Sunday 17 March 2024

One Day...


In a glow

( and she has my handwriting, I have hers, 

" i define a human so: 

you read that 6.27 Reader,  and if at story end, you arent blubbing all the tears of a dead

 polluted sea

you wouldnt Be the ' human' for me")

That wasn't meant to happen

We speak and despite her closing sign

dangling to sever all our talk so clever

she lingers

She must know,

 i notice, her reticence to clockwatch and off you go.

So i go.

One day

At last! the lazy fuckers restocked

the paupers' pantry

Petrol paid for, over here

Walking back to atchin tan....

I saw her drive past, 

my large 'shopping' bag in hand

Two "humans"  facing one and other

.... fuck me you ( now) just seen The Sublime, in action the cherky runt

as  stuck up Oxford fellow  Babb - world authority 

on it but he could not finish book 3,


 said to me 

2019 " i cannot get the last words for what it is

except ' it recreates itself every day ..'..."

then the sour old self obsessed man

 not before time 

passed away.

looking up ' what is the name of the place a joust occurs?'

" i love that: jost, in Frog.. or bigword, hastilude

sounds fabulously rude" 

But what about the place, arena?

There we were facing each other 


towards each other

A narrow street, me by feet

Her protected in her armoured car

No one else... 

I saw her turning into the road

assuming long gone homeward

 to the husband " he never reads.."

Perfect, all i want is she sees me stood fully back up straight

marching on, a battle gait

( because we spoke of " keep on fighting, what ARE the books?!")

but i want her to see an ordinary person, too: ' shopping' bag, simple fayre for my plate

There are times when 

The end of my crusade, i know she knows

its me,

And i knew her,

 her numberplate already in my memory

and no one can accuse me of active lingering, a normally busy walkby street, 

just the thing!

for total anonymity

But none, in this ' now'

no one else

Her misty window,  and mizzle prettending, too,

to rain

i can pretend, we are strangers,

 i'm not one to carwindowgaze like the native morons 

nothing better to do than gossip and be in'human'

Pefect, i played that round, as a king ... Joster Supreme

I saw her, sizing up my gait,

but she thinks she was in her armour,  unseen 

And the next round of the timeless jost, can wait

Happiness, is knowing the kairos gods came along and put me there, then, for this perfect song

But whats it called!? that meeting place

hastiltude, bloody mouthful,  jost, word perfect, but the place?

that time immemorial lonely last 

alleyway, only two "human"s in the whole of Christendom exist

One will live, 

the other  pierced upon a  metal Pole

i have never known such a perfect word picture,

in one unexpected morning,  ends in this ' now'... 

And even more genius strategy:  pretend.. 

she isnt there

In the only two "human"s' fcaing each other..  usually busy, road 

we are not josters, 

but merely two book readers sharing brighteyed enthusiasm, who know of  nothing... of or   in real 

" human" life...

( even if she didnt blink " but my list.... fighting on, life affimation all very well.. but  gotta have crazed bonkers ' love' in there too, as nowt else worth  livin on FOR.... Gabriel Garcia ... the king of that... the homo Solitude book,  everyone else harps on about, bonkers sick, old hat.. 

nahh... Florentino, my man..!! gets his 'bird' in the end")

But then.. just digressing

 why so exhausting

One Day


" birds"


number two

two minutes

" shall we go for a walk then...i know the real secluded paths

 an axe murderer could do with me anythin' he wanted to, 

( yes loadsa London drugmad  relocated psychos even here!)

but as i too was raised mountain goatin' the hills of N Wales 

 i not afriad of a wimp like you...

anyway Dex, though small, and seemingly chilled,

you assume

 hes trained to savour jugular stew "


too much, One day, two real

 " birds" requires nine hours sleep

The only living in the actual Power of Now there ever was..


Now, todawn.... whats the word for  the place?

 two josters facing each other face to face... 

one may  not make it  Be yond this today

final meeting place

So Be it... the way  of silly man

ferrets just kidnap

 even their best freind for the rest of the year,  happy bedmate helpmeet snuggly warm  bestest two per woodburner friend

but come the ' smell' of sping is here

 ... two days kidnapped rapee hell

for her beneath

 his  locked jaw  "never lettin YOU go...!"

until the job is done properly

its just mating, all the varying forms, here there, animal, weird us.... here...

here, so whats that word... 

the ultimate maybe even last  face to face 



 ferk me Jeffry Babb you old rogue

at least you  did know, a sublime must be BODILY...

no mere notion, for showing off in wanky one dimensional Fakebook, society

 We exchanged lists, and ..

only two people know there is no crowd

behind the ropes of that maybe last meeting place

who could Understand ..  the thoughts of two " human"s, lingering, exchanging whatervering...  her turn, next....

 took us next, face to ( my deliberately, just turned aside)  face....

i know no better word picture to describe the  moment... 

But whats it called that narrow josting strip? 

really, it should Just be called 

only two sets of eyes  in the universe exist

one may soon  not

ferkin Oggle what a muddle

fingerin variants in s twoddlr

oh my god! those naughty Sublime division

 of the  hollogram designers

gone and made me, feel what only " human" can....

a shiver and a visceration all in one

its a ferkin