well now, appears
sky is falling, water rising,
and hell is selling out.
sale bills going up;
all over the damn place.
devil retiring: some
south seas island with
a whole bunch of those
naughty females recruits;
tired of their worn out
good for nothing husbands,
laying around house all day,
doing a much of nothing.
fault lines determine
what, when and where.
MILCH says: this is not the end.
but those fault lines
keep crisscrossing
looking for poems to devour.
fortunately for me: my poems
much too bitter for most palates
to suffer upon.
all the world is an actor,
of some form or shape.
beauty and brains on fire.
now until the end of all.
rivalry between them and they
changes very little between
birth and death. oh, how
treachery crushes us!
those agendas, confuse and betray.
fantasy mingles in those
thoughts of betrayal.
justice will serve; the hammer
will drop, as it must.
in the course of an investigation,
half-truths shine in fabulous colors.
petty jealousies flare in genetic styles;
resemblance of dancing silhouettes
showing off their flaming plumage.
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