The devil is
what the devil is
the devil does
what the devil does
why blame Diddy
for what one accepts,
the cravings of a shallow ego?
Hollywood-fame comes with an
industry price
sort of like sitting on a subway
seat, where last sat a commuter
covered with lice --
Imagine it today
a rag-tag procession
two-three million souls
advancing northward
Mt. Sinai their goal
A bearded prophet
leading the way
leaning on the staff
he waved yesterday
When lice swarmed down, locusts, hail
Egyptian first-born at midnight dead
Pharaoh sent forth a wail
his subjects in mortal dread
Israel reached the Sea
her joy turned wary
trapped ‘tween it
and Pharaoh’s pursuing army
Then brave Nachshon
of Yehuda’s tribe
walked into the waves
setting the vibe
The waves parted
the sea split
Their path charted
Israel passed through...
You may not believe me
~ but I was there too
Charlene has to have everything new
New light fixtures, new carpeting, new furniture
She tosses out six-month-old couches as if they are lice-ridden
I see her dragging things to the dump she had to have two weeks ago
Charlene is never satisfied; she tosses husbands out too.
Or they leave, screaming. We will never know which.
What they don’t tell You
What the recruiters tell you:
“Be all you can be.”
“An Army of one.”
“Fly high with the Air Force.”
“Join the Navy and see the world.”
“Be the best. Be a Marine.”
“Join the National Guard and get an education and keep your job.”
Things recruiters leave out:
Watching your friend(s) go home in body bag(s).
The dirt and sweat.
C rations, K rations, MRE’s.
PTSD, suicides, drug addiction.
Limbs lost. Traumatic brain injury.
Bloated, decomposing corpses.
Dead men, women and children.
Fear so intense you soil yourself.
Lice, sand, dust, cold, heat.
The stench of death.
Families torn apart.
Long road to rehab or death whichever comes first.
I can’t fit inside this lock
I can’t fit inside this sock
This hole is not meant for me
Body stretching out from me
Out of sync
Misshapen link
Wash the ink out in the sink
You went day and I went night
I went left and you went right
And everything just looks so wrong
I don’t understand this song
I am way beyond repair
My liver’s pulling at my hair
My neck is biting at my tongue
My leg is choking out my lung
My hands are fighting with my heart
My pieces mixing with my parts
I’m a jumble mumbled mess
An uneducated guess
I went no and you went yes
You went more and I went less
All tied up and all stretched out
I got lupus I got gout
I don’t fit into this mold
I’m too hot and I’m too cold
I’m lopsided and askew
You went red and I went blue
I went one and you went two
And I don’t know what I should do
Fool me once and fool me thrice
But now I’m chewing on the dice
Rattle brains and saddle lice
Grip my shoulder in a vice
Two thirds left and halfway done
Three makes ten and nine makes one
Now you’ve got me all confused
Now I can’t fit in these shoes
I think that I went too long
I think that I went too long
clinging
three beggar-lice seeds....
housecoat
What can I say to a flame, except that I knew of its spark when it was just a mere flash?
Would I say that I knew you were here, but only to start a certain level of malice!
You rose up into the sky like a mighty chalice!
I might even say to the flame that I knew were going to be large enough to succumb to a bash!
Oh mighty flame how do you dance with such a gorgeous sash!
Oh my how do you make me train harder by getting my hand to have a callus
Are you sure that your initial spark was meant to bring inside of me such a malice
Sometimes, things are things, or they are a Freudian phallus
You are the flame that makes my heart go to mash
You are the one that makes my mind burn the overbearing malice
Dear flame, can I hold you, as I walk through the valley of lice
Become my strength and be my whip and take out my enemies with a lash!!!
I knew of your spark as a mere flash!
Let the enemies drink the wine as they move in a frightened DASH!
Live head-lice thrive on Peter's crown
Head's itchy it's making him frown
But young Peter's no fool
Dunks his head in the pool
He's hoping all the critters drown!
I like spiders and I like black ants.
For fleas and lice, I take another stance.
Sometimes, I wonder if they admire us.
The same question goes for a virus.
Neither foolish fleas and lice, spread by mice,
Nor black ants and spiders, heed my advice.
Disgusting dirt and dust cannot defend
Against a vacuum cleaner's business end.
I'll add one more stanza in this edit
To give that nasty virus credit
For being both invincible and mean
And evading vacuums - COVID-19.
Quetzalcoatl, Moloch, NASA, SkyNet, poisonous satellites
in pink and green, roam
The Earth, raining reversed
Rockets of the bloody fountain
Discord of the Deep hordes,-
reins in reign of 3 "3 of swords"
and flowery deceiving words of their-
Anti- Trinity
Bot blinks in analytical tink
Tinkerbell grooms saloon for victims,
exposes lice and the heat
Sprays foul graffiti on your door
Hentai, monsters, expletive leech
On all fours, vomitous speech
Aries horned worm Moon covers the Sun
Like black sack-cloth of hair
It turns to blood
Beheaded worshippers
Tailgaters of Ephraim
The Verdant Valleys given
Unto Black Weddings of Days
The head roams and swims
Free from constraints
No unified body
Rockets shot at the eclipse
In passing
They defy resource's warning in lieu
of their Marshall unveiling, to propose
Wages of sin- pay for commodity
Bot flashes till shut down,
ERROR, ERROR...
Honesty's the best policy.*
Tolerance is hypocrisy.
Does the peace of mind lie in this:
"To be in good terms with the friends
And tolerate the enemies"?†
Oh, no! It's but mere phoniness.
The lice of a frank, fatal foe
Are far nobler than a fake friend.
2.23.2024
Notes
* An English proverb
† Proverbial lines by Hafez
No comments, please!
To put it poorly,
You are the taste of chocolate
And the pulse of being high
Of caffeine running through my lungs
Of screaming towards the sky
And to put it even poorer,
I know a bird who cannot fly
A tiny owl, pink toucan,
A gray parakeet named Lice
To put it worst of all,
My veins are reddish, not-so blue
Just like the eyes of eight odd faces
Or the skies midday hue
But to put it stunningly,
So beautiful and true,
I have a coriander brain,
Coral grain and ghastly blue
“Mice” is nice but might be called “mouses”
if a couple is next to a screen
and there is no screaming from me
except in excitement at my selection.
That Razer Viper V2 Pro
so light and quick under my palm.
Point, click and scroll with complete control.
Sexy as that is, mine’s plain old gray,
like an old man in a squeaky wheelchair.
And my guy started the whole shebang
when he started the mouse wheel turning
in my mind. He said he was taking mice
to India. I chortled at the thought of two
as well as the word choice. How cool
that I can pound on a tablet screen
to ask “the boss” the proper way.
Improperly, the internet replies
that both are right. How can both be right?
I just know my guy is wrong because
the opposite means his wife is…
I can’t even say it. Mice or mouses,
marriage lice or louses. Scroll wheel
turning, turning, turning and “Proud Mary
burnin’” daylight, agreeing to disagree.
*lyrics by John Cameron Fogerty
A percentage of me has to hell been consigned
by the ever raging zionists' war machine.
To each livid soldier, a mandate is assigned
to uproot terror where multitudes are confined.
Torrents of explosives have swept my landscapes clean.
Churches, mosques, schools have all to mighty vengeance bowed.
Stricken mothers wail uncontrollably aloud.
Itinerancy pervades my horror stricken crowd,
whilst my kids toy with explosives, carnage and ruin.
Survivors will take shelter from snipers shooting
death balls and lead from peevish and portable guns.
Horror unprecedented the people outruns.
I have metamorphosed to nothing but a morgue.
Lice and bugs have infested hoodies lined with borg.
Disease and maimed limbs have no remedies in sight.
Let not the world be unmoved by my sorry plight.
Why must I this price pay for a thousand or more killed?
My morgues are beyond their capacity filled.
The deaths of innocents are nothing but unjust.
My once-populated streets have been turned into dust.
A nitpicking chief isn’t nice
Takes away work’s sugar and spice
Labor can chug
Without a boss bug
Since we’re not the ones who have lice
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