I got some things I want to confess
From an awkward nerd to a beautiful countess
You're more confusing than the Higg's Boson
I understand more the positrons and electrons
You're more complex than a polysaccharide
"Understanding You" is no book my archive
Why can't our relationship be a mutualism
Rather than the one sided commensalism
Could we be close like the tibia and fibula?
So close like the aorta and vena cavas?
To be close, I could only hope
Like uranium 237 and uranium 238, inseparable isotopes
Whenever I see you, I get the "kilig" affixes
Like the sour taste of citru sinensis
I can't get enough of your wonderful smile
It's like the taste of pentahydroxyhexanal
You might think I'm in delirium
But my thoughts are in equilibrium
You're the only girl inside my cranium
And this love for you is more precious than *titanium

The cavas has been stained.
Numerous times over.
With every stroke.
Every decisive decision.
Remains.
Then it begins to paint itself.
This so called piece of unique art.  
Almost all the white is gone.
Splashed over.
And again.
With more colorful pigments and hues.
Yet covering up the past with a brighter saturation.
Only hides what's underneath.
Until it dries of course.
Making a corroding concoction of congested collisions.
That neither the painter.
Or the art would ever understand.
And so the piece goes on.
In search of a lasting peace.
While forever in limbo.
Awaiting the day when a new sheet of cavas will arrive.

THE ARTIST WITH THE EMPTY CANVAS

i could never paint, he says, i would just have an empty canvas over and over again.

there was no vibrant color, there was no creativity. my canvas was empty.

my paintbrush was nothing but a brush with a ironic name. my canvas was empty.

all the paint stored up in the attic was all dried up. my cavas was empty.

then i saw a color.

the most glistening red i've ever seen. i didn't know my body was paint. i didn't know that my finger could be a brush too.

and on that night, my canvas wasn't empty. no, after that night, it was never empty.

this is how phonetic english
looks like,
when "concerned"
over a name of a capital city,
warsaw: var'sh'ah'v'ah...
albeit in the language of
the locals...
and once you leave the capital
city, and disperse...
   some sort of a sense
of sensibility and safety ensues...
before local,
   and primitive grievances
ensue...
   no, i don't think that god
is a delusion,
i think of it, being more akin,
to, an, ontological cavas /
framework...
   hard to bounce "the ball"
off of nothing,
with a self-
        precursor dynamic to manage
the...
                remnants...
mind you, some of us never
etertained the pleasurable
possibilities of ingesting
   "magic" fungus...
some of us had psychotic episodes...
oh you know,
rebellion,
counter to the narrative
of the soul,
"being", "imaginary"...
disorienating
counter-indocrination...
     from the current narrative:
the west is gagging
for former soviets...
  esp. the outliers...
  satellite-state probes...
grandfather was
a communist party member...
sing-along about
               appropriate?
            my allegiance to the "people"
of warsaw?
   zero or closer to null,
       the existence of a deity-entity,
scares me as much
as the bored capacity to
experience the full extent of
human freedom,
  without the latter,
having to infringe on the, former...
but i guess "you" like what:
war-saw looks like,
when reinterpreted by
the origin zunge
of the denoting name...
war-saw?
         var'sh'ah'v'ah
different,                isn't it?
warsaw? like any decent human being,
i tend to look at capital cities
as transit regions...
i fly from london Stanstead,
to warsaw Modlin...
i transit toward
     west warsaw bus-station,
i spot a few ukranians
by the bus-load...
i sometimes feed the sparrows,
i wait...
        some 8 pointer of
a pair of legs in heels and tights
and a skirt passes by...
eh...
            it would be fair game...
if i was readied to entertain
and a hard-on...
but since that is never the case?
an 8 becomes an ∞ ...
    geographic regions mean
anything, these days,
given the copernican apocalypse?
8 to the "north" and "south",
∞  to the "east" and "west"...

the lemniscate...
otherwise known in literature as,
something indicating a hyphen,
a shy hyphen use,
or an indefinite article: of pause;
oh look!
   a translation of the article
category... into fathoming
punctuation markers...
   a (indefinite article,
an indefinite allowance of pause: ∞ )
the (definite article,
a definite allowance of pause: -)

so there's talk of camaraderie?
ah ha ha... ha ha ha ha...
seriously?
guess why "we're" so futile
as to the regards of entertaining
war...
you see any glimpses
of camaraderie around here?
i don't...
    i never will...
point of "question"...
we're supposed to behave like...
good whittle children,
expect the police to defend
us with nothing more than
hand-cuffs and curbs on
speaking...
       after "control-management"
does away with deviation...
that, statistically serves:
both the majority bell,
      and the minority "flatliners"...

i didn't "sign up" to the use of the english
language, having to,
subsequently, pander to these
******* teddy-bear excuses,
rules,
these: *******-a-thumb
   while clinging to a ******* magic carpet...
no...
     whatever grievances...
and late:
more than late, stances on enacting
recuperations;
so... when the slaves were shipped
off...

   what did the african royal families
think of the whole, process?
thank god the whites
managed to get rid of the retards?
Zulu implies: kingdom...
so, it's not like there was no
******* hierarchy structure in
sub-Sahara lands before the europeans
ventured there for
   skin cancer and suffocating from
the tropical heat, was there?

it's going to be real hard selling
white shame to someone,
who,
   was born in a country,
whereby...
   you force me to fight, i'll fight,
that required both soviet russia
and **** germany to invade...
this... "this" current western *******?
i still think that wrestling with
a doberman & a rottweiler...
would instigate a more prominent
"nostalgia" narrative,
than having a *******
with two women -
i.e. ever jar your teeth against
the canines of a dog?
   **** me... *** and boasting
about it...
    eh... talk of mollusks:
   one step forward,
                             two steps back.

—por que cavas cachorro?
—por que siento está tierra fría
—esta tierra es fría, pero cavar no calentará tu cuerpo
—he nacido del fuego, soy un hijo de la tierra, del magma, intento volver a mi masa madre
—es imposible, si eres hijo del fuego, cavar te dejará sin oxígeno, y te extinguiras
—entonces viviré aquí arriba, y me haré sola, comeré sola, y tendré que hacerme una casa entre tanto frío, entre este piso blanco