The Means and Ways of Fiends

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The means and ways of fiends can daze: their ways and

means egregiously demean: they interlocutorily become

so interlocked with any-unsuspecting-one who undergoes

the grave misfortune of regarding fiends as ever capable

of offering an opportunity to intervene on the behalf

of anyone besides their sorry selves, there’s no

conceivable recourse to help them up to

a resource from where they shortly will

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have found they

had been forced

to sink: the path

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that fiends have lured them down to take, turns out

to be the last resort, the fatal brink, the final choice

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they’ll ever have the chance to make:

inequitous, iniquitously feckless and

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incorrigibly reckless, the foredoomed result of their

consulting with the fiends in whom they’d foolishly

believed – that they were capable of apprehending

ways, arrays, means and schemes and lazy dreams

to analyze the value of considering the value of a

value, and in the salutary effort of revealing just

what you had lost the nerve to macerate in the

equivalent of psychic salad dressing to take

further steps than you had once imagined

possible could infiltrate and irrigate the

three dimensions of the template you

were given in a glimpse of actually

factual reality, eons back when

the “oracular” had something

in it from which you might

possibly divine a voice

divinely capable of

outlining why

nothing was

escapable.

That that

was this

and this was

that, and there

had not existed in this

universe’s history the possibility of

granting or receiving the remotest hint or whiff

or tint, velleity, prosaic, coarse, sublime, or fine, of a solution

to the horribly constricted and afflicted systems to which, by our nature,

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we were doomed to know

we must incline.

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The Whole Banana Skin Calamity

https://youtu.be/0D8-jDU7Z6s

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He’d come to claim he knew

The Wisdom Game, the name,

the mercies and the dividends of

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which he knew could at his sensitive

direction lend an unexampled scheme

of glory to the World re: how to travel on

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and to and through the silver dream of

living with a minimum of angsty fuss.

He’d saved his money, bought a bus

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and had it painted green and gold

and red and mauve and cobalt blue,

devised a hat upon which perched

.

a two-beaked bird whose face he’d

made the icon of the Third Benign

Elective One to whom all countesses

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poured out their indiscretions as he lay

in waiting for the needy throngs to say just

how to right their wrongs. He could go on

.

like this for all eternity and then, right

after when, begin the whole banana

skin calamity again, again, again.

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How Ogres Flirt

https://youtu.be/9qHGIdii-ss

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What I would say if I were you, I’ve no idea, although

I must confess I am lasciviously curious to have a go

at being you, that is, to look and sound and move

like you while inside being me, thereby to prove

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no one will care who’s at the helm of your identity.

In fact the thrill that I might overwhelm your entity

with crude shenanigans that lewdly put you on display

as if you’d dumped your dumbass self upon a shelf to play

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an even ruder role than usual is a beguiling possibility –

I think I’ll do it! But – whoa. (Oh!) No, no. The imbecility

of what is likely to ensue as I eschew my body to become

the thing inside whatever you have done to your glum

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flesh and then to watch you take the likely copy-cat revenge

you’d carry out ineptly: climbing into my skin to avenge

the wretched mess to which I’d have subjected

you by torturing my soma until thoroughly infected

.

with your bestially unholy pestilence, so that it sweats

and stinks, offends like the aroma I recall abets

the awful rot and wreck of you that I’ll be caged in.

Now I wonder why in hell I’d want to have engaged in

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anything as sordid and unbalanced a catastrophe

as making me climb into you, or you climb into me.

So forget this letter, burn it. Don’t admit you’ve seen it.

Pretend I didn’t send it. Pretend I didn’t mean it.

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(Threats of a Violent Act are what sponsor

the virulent flirting of monster and monster.

But who said the point was to soothe?

The course of true love never did run smooth.)

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