So, Mister Campbell, and his mate

 times two.

God,  thirty year'nago.....

Now the problem with those European lands.... 

Is when you've got a 'connected'

 (GOD ALMIGHTY IF I EVER HEAR THAT FAKE WORD AGAIN

I CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR.....  DROWNING THEM IN THIE ENDLESS REFRAIN

even she her briancells brainwashed 'flowed' away

by every ferkin word every day

to make them seem all sweetly Pretty Parker

the fake version, "have a nice day"

and forty ferkin years

i harked her.....

And still do.

Never mind the Englightbulbin' dark materials

can't listen even number one bard

" best ever song, you've all never heard

the word picture behind his perfect grotesque

 facade, but the picture will never die

no matter how hard

you try"

Anyway poor LA Belle France never had a chance

Despite their splendid "allez [fuckin] vous en" lore

I was told in bed,  by a native

speaking "thats the worst insult it means you are dead

tomee....

just go away....

True insultulative poetry

no need for ranty rudeness

just.....allz ....vous [polite] ...en

But there was always something a billion times more pestilent

Whether at fancy Sheraston City Squire hotel or menaderin by tent

Mine.... she even that night maybe nineteen ninety one or two

just before they were to get all " well we'll start a bigger genocide on you!"

A dark winters Belgrade night... 

America... she rings my bell

 or it must of been me her no signal all a bit fifty  years behind on thattoo

" do you mind if i marry him.....?"

Anyway fast forward a few years backward into well what was the point?

"Our book.. all that tooin and frowin across our pond.."

 

But an honourable friend of course stays friend even after the one best ever friend goes and befriends someone else, matrimonially....

And of course on their European tour

"come knock at my door, all three.."

the weirdest ever few days,  her the once sylphest beloved  sylph something of a fatty

but thats mutable, twas them the two men

every other word about their stupid little hightech flasks of coffee

, and minimalistic purity... 

fingers as if playing some virtuoso orchestra

i still remember Bill's 

He used his to "summon the dead"

The sweetnew American used his to herald the death..

of everything pioneer ... 

that infected here

with the obsession fingerplayed compulsive disorder

new order

just fooling around with their space age new age coffee flasks

Now thats a word picture worthe never forgetting

as i know is what the fine Grens over the water really need jeejhaddin'...

but they hadnt a clue

whom they were really up against and what to do...

but i did, or rather....

that's exactly the whole point....

Forty years ago nearly to the day...

I wandered out of a hotel in their Big apple and met the most innocent and perfect trio...

That is the whole of it

Bright eyed ...innocent

Boondock babes

No question of all that biblical bashin

(we wont talk about the gun under Margrets pillow) 

 "it never worked only good for trashin.."

The one perfect one, and all.... 

every quark wasting time vibrationally buggin'

 " Im the REAL fundamental particle"

stuck  between the ineffable  next reality 

and this one  not even visible magnifically

" fuck...i've only ever met one, definite article.."

 whom could never be remastered as perfect in every  original mistress of now, and we....

are in fact the product of every greatest bit of culture...

and kindof ignored Bowie....

(up the wrong  dead end local Cave

 but his two dead kids perhaps one day will speak, freely

of just what a tosser, 

of kids of cliffs, define: loser )  

Anyway Mister Bach's progeny.....

And her arty sister, taught me.....

Every single thing those Europeans missed....

One problem though nobody could know

Especially me innocent limey

The only one who ever truly worked her way into every smallest quark-vacant nook and cranny.. 

the lacuna between mere stuff,

subatomic unseen

  and forever ineffability

Thing is its impossible to put it into words.

(even if i would discover a decade later

flippin eck for all those fancy rockets and destroyers

they cant even make good housepaint for me to fix up christ-o-biggot towers... )

Why is it that Americans seem to only ever have a sell by date?

A "sell you down the river" ... 

sticker on their bum, as unbridgeable as that River Plate...

Every decade or one an' alf....

gotta runaway and .... tear 

up the loveliest and truest  photo of who they were

 

and quite sure still are, inside

and must Forever hide