"I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe" ~ Sir Philip Sidney

— The Irish are the [*******] of Europe, lads. ~ p. 9. The Commitments by Roddy Doyle To say this word is racist, in a word however, to whomever it applies exactly this word, James Stewart, you ask Ireland, The Irish are the n-word relax, I am not Black, but James Stewart in a word, believes rhetorical lies suck shit and die, he cannot run, the task honestly, is too much for him, Slim Jim as for libel, even slander, depart rest assured that bitch was never my friend except, none of you are either, so there theta, eta, psi, omega, the end honestly, Ian, you cunts were unfair explicitly, uncool, unkind, and dim now, to drag Roddy Doyle into this mess in a word, I quote the author, one line given without asterisks or brackets given freely in eighty-seven, guess everyone spoke freely before I met relax, Jim would have to admit a fine suckers, a Black man with no soul, rackets of non-self, anattā, the Buddha spoke for even the Godfather of Soul, bet Europeans love...

One Nation, indivisible, except now when no one is looking, under God even He, like Justice, turns a blind eye Nothing but the Gold Standard to accept as, without principles, changes the law to imagine, in a bog, digging sod if the poet saw his father, goodbye onion field, hello murder and true crime nothing but the changeable, a crab claw until history shows an ugly face no one cares unless it makes them angry divided by ideology, grace enters to sweep away the ghosts, hungry relatively unsettled by deep time

Speed, obviously [...] Such is our perceptions to confer joy particular within the emotions expressing effortlessness, hawk in flight each to their own, delusion is a toy difference in our opinions, no debate only agree to differ, the oceans build up slowly with lies, to our delight views change, though El Niño climates remain idiocentric rhetoric, checkmate obviously, I lose the argument understanding the dead poet, her words sound even for logic, tritones augment little hawk, noiseless, predatory birds yet, I argue for poetry, pea brain

Dead drummers go to heaven or hell, dear Decidedly, to practice for decades each to their own design, their body type accept the conditions that precede life death arrives without forewarning, in spades drummers are born, I am not a poet relax, the muse wakes me when words are ripe unless, old Doktor Faustus , full of strife my dreams died when I sold my full drum kit maybe it was never meant to be set each to their own, as constellations form relax, stellar nurseries from the start sole purpose is to shine, inside the dorm ghosts of drummers past, who lay down their art on skins or heads in beats, primeval wit to heaven or hell, dear, a metaphor of course, in bad faith, was my intention how to write a poem, wake up from heat each to their own, I ask, what is the score as repetition builds, difference makes versions of the real within detention each to their own, I met Alan, we beat nearly everything together, until old school brothers move on from all the fakes ...

Never mind the woman with perfect feet even if she appears in a movie venues and nightclubs with tequila shots even if she remembers me, how sweet realize, I am a broken machine mindlessly full of thought, fool me, groovy instantly, the universe, full of bots never mind boys assaulting mannequins dial on the radio, never so mean that I could no longer talk or take a walk how around the block, what everyone knows each to their own, pavement covered in chalk work until practice makes perfect, wind blows over flowers left in the rubbish bin man, symmetry in the body, unknown as a professional, I laugh to see noiselessly, the wind blows past the glass pane windows provide transparency, deep down in the basement, more shoes, try on and run the woman with perfect feet, smiles at me how, for a moment, I feel quite insane pretend that I am not just an old man energy dissipates, no longer fun realize, for other people, the joy found in a connection, she and her friend e...

On the Hotel Red Line, nobody cares nobody gives a damn, choices once made that we try to make the grade, that we try however, how to help if no one shares each to their own, forget me not, a trace How am I to know why some choose to fade objects in mirror are closer, we cry to watch our pets suffer, but homeless sheep each to their own, values from outer space literal misfortune, the sleeper car Relax, the mayor of Chicago got this except they never have, they no go far decisions to neglect problems, we kiss Liquid sunshine dazzle, people too cheap in this world we live in, oh, what a mess nobody cares, move on, time to go home each to their own, work tomorrow, money nobody gives a damn, I sneeze, you bless only the entitled, privileged to live but rarely to offer pilgrims in Rome old clothes, a place to stay, milk and honey decisions made, how did they end up here yet, what does it matter, who will survive careless, without a thought, not for others as life, t...