hello goose my pope is dying

its world war three

and the pope’s half deed

leave a breathe in the air

by the muddy rinsed geese

we share the animal

experiences:

hunger, etc.,

fear and sleep

so, umwelt notwithstanding,

i feel you deep

it is such a shame that our communication with animals is so inaccurate, or at least, hard to verify. sometimes the dog brings me a toy though, and i think, aw, she saw the toy, and thought of me. came to find me. i exist in her internal world.

and she exists in mine. here i am writing a blog about her. rip the last pope.

n.n. the sailor man

you worked so hard for for that,

you said when i ended.

that’s all i want from life –

my struggle commended

a delicate elbow

cannot be diminished

i’m just like pop-eye

but i don’t eats me spinach

hello welcome to march, the month that’s also an instruction. a good month for spring reasons. but not my favourite. that’s may, the month of invitation. a lot of the poetry this month is goo related. snot. snails.

i start the month by plagiarising myself. i love, adore, plagiarising my worst lines. i once recorded a song with the couplet, ‘i am much sexier than neil kinoch, i’m tougher than pop-eye, but i don’t eats me spinach’. suffice to say, that song wasn’t a hit. also, i did eat spinach regularly at the time. i don’t anymore.