Do not go naked into the flames of Hell
Stay at home with ice cream on your tongue.
In the heat of the moment when Ire screams at you
KILL KILL KILL,
wipe that face off the devil
and smatter her to smithereens.
the man on Devil’s Island
He lives on
Why was Job attacked by pestilence when he was so guiltless?
He’s not to be overlooked.
Stay your hand at home.
It is written
The viper is born to strike
– no malevolence there.
Like the pussy cat that catches the robin
and plays it on
till it dies with feathers flying,
The book proclaims
your pet deserves no blame by you,
an enemy deserves freedom from blame.
Eat vanilla, honeycomb, chocolate chip
Consume your stracciatella,
let it cool your fiery throat
Down Down Down …
until the storm is done.
Do not go naked through that bloody trap-door,
there’s a whisper in your ear wishing you well,
a road from Hell.
The black hole was sent
to gift you practice,
patience of Hibiscus
that sucks up the storm
for the sake of the flower
that blooms in the marinade
of imaginary life.
This is a second draft. (The first draft was published here yesterday, unedited.) It still deserves to be buried for incalculable time.
Someone else might like to see this first.