Sorbian, meaning, tickling the armpit of Germany
in terms of what's the desired encoding;
the variations of person:
            čłowjek (upper sorban)
               cłowjek (lower   "    )
     čovjek (croatian)
                           člověk    (czech')
człowiek (polish)      clawak (polabian)
              człowiek (kashubian)     človek (slovak)
                                 człowiyk (silesian)
         чoлoвік (ukranian).

' well, there is a little misunderstanding with the
  czech caron e (ě), mind this later.

yes, the peasants spoke more softly
compared with urban sharpening of accents,
so that you knew that in urban areas South
London has hardly Hackney Cockney,
and never Richmond, like Essex never spoke
good Yorkshire -
                             so they sharpened the letters
and that translated into involving accents
to later be abused -
                             the recipe? yes,
i was cooking Ukrainian Borscht today -
apart from the fact that Borscht isn't exactly classified
as a soup, a Borscht is a *Borscht,
   it transcends the category of being a soup,
just like rosół transcends the same category of being a soup,
           it's a very fine version of what is otherwise
chicken soup -
                            and as a critique of western cuisine?
why are all western soups like puree? they have
snot consistency, they ever never see-through -
they're all ******* creamy, like toddle-pulp of mauled
faeces - as if a bird feeding its chicks with regurgitated
products - eastern soups are see through,
floating bits you can see, a bit like the sea turned into
a Narcissus clarity. let me tell you,
the nurses love hearing the answers to the questions:
do you do any exercise?
                 yes, i walk everyday, once a week a take on
the miles.
             do you smoke?
        i try to fit within a packet of 20 a day.
do you drink?
                   only on alternative days.
        do you eat your five-a-day necessary ration
of fruits and vegetables?
          i don't like fruits... i avoid them...
vegetables? sure.
the basic ingredients of an Ukrainian broth?
        carrots, beetroots, celery, parsley root,
potatoes, leeks, fibre: green broad beans,
                   mushrooms,
                         red borscht concentrate
           white borscht concentrate for the sourness -
garlic.
                             (base? chicken, salt to taste).
well, coming back to the czech variation of the word
person... i feel there's a need to somehow find
diacritical uses coherent -
                                  i can only see it as
the nakedness of the original phonta (variation
on quanta: a specified sound being encoded with each
letter) -
                      it's diacritical marks akin to punctuation
marks and a few mathematical deliberates -
                  e.g. caron:
                                                        z
                                                      š
the z is invited to be applied to the s to make a shush
stress -
                                       arms wide open looking to
the sky for manna from heaven -
soon enough and y and j were confused with
yaks, tetragrammatons and some Spanish conquistadors
named Jesus - whether jumping or yanking the
shortest straws while sitting in a kayak -
or as Jacky said yards ahead if himself -
                   for every Jew there's a yew tree blossoming.
              there should be a rule of law stating:
only such and such diacritical marks to be applied
to vowels, and such and such marks to be applied to
consonants - but, evidently, this is not the norm -
             these are not merely unconscious accepted
aesthetic consideration, when i was being taught
French at school, i was never taught that
    ê (circumflex e) does as much damage to pronunciation
as does the è (grave e) - i.e. the circumflex is binding
the two letters in-between the stressed vowel,
while the incisor e with è cuts the word off when it's used -
              so the caron (mathematically more than? i.e. >)
  asks pleading to the skies for a letter to balance on?
   and the circumflex looks to the earth to find the seashells
and pebbles?
                             as in less than? i.e. <     ?
i rose above language, i rose above spelling because
i decided i could say to Bukowski's claim of genius:
tie your shoelaces before you talk to me:
simple as simply said: whatever lessons in life
i have to learn i'll learn them by my own accord -
               being drunk in Europe is the norm,
as is prostitution -
               last time the police booked me for drinking
i wasn't there... last time i talked with the Bulgarian mafia
i went back to get my debit card back,
            the **** showed me a wallet with 100 or so more
credit cards, i said: none of these are mine...
          the police cruised pretending law abides to the
standard imposed by politicians...
                   prostitution is fair game, but
keeping the girls contrary to self-employment is abhorred....
            me? i just don't do the dating scene,
should i be harrowed from that hide & seek of western
society's women woefully fishing? can i?
i can't be bothered with the games and the Geisha.
                       - you reach the proper level of appreciation
when you start to ridicule your heroes -
                                  you overpower them,
there's no point brown-nosing them with excess over-quotation,
you brown-nose them for a while, but then the gimmicks
begin... and they know it to be true:
    i' peg down Mr. B like anyone critical of getting an
education: learn to spell, and punctuate, and tie your shoelaces.
       you can't let them get away with it... those dumb-*****,
you can't: we all have a sad story...
    does anyone give a ****? m'eh... probably not.
it's the part when he says he read philosophy
but never bothers the ideas behind into a narrative:
                                   with him your end up *******
before Sophia rather than ******* her...
                        you have to **** her at some point...
                  no point ******* women and simply
******* before the deity -
                  better nothing ******* women and not
******* before the deity of worded fertility -
i was brown-nosing him for much too long...
                 whatever he said in his defence,
i'm aiming to capture the imagination akin to ****** addicts.
                      and that's hardly a feat to undertake.
so yeah, punctuation marks and some mathematical marks
above the Latin... Greek went wholly toward the Cyrillic -
oddly enough a Persian, Cyrus, entombed it into the strength
it possesses, rather than some Saint...
                                        so if i'm a loser at considering
myself a citizen of the world... what is Syria to me?
                                               Syria to me being Anglo-Slav
is:                    when Ramses destroyed Syria...
            don't come here with Westminster, please don't,
leave it out in the open with the paedophiles...
                                            i'm a citizen of England,
not of this world: you keep concerns over Syria where
you're at... if i can't be a citizen of thee world in a world
of globalisation, don't include me!
                                    diacritical marks, punctuation
alongside mathematical Copernican -
                                             yes, umlaut and the colon:,
what's the list? an extra oh... the latter phrase for
          omicron.
                                               Boršč or z z (zed zed)
             or h h (tricky, hay hay? ****** ******?
                               hatch hatch?)
            evidently the pronounced: shoo!
                                                        stinker that one:
given z morphs into h when given s or c...
                                i guess it's easier with      šč,
                   a.k.a.           shch...
and the most frequently asked question in English?
(by the middle class), how do you pronounce this?
                   you know why gangsters don't attack
educated people?
                           they love the fact that people made
the effort to learn reading and curtail other peoples' efforts
in changing perceptions -
                  for me it was always about being taught bad
French and rewriting the laws of stress -
                       i'll never understand the caron on vowels:
sure, the French makes it assured to make the circumflex
and the grave accenting above vowels synonymous...
  &

she speaks of hills
from times passed behind

of cloud capped tops
and snow capped peaks

can't we go back once
where wind stole my stole
and you chased down the wind

clouds dipped to see me blush
as you wrapped my heart warm

can we go back once

the yaks may still be grazing
time may still be standing

by chance.

I.

A louse in a house
or a mouse on a blouse.
A bell that goes ****
or a gong that goes ****.
A gap on a map
or a cap on your lap.
A drink in the sink
or an ink that stinks.
A spleen on a screen
or a queen who is green.
A bow in the snow
or a crow that glows.

II.

A wash or a whip,
a lip or a lop,
a top or a tip,
a car or afar,
a bar or a war,
a door or a snore,
a bore or a nail,
a flail or a whale,
a run or a bun,
a sun or a moon,
a spoon or a bus,
a fuss or a sigh,
a cry or a cheer,
a fear or a smile,
a while or a pen,
a den or a cat,
a mat or a hat,
a bat or a glass,
a vase or a weight,
a mate or a fork,
a cork or a mop,
a cop or a stop.

III.

Apples and artichokes, ants and antelopes,
bees and beers, books and brains,
cucumbers and chimneys, ***** and coats,
dogs and drains, dots and dominoes,
ears and eejits, elephants and exams,
flies and flutes, files and friends,
grasses and guts, giants and gyms,
horrors and hiccups, horses and hills,
igloos and irons, irises and idiots,
jumpers and jackets, jodhpurs and jellies,
kings and kettles, kites and kittens,
lions and lamps, lemons and lunches,
mums and monsters, mosses and moths,
noses and notes, nightmares and needles,
oblongs and orang-utans, organs and oranges,
paintings and pennies, ponds and pants,
quiches and quizzes, questions and queues,
rainbows and rings, rascals and rabbits,
snakes and sprouts, sweets and salts,
trumpets and trains, tables and toasters,
umpires and ukuleles, umbrellas and uniforms,
violets and vests, violins and vials,
wheels and wings, windows and weeds,
xylems and x-rays, xylophones and xysters,
yachts and yoghurts, yards and yaks,
zigzags and zephyrs, ziggurats and zombies.

He holds the tiller
of the boat with
his left hand, white
pants and tee shirt,

boater just so, and
the young dame there
reclining to one side
dressed to the nines,

yakking away, hat
plonked on her head,
him thinking of the
one that got away,

his arms stretched
out wide kind of fish,
the other guys so
impressed when he

said, but the dame,
all she yaks of is how
long it for took her
to chose what to wear

and what went with
what, and does my
*** look ok in this?
or she talks of what

one of her next-door
neighbours said or
did or didn’t do or
she yaks of shoes

how she saw this
pair to die for O,
she says, you should
have seen them,

my eyes were oozing
eyes of joy just to see
them, but he, letting
her words drift by,

thinks of the boat he
almost bought, the
one he saw in port
the other day, god

how he loved it, the
size and colour, the
way it was set out in
the water, floating

there, bobbing slowly,
like some beautiful
dame ready for the
off.  Sea breeze moves

the boat, wind shifts
the sails, she still sitting
yakking, her lips opening
and closing, fish out of

water kind of thing, he
wonders why he brought
her along, why he didn’t
set sail alone, the whole

horizon of sea and sail,
and not her constant
yak and miserable moan.

Once in my Universe
All the things were
Missed

I was Created
By God's Will
Forth intact

Fulfiled with an innocent fleur
I Created Playful
Bountiful Place

All the joys and sorrows
Were Missed

There was The
Abundance

There was a light laughter
Of ignorance
Of hardly recognizible indifference
Of not knowing Poles are Axed
Of vague rememberance
Of  
Which is          Arctica
Which is          Antarctica
And how to go there                                  Magic W. . . .
Yet I had a technicue to reach a central core of Divinity
Yet I've heard about Shangrila and
Yeti
&
Yaks portruding with knited chimes
With wide reasonable heads watching
Extremly enchanting Dragons floating
Effortelessly alluring to the beholder's
Navigation
By The Cloud
By The Thunder
By Resonance
By Imagination
       Coming True
  The Child
Butterflies were landing on my arms
And I was a Mighty Director
Of my Dreamland  Dying
With every second
Not knowing

once upon a time,
a doctor told her that her heart was broken.
a war drum with a worn-out head,
just waiting to bust.
now her nightmares of heart-attacks haunt her at all hours;
she hates knowing that she's destined to beat herself to death.
she's never felt this worthless.
lately,
she's been wondering what drownding feels like,
she never thought it a topic to ponder,
but the water makes her feel so free.
she'd so much rather rest beneath the waves
than sit and wait for her engine to fail.
maybe she should fly more often,
tossing back tiny bottle after tiny bottle
of six dollar whiskey,
fingers crossed that they'll all fall down into the sea.
she'll sink if she tries hard enough.
a heart condition translates directly into
"incapable of loving, or ever being loved"
in her eyes,
so why ******* try.
now she burns bridges like roman candles
and shells out all her cash on any day that rent isn't due;
no point in holding on to what you can't take with you.
she stains her flesh instead.
words she only wishes you'd have whispered in her ears instead of stuffing them into envelopes,
her favorite flower,
and a hawk feather,
for whatever luck she can get.
sometimes,
during her morning cigarette,
she laces up her sneakers and bolts,
as fast as she can in any direction,
just to see if her heart can take the heat of her heavy feet skimming over the street.
the engine in her chest revs loudly,
like the car of a teenage boy.
they're all little boys-
she's a woman.
she's pretty positive that everyone cries at night-
even the dogs and the crickets and the birds.
we've all got nightmares,
hers just happen to seep out and taint the daylight.
what she needs,
is to befriend the monster under her bed.
he can feed on her inner demons and stitch up her heart with his glaring smile,
and hazle eyes.
in turn,
she'll share her bed
and now and then,
he can rest his head on her chest and translate the siren songs of her unsteady pulse.
she needs a ******* friend.
one who always cares instead of a good few who only ocasionally pretend to.
someone who's more than willing to walk a few blocks to dollar beer night,
and braid her hair for her while she yaks in the trash out back.
yeah, something like that.
it's her heart,
not yours.
or yours or yours or yours.
but her's,
and it hurts.
it races all night like nascar rednecks who pointlessly drive in circles for hours.
don't tell her how to fix it,
or not to worry,
or that everything is going to be fine.
it's not.
it's her heart,
and it hurts.

Benny's the new boy
in class
he sits at the back

with some kid
called Rennie
while the teacher

Miss G
yaks on
about Schubert

or some feller
putting on
some LP

as they sit
and put on
interested faces

the girl who
smiled at him
on the school bus

is there
looking over at him
beaming like

a new sun
her eyes bright
as fresh stars

he looks
at her briefly
then looks away

storing her eyes
for some
other day.

May nature always remind me of You, O God, whether it’s

Ants scurrying industriously,
Bees pollinating flowers indiscriminately,
Cats luxuriating in the sun lazily,

Dogs romping together enthusiastically,
Elephants trumpeting triumphantly,
Foxes slinking sneakily,

Grapes in my mouth, bursting deliciously,
Hay drying aromatically,
Icicles sparkling brilliantly,

Jaguars pouncing energetically,
Kangaroos carrying young tenderly,
Llamas wearing dinner ties sportingly,

Monkeys screeching gleefully,
Nuts roasting over a fire temptingly,
Opossums pretending death silently,
Pandas chomping on bamboo incessantly,

Quail bursting from cover explosively,
Rabbits multiplying rapidly,
Snakes eating prey irreversibly,
Tigers snarling viciously,

Underwater springs burbling unceasingly,
Vultures circling patiently,
Wasps defending hive notoriously,

X-rays enabling bones to be seen easily,
Yaks chewing placidly, or
Zebras running wild and free, beautifully.

Mental health of yours truly
heavily reliant upon one selective serotonin
reuptake inhibitor named fluoxetine (Prozac)
aside from countless
(approximately seven) other
prescription medications kept
stashed in a plastic tray
until one or more taken at least once
or at most three times daily.

The wife flush with grand ideas
to gleefully, playfully,
and zestfully pester me
dreamt up a new fangled game,
whereat she moves
fast as greased lightning
thunderously laughing
her dexterous hands
airing maneuvering feints,
either replacing and/or removing
drug containers;
(some with caps prone
to pop off with relative ease
versus others with child protective covers
even though our progeny -
deux darling daughters -
long since emotionally, financially
and spiritually fending for themselves).

Though childlike said antics
exhibited courtesy the wife
analogous magician eliciting "****"
prestidigitation her wrist flicks
her reputation to wield
sinister magical powers rife
as a graduate of Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
she ranked as an outsize force
with legacy legerdemain legion
instantaneously kickstarting
irreversible incantation
finding me transformed
into a nasty, short and brutish oaf
with little spindleshanks -
think toothpicks for legs -
reigned on from tempest in a teapot
while seeking cover under
lee side tulip tree leaf
comfortably numb nestled within kloof.

All around me
symphonic quiescent overture – heard
maestro Kant imitate
tryouts starring musical prodigies
and/or an attendant conductor
attempt to approach ambient chorus
divinely exhibited from Gaia's handiwork
heavenly invoking kapellmeister
magnificent nonchalant outlook
piquantly, quintessentially,
repertoire sensately striking
unmatched vast wisdom
yielding zephyr air albeit creativity
engineered from groundswell harmony
juxtaposed, kindled, linkedin,
manifesting noteworthy
opulent philharmonic recording
transcribing universal
veritable webbed wide world.

Wunderkinds yield Ziggurat
acme approximated asymptote
bequeathing celestial
Doppelganger Earthly emulations
formulating fractal glinting highlighting
ineffable joie de vivre jostling, keen kindling,
la la land legerdemain lifting logic
lording Ludwig (Josef Johann) Wittgenstein.


Yelping zoological apostle
Al affidavit Gore handily
heaping hubristically invocation
jolting kickstart measures
nipping nixed noblesse oblige opera
quickening quotidian
rapid ruination sans supreme
teetering upended venerated wise with acumen
arithmetical Benoit Mandelbrot
chasing far-fetched ideas
lightyears menacing nihilism
purging ogres opportunistically  
resplendently ripping
revered tankard tipping unstoppably
vanquishing varietal whipsawing
wonderful wrapt yawning  youngsters
warfare written wrought  
yanking zestfully crushing environmental family
granting Herculean instant karma
malevolent, opprobrious pronouncement
quiet riot silencing severely
tragic ubiquitous vicious wreckage
yik yaks apemen cleft Earth.

Future foragers denounce
capitalistic bamboozlers aggression
zealots wrought trashing
quintessential naked kingdoms issue
flotsam coagulates zonal wastelands
torquing quality NON
killing habitats Earth bleached
yellowed voodoo ruins.

thru truckloads of his personal communiqués broadcast
(methinks quite some years ago) across world wide web,
but now still smarting from selfishness, I feel quite aghast.

Yes practically every word
needs be overwritten with bleep,
nevertheless, an intimation doth arise
regarding me-an utter creep,
whose abominable banality, deplorable effability,
horrible insecurity, miserable notoriety...
impossible mission to expunge
indelible impression wrought upon
kith and kin, their rancor
towards me invariably runs deep.

A veritable desert storm sweeps across psyche
of one humbled wedded wordsmith,
who derived vicarious testosterone laden pleasure
attempting to arouse adventuristic, cathartic, ******,
gymnastic, idealistic, kinetic, monopolistic,
opportunistic, quixotic, sensualistic,
unproblematic, and wholistic desire.

Upon scrolling thru mine
quite *******, sordid outdated
personal classified advertisements
herewith follows mild mannered random sample.

...though in me noggin go wah wick it tee whack
*** i ham bull across mental railroad track
ah bet cha, u probably hit the sack
perhaps after quaffing ample liquor on the rack
perhaps daniels jack
or **** king a drag to ease the frack
king beau wows - whether
yar special prince charming white
or orange is the new black.

poetry n prose trademark tagline
of non rugged Scottish tar tanned Matt
whose seeks emotional covalent bond
with a gentle electronic sparks fur us to align.

I use words to hew as doth an ax
cuz, this man haint wanna
re:sieve any mo' cracks
hoop ping newt to induce any flax
wassup - u ax well just wanna relax
n enjoy ******* 2 the max.

'Though principle balance
accounts compounding interest
to pusillanimous po' paw
span more'n one direction set
724 numb bored abode
west o old railroad tracks
don't cross less b *** human co slaw.

thus police try knot 2 judge me
though yar mind i might tax
via the following human
healthy (nada hedonistic) nirvana
pardner 2 ride gingerly
as if...among pacman
with his oxygenated yoked yaks.

I lived west about a doze zen
***** dire strait deeds
done dirt cheap miles
from center city Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania), where tapped kidney *** freeze
and saw no email nor any text message
e'en one replete with **** n ******
cuz I wanna u2 to hear
inxs of imagine dragons snorting
on verge to sne...snee...sneez...sneeze
possibly allergic flirting with amorous tease,
whereat rolling in the hay induces wheeze.

I recoil with revulsion absolute zero excuse
touting ignoble, horrible, fallible, execrable...
extramarital misdeeds sabotaging
marital fidelity courtesy
fostering illicit relationships
with veritable females,
who possibly found me feeble poetic antics
docile, juvenile, nonvolatile, ultravirile (ha)
bemused, cajoled, enticed, finagled...
at overtures sporting Casanova wannabe.

The cleave of your thigh is perfumed by something I am allergic to.
A large hit to my solar plexus for going down on you!

Custard-blonde tendrils dangle before me like a field of yaks, grazing tentatively upon your ****** back. Lately they have been tumbling out spectacularly in clumps of fibre, forming barley or shellac-colored runes in the shower.

While cleaning the drain, mistakenly I touched a pale Daddy-long-legs, crushed into a polka-dot, and let out a deafening scream for you to stomp on its itsy-bitsy corpse till your footsoles wore brick red fishnets. Then, left with only seven legs to lift its rear, it’d gone down like a ******.

After gazing into one’s lashless mung bean eyes, I think I am going mad as the house flies who pivot into glass to pass their time, self-contained and distended as ostrich eggs.

I mull mortality
thru lens crafted occipital orbs
regarding a better future
experience sing a space oddity –
whar incessant yaks
exuding a big hurt
emanate as cosmic atomic
bipedal hominids replete roof lee wax
during a foggy day in London town
despite current requisite vacs  

in nation, with no win intent to tax
earning income sans
new career in a new town
sacred gaia,
boot merely regale bing alive -
till death rattle racks
breaking rocks
on a small plot of land –
named abdulmajid
this hue man vesicle

honking duck dine hasty billed quacks
trumpeting as absolute beginners
*** ping toot trumpet
sum dimming sense n sensibility cashed;
screaming across the universe  
gnome matter whirled wide web
tattered like worn school packs
scattering fractal moonbeams
african night flight
scouring virtual briny deep

satiating hunger after all
sans respite from stressors 2-tha max
ending after today at al alba
finds me caught up
in global game of thrones
listening as dueling banjos
play alabama song
cosmic forces play bingo or jax
keeping aladdin sane
while mortals on earth join
fine null scene grim reaper as final acts.

This then bryn mawr clowning bozo
belting out algeria touchshriek anthem
haint no wah shaky spear butta rip peats
living virtuous like all saints
moss lee same old epithet via matt speak,
comprehending all the madmen
which maxim (or similar facsimile thereof)
generating kickstarting optimism
among all the young dudes
attributed to bard of avon on stratford;

reaching renown when almost grown
e.g. rose by any other name....
embalming owed grecian formula lovers
always crashing in the same car
much ado about nothing
amazing amlapura and amsterdam
couched in binary granules viz badinage,
interlocking rem cycles
during an occasional dream
literary espionage donned
as persnickety persiflage, quite lame

convincing brilliance
to whit, and I say to myself
eventually...all's well
that ends well sans this game
reveling like any Warhol –
tripping anyway, anyhow, anywhere
of thrones - n this yahoo
pledges allegiance n fealty
during the post world war two art decade
within parameters of cyberspace
cuz crest o kinship I aim.

Ike kin only imagine dragons
drooling n eyes glazed o’er bleacher
blitzing the madding crowd
as the world falls down
than lovely bones re:
unique scrunched ****** feature
burning down the house ashes to ashes
twisted countenances wrought
by this motley fool sought after
baying plaintively baal’s hymn
(der choral vom groben baal)
by men in white coats attired

as paparazzi equating lecher
rocking cradling baby –
envisioning baby can dance
us content; misconstruing
sensitive uber up lyft ting preacher
entrusting me - baby it can’t fall
cooing baby grace (a horrid cassette)
a generic garden-variety **** sapiens
doting with radiance
as baby loves that way
special to self n family
as a funny sunny teacher.

Credo i.e. to confront
fear of flying as netizen,
pinging pacifying patty cakes,
which iz baby universal
pardon jeffersonian airplane droning
twittering like n angry bird
shrieking that the referee backed a loser
echoing sagacious life lessons whey curd
ballad of the adventurers
(die ballade von den abenteureren)

congeals shape shifting simian
with pliant plinth gird
trebling melodic scaffold fueled band intro
shorn in various n sundry
couture hair re: styled swiftly tailored
flying needles clattering with a bang bang
harried styled uniform
far from versace clothier - prices absurd
holding wrongly incarcerated
behind bars of the county jail

boot issued from
rosy gun metallica sound heard
describing the battle
for britain (the letter)
evanescence of beauty -
these words written by aging nerd
hoping for thee to be my wife
from mine kempf noggin
each n every nine inch nail size word.

HEAVENLY STANZA INTERRUPTION ONE

Back approximately half my life ago
dissociative disorder
if qualified to self diagnose
mein kampf psychological state...

I lacked emotions where others concerned.

That refrain replayed itself,
when wife picked up
(like a broken record),
where parents left off
before they entered
another dimension
(maybe the fifth)
of space and time
(hosted courtesy Rod Serling),
where yours truly (me)
repeated until blue in the face
don't hock my chinik
to the missus lest
a potential crime scene
draws The Mod Squad.

Though she ceased reiterating
magnum opus of colorful epithets
towards me, daunting effort
well nigh impossible to ignore
daily USDA over dosage
stinging derogatory, heavily re: tar did
psyche stunted, wrathful
verbal artillery fire remains with me
to this moment in tandem,
and keep lock step company with malicious
noxious obloquy pilloried,
quotidian rate sundering unsung
vitality within zealous
aspiring bookish chap.

Daily eruptions
from glowering Hercules
inundated, jack-knifed, linkedin
fin de sic cull nursing offal
personal quaking resentment stewing
toxic watershed unleashed veritable,
red hot wrath, undermining vivacity
within yawping seething, tormenting
uber vitality wreaking
yours truly x ***** she hating,
killing motives of papa querulously,
rabidly scathing, terrorizing

sole son, who for better
part of marriage underwent
lighter version of invectives
cutting me down to size,
asper zero self worth, though
calmer days prevailed between
 huzz-band and spouse, yet nonetheless
indelible imprimatur undeniably
etched overtop palimpsest
raw hide of self esteem.

Twas quite recently,
this heir indubitably coaxed sea legs,
more so regarding self acceptance
felt emboldened,
empowered, and emancipated
from invisible shackles
bounding (akin to Gulliver)
a dire straightened situation.

Thru auspices of divine help
(then Lower Merion counseling offices)
professional psychiatrists
psychologists quelled
retaliatory spiteful treatment
upon banshee hushed heads
(high school peers,
parents and fiendish ghoul-
lash humans) intently joyously kindled,
lamentable mean name calling
(though sticks and stones
ne’er hurled venality broke
lovely bones), the sheer redundancy
to remain passive
internalizing verbal cut throat,
villainous wicked yik yaks zapped
ambition to fight back,
and desire to live.

Characteristics against cross purposes
predated onset of bullies took delight
feigning Brutus Maccabeus
lashing at diminutive, harried,
and introverted Capricorn
incessantly lambasted, ostracized,
and repulsed from LivingSocial
hermetically sealing within bubble wrap,
could not thwart nor deflect
piercing poison tipped daggers
puncturing outermost covalent shell,
reminiscent pock marks from yesterday.

Though cessation of banal, devilish frothing
at mouth nastiness no longer prevails,
an inordinate number
of bumped ugly chronologically
bereft experiences, detached, estranged,
fostered knee-**** reactions
against socialization, brought
to light this moment
pregnant revelation no need
to discern what cauterized alienation.

Seeds of white lily
begot ordinary individual
(now middle aged male
lxv passages around black hole sun)
accepts schizoid personality disorder
born free and clear
within utero bolstered
by external forces
finds me aware essential core being
alive absent til death do me part.

It must be the nights that run into each other
or the days that pass by me when I can't be
bothered to dress,
there are too many reasons to reason with

and
I walk away from them all.

Someone asked me the other day,
what was I doing now?
I replied,
'gone Buddhist and bought some yaks,
making cheese which I sell to the
Trappist monks'

that didn't impress them,
so glad
that I never dressed then,

things will change
or I will,
not sure which is my will
yet.