Poetic Pestilence / Or, I Hate Bugs!!!

I'm sitting at a desk, no longer mine, in a house that is no more, before me, a glass of wine, and a book I've seen before a journal, forty years old, my wisdom then, was somehow seemingly far greater and visionary, than what I have just now... there's termites in my floorboards, there's termites in my mind I need a good exterminator, to save me from their kind.... a package deal he offers, including soup to nuts, I told him very firmly, I am a poetry soup nutty putz.... you put a cockroach in my home, you'll see me burn it down... I hate bugs so very much, the mere thought brings me a frown give me mice, if you have to, give me termites if you must,' but put a cockroach in my home, I'll soon enough turn it into dust ticks should only infest clocks, fleas for a political refugee, bed bugs only for a mattress store, and ants to keep uncles company I'm afraid then to follow this logic, and think of what cockroachs intend for their encroaches just the thought of this subject, the disgusting world of bugs, makes me awful nauseous, with lots and lots of "Ughs"!!!