué behavior thru prism
where primary parental accountability
not satisfactorily explained away courtesy
Darwinism (to con seed genes), nor chauvinism,
whereby ever since time immemorial
repentance will forever be belabored
by me flagrantly disregarding monogamy
courtesy hardened libido
making mockery and travesty marital covenant.

no... no former interest in the Finnish: kieli...
hmm... let's compare...
Finnish... Estonian... Latvian... Lithuanian...
Hungarian... what's zunge: tongue in each?
the Suomi say: kieli...
            in ******: the closest approximate is:
klei: it glues together... klel: glue...
well... the tongue does just that...
    hmm... no bewilderment here:
Eesti say: keel
           Latvijas says: mēle
                                   slightly off the chart...
Lithuanians... immediately all the prior
languages drop dead...
because the translation is: nicht zunge wie in
                     glied... körperteil...
               aber zunge ist sprache...
   since...
liežuvis is tongue: tongue proper... the waggling...
ice-cream licking bit...
(lje-ju-vis) the ju is Fwench: from je suis...
             but... oh what a dear word...
   KALBA... that's language to a Lithuanian...
the young Huns use: NYELV for language...
i'm not even going to bother finding the word
for the waggling part of: irritated teeth...
          this almost feels like a 4th Jemminah revelation...
can i possibly scare women?
are they sort of, like... almost... sisters?!
they don't want me finding them in a bad mood?
in their casual framework of relexation
before the television?
        mind you: yeah... that would be boring...
if i became a domesticated animal...
even though... i'm sort of domesticated...
but... when *** is involved...
              oh right... i hold the joker card in
my Texas hold-up game of poker...
    i've spent time with prostitutes... so...
box is box... kasten ist kasten...
                 i must have scared her...
                         i was willing to become a surrogate
father to her child... the penny dropped
when i read the boy his poem back to him aloud...
and said: wow... and it was a literal wow...
or when her dog was licking my ears
and my self-inflicted cigarette burns on
the knuckles... until i started bleeding...
      that i brought her a banana loaf and asked
if her boy had any nut allergies...
           the self-made wine... cloudy... so i bought
a bottle of franziskaner weissbier (also cloudy)
so she wouldn't think she was drinking poison...
    then come Valentine's day i dropped off a bouquet
of flowers on her doorstep in the middle of the night
and dropped a card inside...
   well... she did mention that this guy was trying
to "court" her... but... yeah... this part...
it took him 20 years to gather the courage...
   when i heard that... the time we came back in
the same car... and she feigned tiredness and put her
elbow on my leg... and sort of relaxed...
   right: *****-head on... i'm driving this one home...
i.e. i'm going in for the ****...
   in warfare it would be called Blitzkrieg...
in casual social relations it would be called
the: juwelansturm... charm offensive...
                   esp. after some time you learn that...
at least 3 single mothers are scouting for...
for... i don't even know what at this point...
                  oh man... and she even had a vinyl player
and i was like: can we meet in a few days time...
i have this record i'd like you to listen with me...
   backstabbing reality: she's a tarantula mummy...
she'll eat the male in order to raise her offspring...
                           safety in the brothel...
                                    to be honest... she was actually...
generous... because she let me go... ghosted me...
blocked me from messaging me... even though...
      i've already seen her, twice already... when cycling...
once at night: her face beaming larger than the moon
with... i don't know what it was...
another time... walking with...
the most unremarkably looking man...
   just a little bit taller than her... and i'm guessing she
was... at most... a 5ft3...
              but not when the same love interest
is spreading rumours on her first day at work
about you being drunk on the job...
              well: i do know that i drink to excess...
i do have drinking ******... i tend to drink for about 4 people...
but when i need to be sober:
i'm sober... why do we need to be sober...
i will never know... but...
            eh... therefore? the charm-offensive had
to be put in place...
   as i told one of the other co-conspirators:
there's this ****** proverb...
           lies... or is it liars?
    lies don't walk on stilts...
        lies / liars have short legs...
                 lies are not longshanks...
         time... all it took was time...
                                but at the same time...
it's so frustrating... i'd love to **** a single mum...
i mean: her libido must be... exponential...
   shoom! a ******* comet!
                  esp. if she's raising a boy rather than a girl...
i should know... Khedra... the *******
i have unprotected *** with is a single mum...
but she has a daughter... prettiest **** thing in the world...
and her libido is a rave... a rage... a... a...
don't go there... i mean: i go there...
but... yeah...
                          and Jeminnah was this petite auburn
ginger **** good looking "thing"...
what Rodin sculptures i could have had with
her in the bedroom...
                                   ugh... it's sick... it's truly sick...
framework... just to ensure the boy isn't there...
but she... actually behaved rather admiringly...
she... actually... spared me...
   all the disappointments that would inevitably
come... if i went... no... if she went forward and
made herself more "available"... ***-friendly...
                 i still don't know why i like writing about this...
it sort of sooths me... or i'm having trouble trying
to write about something new...
therefore i regurgitate this little event in my head...
because i'm trying to find explanations
not excuses - certainly not dejections...
   or harbouring a resentment for women...
           i think she behaved... like a doe would...
     and i have actually run with doe and their young once...
at a traffic junction... there was no stag...
they became lost... traffic mayhem...
run them back into the woods...
                seriously: i can't even be bothered
to imagine **** anymore... life's as it comes... and goes...
so she did behave like a doe...
        frightened little thing...
              well... if you come across a guy and your
dog finds him irresistible...
  your little boy wonder becomes sort of scared
of an authority figure... or rather:
doesn't look at your boyfriend as an older brother...
like my neighbour once said:
better jerking off in heaven
than ******* in hell... i guess she should know...
****... better change that term juwelansturm
to... reizkrieg... yes... much better...
              but i still don't get it: how socially backward,
lacking any sort of introspection / self-awareness
must you have... to... do a Mr. Bean move...
knowing how cut-throat women are against
each other... to... have about 4 women gather against
you for slandering someone: you just met
and are working with?
            maybe i have a mind the size of pigeons...
but... at least that sort of brain size allows me
to have a Sat-Nav implant...
   i still can't get over how much drama i just avoided...
i was about to step into a hot pile of ****...
i truly was willing...
           how she allowed her former boyfriend...
well... her son's older brother... by my take on things...
to run her in over £10,000 of debt... implying she lost
her credibility to work in the financial sector...
i have a square head... i'm trying to fit a rectangle into it...
it's not going to work...
   and i'm not even solipsistic / autistic...
(a) why would you tell me your life story so endearingly,
   while also slandering me...
(b) why would you tell me your life story
and not something you enjoy doing... the music you like?
(c) women mature faster than men?!
   you're kidding me, right?
    that's like that Egyptian fwend i once had...
absolute ***... even the Pakistani said...
we're supposed to meet up for the movies...
no... forget fashionably 15 minutes late...
  sometimes... an hour late... **** those sort of people...
waste of air... never mind time...
but i'm the sort of person that is: in love with the idea of love...
in liebe mit die idee von liebe...
   but i was truly treading on egg-shells while walking into
a SHAMBO'H... szambo = septi tank...
           - mind you: self-deprecating humour does help:
a lot...
    while the only use of the diminutive tense in English
i was able to find was, associate with... making nouns
ugly... "nouns" well... like Matthew becomes Matt
Peter become Pete... Anthony becomes Tony...
Joshua becomes Josh... Samuel / Samantha becomes
Sam... it's ******* ugly... it's diminutive "diminutive":
just ******* lazy... like do not becomes don't...
Pakistani becomes ****-,
               at least where i come from: diminutive is
diminutive: i.e., it's endearing...
because something smaller is always cuter...
you want to tend to it more...
KACHKA'H (kaczka) becomes kaczuszka...
drzewo become drzewko (tree, little tree)...
tygrys: tygrysek (tiger, little tiger)
jabłoń: jabłonka
   it's the diminutive but it's also... refreshing:
lying about the thing's temporal quotation...
which also makes it a funny reading into history...
that **** Germany thought of themselves as
Aryans...
    yet... the ******-lack-lands further east entertained
the infusion with the Sarmatians...
an Iranian... Aryan tribe...
        and we are... "we" are... i am... very *******
refreshed to defend my mutterzunge...
sure... i'll keep it subdued: if i had a keyboard that
would allow me easier access to the orthography...
i don't think i'd write in English...
probably not...
         even Charles Dickens can't call it orthography
whether it's weather or little or litle...
   there's no orthography where they are no diacritical
marks... akin to U contra Ó
   or epsilon contra eta...
                 mind you: the Byzantines are hyper-sensitive
to γλώσσα - even now... upsilon, omicron: omega...
why need to stress: give the omega the acute
accent? i know it's gloossa... shouldn't that accent
be put to better use in order to make the English
looking proto-Germanic ᛋᛋ (schutzstaffel)
disappear? too many ******* consonants in ******...
i heard that argument before...
    too many diphthongs in yours... or at least lacking
one: IE... that ought to be a diphthong...
aye... i... die... dye... different... dynamic... dip...
where's an affirmative-iota in... the last three examples?!
surely you don't say: dype... when you write: dip...
do you?
             all of U in you...
                             yes... i do feel linguistically superior...
but it's not a superiority of: "my" people write
language in a... oh ****... now i remember...
the best comparison comes...
like this project of twinning towns...
Havering was twinned with Ludwigshafen...
the ****** language... lodged between Russian and
Deutsche... neither... the best alliance
is with... the clarity and sensibility of: Japanese...
that's the closest i've come to compare my mother-tongue...
Japanese...
   it's the clarity of syllables... of actual letters...
sure... Japanese has restrictions on its consonants...
since they have to be coupled with vowels...
except... why is N no ******* unique?
i could understand H... from the Hebrews...
since... that's a vowel catcher of sighs and eh?! conclusions
and a vowel generator of: ah ha ha... i.e. laughter...
so... what?! the Japanese laugh akin to...
Ini Kamoze's: here comes the hot stepper?
na'h na'h na'h?        oh: wight... no trill of the R...
no rattle-snakes back there...
i guess you could laugh on a Na (sodium)
and No (know very little)...
      next time i'll catch myself laughing i'll ditch
the H and borrow the ン (N)...
but... hmm.. weird... Sejong the Great might agree with me...
something's up...
i'm itching... now... Korean makes more sense...
to hell with the Chinese skeleton... x-ray...
hieroglyphs... ideograms... brick wall:
too much memory gone to waste...
        no phonetic clues... just enough geology...
pressure... time... erosion... to memorise...
   not going to happen...
  that's why you're never going to invade China...
but something is up in Katakana...
if N (ン) has such a unique place among / apart from
other consonants...
that it has the same sort of status as the vowels
(ア) A or (オ) O...
海 - kai... ocean... phonetically dropping the ideogram
("emoticon") you'd get: カイ...
but if N is so uniquely placed as an A...
why... would you require...
       to merge this unique consonant with the unique
vowels?
      why do you need this?
ナ ニ ヌ ネ ノ: na, ni, nu, ne, no?!

isn't N unique like the vowels that it can stand uncoupled
with vowels? so... if it can't be stand-alone akin
to vowels... why keep it: "unique"?!

ン   ア   イ   ウ   エ   オ

   fair enough... i'm far from Japanese... but i still don't understand
why you need to disfigure the unique N by a vowel...
and i'm trying to figure out the logic...
how, for example:  ン + ア = ナ...
since... exactly... since...
                         there's no equivalent to the N + A = NA
for any other consonant in Japanese...
there's no R + A = RA... since... there's no R!
no really... let's see... RA: ラ... ア (A)...
              so... what's the R? it's almost like a diacritical mark

laughter in "anime" / ******: ハ ハ
) (                   close enough... but if the H is invoked...
how does A morph in "opposing" chiral, mirror?
   ア? ア + ? = ハ: ha... ha ha... ha... eh?
and the obvious restrictions... consonants take the lead...
when fused with letters...
you can't find AN or an AM or a AT in japanese...
you can only find NA MA and TA...
- if i'm going to become prone to dementia in old age...
sure... then... i'll travel to Amsterdam and
juice up on some chew of a handful of magic
mushrooms... a reiteration of how fungus hitchhiked
the money brain... but not until then:
i'm good... on this linguistic plateau, for now...

- lessons from yesterday... H'american women are
insufferable... apologies...
i can understand tight yoga pants... flick of the hair...
exposing... or rather... exfoliating in one's peach
*** physique... but dressed...
it really makes all the more sense to align oneself
with the Muslim women... i truly: truly abhor this
current... libido insomnia... which implies...
by the time i get some: i don't want it...
which means... the pattern of going to the brothel
to get a hard-on... i need to exercise in short exhausting
bouts like a boxer... i need to ******* without
actually ******* for a few rounds...
and i need to drink an aphrodisiac like white wine...
and then i'm good to go...
    
we've been so overtly sexualised we've become...
sterilized by overexposure...
i'm serious... perhaps the NIQAB is not so much
about female oppression but...
to ensure the male libido is kept intact: focused...
since... men become easily bored if there is no
existential stress... we tend to ******* and pursue
**** like: geometry... linguistics...
yeah: "bored"... no... we find alternative avenues
to cope with life...
       and by a common demonitor:
we're no adherents to the doctrine of Darwinism...
most of us would **** for the Copernican focus
of reality... but... this whole idea of passing on
our genes? sorry...
even i see what sort of men pass on their genes...
passive men... mediocre men...
humanity has made Darwinism unnatural...
**** Germany tried the orthodox method
best associated to Darwinism...
why did it fail?
  like that Matrix quote from Agent Smith...
people... people... just enjoy misery...
it's what makes them thrive...
populus... populus... fruor miseriae...
                                                    in miseriae illi vigeo!
i tried... to accomplish "something" worth the dignity
of calling it: human... personally? i can only attest
to... mengelegeschrei! kinship...
                  it wasn't worth it...
                  trying to love people is one thing...
it's so disturbing doing such a feat...
the whole inclusivity project...
   when you don't have exclusive rights to one person...
maybe only swans figured it out...
but... it's so... ******* chimp-sour...
so psychologically backwards...
             i'm not even irritated, disinterested or... stressed...
calmly, collectively... backtracking...
i'm getting bored of this libido insomnia...
   what if i were to showcase my underwear bulge?!
that would be deemed as ****** harassment... wouldn't it?
i've seen messages on the tube...
LOOKING... ooh... you look at some in a lecherous mood!
handcuffs! handcuffs!
               TOUCHING! can't i... touch you on the shoulder...
so you might... move aside... while i get off the tube?!
handcuffs! handcuffs!
      this society is beyond rotten...
rot is rot... it's... fermenting... into something
that... whatever propaganda the Soviet's would have
envisioned to throw at it... couldn't...
it ******* self-imploded...
   no no... this is a full-on self-implosion...
         you wish there was some post-Soviet involvement...
there was: zilch...
          
what was once the Soviet Empire... is not modern Russia...
oddlt enough...
   i'm so thankful that i spent over a month in Russia
and never once switched on the t.v. mind you:
i was in a "relationship" with a girl who told me
her grandmother was her mother..
and her mother was her sister...
   and she was still bangng her ex... with ties to
the government... blah blah...
faking having a period... but i thought *******
a woman on her period was all bonus?
fleshy crumbs on the ******...
   fair enough... i'm not sick on the sickly sweet bits...
i'm like a crab or a crow...
i pick up leftovers...
             but my eyes truly dim... the iris and the sclera
disappear... all you can see is the pupil...
when... libido insomnia over-exposure kicks-in...
i just stop thinking straight.. usually my mind is built
for vectors... geometry... but....
when i'm getting teased too much...
this is teasing... let's face it... and... i can't get a hard-on...
what would most do? a violent cause...
i don't think we're asking for nuns....
      we're asking for Black Narcissus types...
the tragedy of overtly sexualising men
into a future of impotence...
  while... deeming women: overvalued and...
            doomed to an existential failure of
single motherhood...
              it is a failure! there's no romance to speak of
if... she has a girl or a boy token!
and the socialism... the Soviet propagandists would
have never envisioned such an easy future of
argument....
capitalism will not fail out of ideology... if it is going
to fail: it will fail out of biology...
men will become so isolated from women
that men will... as men do: stop spending...
because they will not spend money on women...
why would i want to spend more than i already
spend on a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of pepsi and
a packet of cigarettes?
why? huh?! eh?!
                 i don't need to look "pretty"...
                   i'm already ugly...
                       reality dissonance... it's vibrating!
it's ******* vibrating! it's like: hum hum hum... humming...
insect wing flutter... coupled with KEISHA's song BLOW...
well... because the last time i cited
listening to
  COMBICHRIST... the girl blocked me...
      sent to destroy... it's such s nice... song...
  well... manner... tastes... one can't oysters all of one's
life... whoops... which is like: whpe + slippery + oops + i slipped...
ah ha: ba n'ah n'ah!

ad mors facio tuus venia!
   toward death: make your pardon!

The Duoverse being thrown from its entrails from Vernarth's mouth, an objectual free fall is noticed after disengaging from the quantum Universe, rather than an illusive cacophony that unfolds separated from their bodies in all dimensions, except Verthian time, alluding to to stone him to ignore himself in agony and return to look for him to revive him as a Light-Space, in the presence of matter reflected from itself, which will unfold throughout the Hellenic chapels, from Kímolos to Tsambika, to make the curves the direct passage that it bends time again toward a divided dimensionality. Barefoot was the apostle next to Vernarth in the three quarters of axioms and mathematics, where the conceptuality would overcome the low calculation of what already ministered by them. Creating space for lapses in the dreamlike staircases, with Topaz steps, in this particular case of Saint John the Apostle, "seeing open heavens and angels of God going up and down on the son of man." Here are illuminated some sidereal Solar glitters that have nights for a sunny day, Vernarth resting on the side of the Monastery with a stone on its head and dozing to dream like Etréstles in the Hexagonal Baptistery of the Shepherds of Ein Karem, but of the compact sweet of the famous luminous Cinnabar ascending vertically where the Yahvic Being, who was presented to him as his Abrahamic patriarchate nexus. Endowing him with celestial dreams on stones that inherit west and east and noon to the north, in a space of dreams of Jacob's subconscious, which would make him materialize descendants but when he returned to the spaces of Yahweh again, but as a reflection and space, dominating the essence and leitmotif of Etréstles in the Cisterns fleeing from the Praetorians, but at the same time from the Hexagonal Primogeniture very close to them, perhaps in the fourth mounted giga camel ..., in another instance, returning to the site of the successive Yaveh, to anoint oil on the small stones that slept in his primitive remote consciousness, in whose hippocampus stones were propelled between Bethelem and Ein Karem for the office of residence of lineage and Hebrew-Aramaic, still in property of luminance of ascending and ascending transit stairs. descending lineage, in spaces that were born from others but from flat structured ideals, but with cubic tendencies towards a quantum linear metamorphism, in phases of alignment and synchronicity of existences and pastoral dreams, embodied in the paternal visceral of the evolutionary field of the Zigzag Universe, relating the chronology of Etréstles in the bell tower of the baptistery with his poisonous incompassionate dream that upsets the period of chemical nightmare and hallucinatory Jacobin fantasy, rather than rudiment of his nature ..., poured out to his Brother Esau of internal lineage and of curved change of psychic permutation.

The pointer of an autumn night showed conditions absorbed in the successive bars and bastions, bustling in cylindrical temporalities, with escapes of internality and vertical externality, detailing dynamics of ups and downs, but with empty hands, towards an expected magic that moves the span like a Laser maneuvered from origin to destination, external and internal, absorbed in its entirety by the uncoupled Universe in its entirety, delivering it to the Duoverse in metaphors of lights after others uncontrolled, boasting about Venetian ultraviolet lights over crystalline copper bite waters, and overwritten in the plates diluted from the canvas of graduated pigment, but with drops of sweat of light and white water that were reflected around the perimeter of the monastery, enveloping them in fragments and greenish fountains, to the satisfaction of the luminous pictorial ligament. It is thus detected as a timid but decisive reflection pointer of space and reflection, which includes fragments of spectrum and tonalities of machine unconscious to raise the Duoverse in a depressive day of scathing moment.

If I Didn’t Have a Name

what would you call me? If I wasn’t attached
to a person, as a daughter, wife, mother or friend
you couldn’t say this is so and so’s daughter, wife,
mother or friend. What if I didn’t have a job or

a hobby? You couldn’t say she does this
or that. What if I didn’t even have an address? You
couldn’t say she lives there. All of the spaces would
be blank, because there wouldn’t be anything to fill

them in with. People would wonder about
such a person like this, unhitched and uncoupled. Would I
still exist? I would still have my thoughts; I would still have
my brain. I would still be me, the same.

Dispense sing with fidelity blithely agog
just me and mine dark shadow
slinking along outer limits of
the edge of night doth blog
passivity, the path
of least resistance ohm my dog,
shocking voltage amply
surges an emphatic YES,
verboten fruit adrip
with succulent juices as eggnog,

a legitimately valid
reason and rhyme to flog
reprobate yours truly
figuratively doth emasculate,
thee catchword to extricate
being emotionally hogtied
warrants immediate attention,
regarding consummating series
of prurient disadvantageous
née self destructive events.
  
The best idea to expound upon,
while attempting creative
exuding genital intonations to jog
all mein kampf,
I felt like a bump on a log
please... don't be hesitant
not to reserve judgement
towards this miscreant husband
whom identifies himself
as a dirt Poe imp of the pervert
analogous to rumpelstiltskin fable

whereby Lothario wannabe
boasts stud deed fallaciousness,
whose noggin of mine
shaped as an egghead
topped off with pinhead blocked nog,
one aging long haired pencil neck geek
never reached maturity forever a pollywog
until froggy went a courtin'
into marital quagmire
woody ******* did slog.

More clearly, plainly and succinctly,
one groveling, non-feeling, and sniveling
poor excuse for masculinity,
(and upstanding laughingstock
regarding spindleshanks),
I continually experience
unrepentant (unforgivable)
humility, futility, and disrepectability
hence lame justification
Matthew Scott Harris
sought adultery, cuckoldry, effrontery...,
which unwise choices attempted
(pun intended) to fill a void

****** propensity linkedin with precepts
attributed courtesy Sigmund Freud,
though skepticism skirted
shirked getting caught red handed
sneaky shenanigans employed
barenaked lady ******* psychoanalysis
downplayed, or Oedipus complex
shrugged off Fountainhead (heavier imposition
versus Atlas shrugged) fails to bridge
(do not as Kwai)
any heavy mettle alloyed
within me psyche,
and windmills of my mind.

Handy dandy blues clues
existential mid life crisis
lacked absolute zero justification
why yours truly fraught
with hormonal secretion
embarked on warpath for concupiscence
gallivanting, frolicking, engineering
foot loose and fancy free
sabotaged matrimonial covenant,
whereby I regularly posted and answered

personal classified advertisement
with popular Craigslist website,
thus no surprise when presto digitation,
I met gal headquartered
in Coatesville or Downingtown;
she drove to Evansburg State Park
rearing to tame bucking bronco (me)
quashing, invalidating, contravening...
conjugal contractual obligation
renting asunder mine vocalized vow

to remain faithful thru thick and/or thin
seeking alternative ******* opportunity
feeble minded excuse
regarding irreconcilable differences
a vague catchall phrase
antithetical contrary to pledged troth,
embarking on maiden voyage
nsync with barenaked lady
partaking moist and meaty tender vittles.

I feebly attempted to compensate  
for dearth of absent teenage
Ninja mutant turtles
reptile brain and brawn bravado
investigated dating app experiences,
thus violated wedded vow think tryst
I yearned, trended and jump/kick started
Casanova paramour wannabe
years later subsequently
regretted quintessentially philandering

utterly disgusted at my illicit behavior
and negligence neglecting
attentiveness to offspring and spouse
forswore doting upon then
high school age daughters,
rightfully thee eldest one
(born 12/22/1996) still ******
and compromised, jeopardized,
and undermined paternal priority spawning
selfish prurient dalliances,

I das scribe, how now
brown cow objectionable
frolicking courtesy Sly
And The Family Stone
payback a *****, cuz
I feel in funky (flunky) mood,
verses when scads of Earth orbitz ago,
(round about January
two thousand and ten)
he profusely kissed

mouth of other voluptuous
(zoftig) older women
(consensually, flatteringly, indiscriminately)
and amazingly, kindly, thankfully... enough
in due time spouse did willingly insist
to forgive, boot never forget
long since discounting
divorce from wife
nevertheless, remaining thermally uncoupled
mandated unconditional armistice

eventually note hissed
matter of fact I dreamt
at time these lines penned
(then earlier today that May twenty ninth
two thousand and twenty two), the gist
regarding soldier of self made misfortune
toying and tinkering harming self
casually eyed sharp pointed objects
offered especial attraction
pondering hoop fully connive fist

(cuffed) around handles of cutlery
at primal, gonadal,
and brutal predilections
now... finding very little reason to exist,
hence understandably dissed
(until death do me part)
unbridled love and apology
toward thee missus and progeny,
who forever did blacklist
writ blood ginned curses
with will.i.am blackened barbs.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
thus very little paternal
(filial) love expressed
and she chose to live yonder
Oakland, California
her then temporary dwelling
no matter, her papa
blatantly confessed depravity
YES, more'n his eye did wonder.

At present petty coated junction
non petty irreparable schism
doth rank as horrendous
on par me adopting fascism
forever sullied image ("daddy's girl"),
who once thought the world of me
selfish misdeeds done dirt cheap
buzzfeeding swelling egoism
no more how enlightened I became

ex post facto, pure unconditional acceptance
refracted light risqué behavior thru prism
where primary parental accountability
not satisfactorily explained away courtesy
Darwinism (to con seed genes), nor chauvinism,
whereby ever since time immemorial
repentance will forever be belabored
by me flagrantly disregarding monogamy
courtesy hardened libido
making mockery and travesty marital covenant.