the enzymes that dissolve tissue,

they break down , and lose potancy. luckily , back in the swamp there is an endless supply of toads to ingest.

i took one just a few minutes ago, actually.

that is the food chain at work. somewhere sround here, perhaps by the biohazard dump, the plays grow a a bit more hostile. but the snails eat them. they do not mind. the take up the detritus and the greenary and slither on, becoming more and more toxic. the toads do not eat them to pass the time. for that they have other forms of entertsinment. no. the toads eat the venomous snails, and become nice and juicy. i myself mix business and pleasure whenever possible. i take in the snails as they become integrated in the toads’ abdomen. them and their precious toxins. the purple ones are the most succulant. what sets me apart, from these lesser life forms, is that i know what i am doing. i know i am taking the toads, and that their poison is of a certain kind, and i certainly know and plan for things. the.toads.go in the belly, and so does the wonderful poison.

having armed myself chrmically, i begin my own hunt. hoping that i can find something to devour.

good luck trying to get ahead here without this sort of thing...

many years hence,

a lot will be gone,

but teeth will still trace,

the ape of this ground.

he walked , erect,

a big cranium, mostly empty,

and his teeth much reflect

that he found diet tempting,

he chewed much, this slob,

and gave too little thought,

his mid-torso, a blob

cogitate much he could not.

the dentition reveals,

his obscene taste and greed,

he favoured long meals,

and tanacious to feed.

went extinct it’s for sure,

he could not stop the fress,

and for hunger , a cure,

his attempts were a mess.

we do not regret,

this bipedal’s lost story

and his fossil erect,

by the lavatory.

The grass-like leaves,

line the dividing wall,

drinking up,

all the sunligh they can get,

despite everything.

despite, despite.

i wish that I,

covered in filth,

and smoke,

of passing cars,

would be as calm,

as strong.

but i break ,

and the cars drive by,

boohoo.

loser,

‘despite’

is not in a loser’s dictionary.

the disturbance spreads,

and ripples away,

as the fatso paddles,

alone, during the lunch break,

in vain attempts,

to lose all that marbling.

the green of chlorine,

can not be seen,

but it fails to hide,

a hint, lingering,

of the morning swimming class.

the skyness of the retaining walls,

and the beige of the ceramic tiles,

marking the lanes,

and the fatso’s blue trunks,

and pink skin,

he’s the only one that sees my color,

though his goggles fog up, the idiot,

he’ll give up soon, they all do.

when times are lamentable,

lacrimose or just hard;

my baby turns down my offering,

my city is quarenteened,

and i run out of steam,

or the droplet between my ears,

makes faulty commands,

eating an orange,

before brushing teeth,

inserting the zipper,

improperly into its twin,

it is good to wind up again.

i take the silver key,

with its square catchment,

and insert it carefuly in the hole,

hidden behind my right ear.

the relief is noticable,

and i ticktock and rattle,

until the next time.

now, a choice i recall:

‘young gentlman’ said my wardens,

back in my youth , at the swamp,

’eat no ferns,

no trolls with lice

and turn that

wind up key but thrice’

an admonishion,

by those who read,

the owner’s manual.

they were all worried,

you see, winding the gadget,

is a risky business.

turning too much and the spring,

will overload or weaken.

’an overzealous dilettante,

has no future,

where shall you find,

an honest blacksmith,

to repair the damage,

you have wrought?′

the warned.

by highschool i learned,

to think for myself,

and turned the key dangerously.

i turned it three and a half,

four, five six, and so on,

you can imagine the wear.

now, i have come full circle,

too much depends,

on the controlled release,

so the kinkspring i stress,

only when it is unavoidable,

and according to the specifications,

i find other safer forms of self-abuse,

to keep my mind at balance.

the key is tarnished, and scratched,

i only hope, that if i ever lose it,

i only hope, that if i ever lose the key, only hope, that if i ever lose the key,

it will be possible to find a substitute.

the raised asphalt stretches,

a punctuated arch,

the trucks go by,

some stop to tilt the hopper back,

some lose their cargo,

held by hope alone.

the drivers step out,

to smoke and assess the damage,

or manipulate the hydraulics.

under them,

the steam and mist merge,

a hidden revelation.

upon the stagnant liquid,

the long-legged stork marches,

she knows where to tread.

she eyes the residents, with concern.

I slither to you, my love,

my olfactory bill, richly reward.

oh, I have been here long, waiting.

i move slowly,

letting the fog overtake me.

cautious of making a sound,

as I scrape against the mold,

careful that the discarded,

sheets of nylon,

will not betray me,

as a tambourine.

But I am too late, alas,

as the amphibian bastard,

snaps its jaws shut,

I can see, that you look at me,

and your eyes say this to me:

you saw me coming, long ago,

you were waiting for my approach.

but it was not meant to be.

in my caution, i let my rationality,

win over my hunger,

and so the five-legged toad, has you.

his venom is faster than mine,

but his teeth are much smaller.

I am sorry,

I am sorry.

the mist rolls over the water,

and the moss,

and the bloodworms,

that come out crooning at night.

I’ll shed a tear for you,

but it stings so..

After hatching,

between the ruptured cannisters,

and the leaking barrel,

I slithered helplessly in the mirk.

such is the way of the swamp.

many who hatch , in fact,

never reach maturity.

others become degenerates.

the temptations are too great,

the orb of the angler newt,

the games the arachnids play.

I won’t say,

that I came out of it unscathed.

i lost many tentacles along the way,

and my red glowing eyes,

are less then they once were.

but i learned the golden rule,

the one to keep or lose it all:

when in doubt, there is no doubt.

follow it’s simple logic: if life handed you a moment, when thinking fast takes you a certain way,

follow it’s simple logic: if life handed you a moment, when thinking fast takes you a certain way, when thinking fast takes you a certain way,

when thinking fast takes you a certain way,

when thinking fast takes you a certain way,

when thinking fast takes you a certain way,

when thinking fast takes you a certain way, when thinking fast takes you a certain way,

know, friend, that doubts you feel, are memories of patterns.

little arreys of shadows, that you recognize, but know not from when.

it is a distant memory, that warns you...

stay away, fom the hungry newt,

keep your eyes erect.

you may not have enough time for constructive analysis , to catch on to the gaping jaws that await.

live, friend, live. to eat upon the angler newt, when your day comes!

the glowing blisters taste so sweet...

the packet, a thai import, opens,

and you take one out,

hold the emperial yellow ,

before me,

i am now paralyzed,

by the anticipation.

I am a sick bastard, and no help.

the jackfruit releases its odor,

sour-sweet, rotten,

nothing like it.

you do not give me the piece,

you do not.

you do not.

you walk around , come closer.

and chew the crisp fruit in my ear,

i hear glass breaking ,

a tower collapsing,

dragged and crushed,

to shards and splinters,

between you molars,

you work slowly,

and i can hear every chrystal shatter,

and my hairs are rising,

alert to the terror,

that is a lobe of deep-fried,

air-dried,

chemically-treated,

cruelly-processed,

mechanically-packed,

mandibularly-chewed,

sonorously-masticated,

tropical fruit.

honestly, I know now ,

that I am insane.

chew on me,

like you do the snack.

coffee is expensive in china. i do a really strobg cup in the morning. i need the jump.

coffee is a faster release of caffeine and you wouldn't want to meet me if i didn't get my fix.

but as I drink my morning cup of ambition, i fill.the thermos with strong tea.

tea is cheap in china. it is also full of caffeine. but releases it slower.

I don't do teabags. I get oolong leaves.

once, a friend invited me to a teashop of a friend of his.

we tasted different kinds of tea, ostensibly different parts of just the same mountain. apprently you can taste the difference.

I couldn't.

neither could I sleep for two nights after.

so to those who pick a side- how you get a proper dose. an unstimulated life is not worth living.

for those who talk down at those who disagree- I say, if your choice is so great, how come a billion peoplw choose the other?

people divide the human population into two groups. the criteria of division changes. they will say:

the people that like ‘the old man and the sea’ and those that don’t.’

‘people that can enjoy a drink, and those that don’t’.

but I know the true division. it is sad and sobering.

the difference between us all is between those that can place an exact time and date , when their childhood ended, and those that had it slowly trickle down, until they became adults.

I know where I stand. I can tell you when I stopped being an innocent child, started being a grownup.

it’s a sad story, as my group of people’s tale always is.

I

you see, friends, I used to love elephants. what isn’t to love about them?!

what negative thing could you possibly say about a massive animal, that is kind at heart, always careing, eating bananas joyously, reaching out with it’s trunk, for a gentle touch, flapping its ears, like philodendron leaves.

I remember how I particularly enjoyed walking round their enclusure in the zoo. my parents urging me to move on, and that my brother wanted to see the leopards.

leopards? who wants to see them, when you have elephants?! I would say , part angry , part incredulous.

you guys go on ahead, I'm staying here.

but then I grew up and learned the hard truths of life. Santa doesn’t exist, neither do witches and wizards.

and neither do elephants.

I know, you laugh. you say “what took you so long?”

if you can believe it, I held on to the dream all the way up to grade 7. I probably started to have doubts earlier, but it was a school trip that did it. we walked around, bearly restraining ourselves to NOT throw the potato chips to the monkeys and the hotdogs to the tigers.

and then we reached my favorite part.

excuse me a second, i need to take a drink. my mouth's getting dry just talking about it..

so there it was. i saw an “elephant” resting. it is said that elephants seldome lie down. but there is a reason why. as the elephant was at rest, i could see the trunk, from the underside. the glorious trunk thst so dextrously holds all kinds of things. and that my mom even allowed me to shake once.

it was draped in such away, that you could clearly see that it was an attachment. by some careless missallignment, I could see the seams withwhich it was connected. a closer look revealed similar high quality stitching behind the legs, and the ears.

dumbo was as real these ones were.

after concluding this inspection, my heart beating fast, i stood there, gaping. there was no magic anymore, only hard reality.

it's possibly for the best that i got this wake up when i did. age 13 , is the age of manhood. not a child forever again. I needed no rite of passage, just a school trip to the zoo.

oh, they took us back, and onviously this was the last school trip organized for the zoo. from then on, we went to grownup places, like the fire station, the power plant, the air force base.. places that we should hopefully catch a glimpse of a future career.

never the zoo again.

I now realize, that it must have been more for legal concerns: what if another kid discovers the truth and flakes out? we'll get sued!!

now, friends, I have a doughter. sooner or later I'm going to take her to the zoo. I have goosebumps. how will I tell her? how can I keep her innocent?