promise kept.

I love your line,
and your arc, and your weft
and your warp and your weave,
and whatever's left.
And whatever's right,
you've brought me home.
And I'm never again gonna
be alone.

Last moments

Look, I 
love you, bit
I think I'm about to die, 
and yes I love you but
I think I'm about to die, 
and if I do, I want you 
to really know, I
think I'm about to die, 
and
I want you to really know
I love you;

dance card glitch

Free as balls with gala gowns
a-swirl a-twirl on floors parquet,
as partners wheel, caressing eyes
in culture’s dance all night away.
It’s only you I hold in sway,
it’s only me you captivate.
It’s only us who will this tryst,
this trust - all others stand
and wait. 

perspective trick

Why, my own exultancy
has grown
only more meek and majestic!
As wonder has outgrown all awe,
I see how great the vastness is
within which I loom smallest small,
and dote upon the grandest things
- as well befits a mote so tall. 

Plea for Vendetta

Injured by others emotionally? 

You may have a case. Call 
law, law and law to schedule 
a zoom call with a truly mental 
diagnostician and a crack legal
assistant or paralegal. We guarantee
at least an intern, and since your
zoom call is recorded, all of us
may end up watching it.

Maybe someone has inflicted
a condition on you by which 
you suffer? If so, what if for that
they owe you big time? We can't 
make promises until we get all 
the facts of your case.  

Hurt those who hold you accountable.
 
They think they are better than you?
Show them how wrong they are! How 
dare they punish and grind your 
self-worth into the shit of shame
and humiliation in front of all? 

How many saw this? Witnesses? 

The more who saw it, the more 
damage we can prove was done
to you. The more damage, the
more we can drag them into court 
where they'll shit, cowering 
and helpless in their
pants, 
about to be
humiliated and shamed. Because 
of how they treat you. Because
you hire us, they get worse.

Consider us 

your legal vengeance team 
to make others suffer and pay 
for what they did. We don't get paid

until they pay. Or if we lose. Then yes,
we must get paid for our time,
if it turns out you didn't have a case.
That's hardly our fault. But even 
then - you made your displeasure 
clear to the individual who you 
felt had wronged you! 

This 

is a healthy move. There's nothing
passive-aggressive about a lawsuit. 
They'll respect you for hiring us. 
Everybody does. 

cat fancy

The outside cat 
has been playing tiger. 
Crouch and stalk and pounce 
the yard for half an hour,
convincingly. So far 

no prey has got away 

that I could see. Before 
the pounce, or afterwards:
invisible.

We'll trust 
in kitty's senses, then.
In jungles, he's invincible.
We'd both be so let down 
to think it's all pretend.  

generic rout(e)

You are, you know, generic. 
It's just 
you invented the genre
yourself, and we've 
come to trust your surprises 
uniquely-conceived, one not 
like the other. Too easy, 
believed in one long summer 
swallow, and lofted to heights 

- we shan't find tomorrow,
when hindsight blights. 
With the bloom off the novel 
and everything plain. 

Pattern recognition 
you somehow dodge 
every instant of commission 
clicks in like a frame 

same same 

reportage from the front

She's been super-bolty
hidey and leery of me
the whole time
I've been wintering in N.J. 
It is her house, not mine after all.
I defer. 
A woman of her species
must have her way.

However, I came down
from the attic/loft to get coffee
and a smoke. Per usual, she froze
fast a safe distance off. Next she'll flash
to gone - but no! She's paused, so

I hunker down
on my haunches
and extend my hand
making thumb-circles on
index and middle, going
"psssh-psssh-psssh-psssh!"
(as one does)
She's so beautiful. 

Deep matte black
in which light just
vanishes lost, with
tall boots and mittens
of white, and a white museau
with the pale pinkest nose.

She's padding over
now to my outstretched hand 
to see what I'll do to her finery,
oh what a lover of cats 

I sometimes am. Anyway, 
they think so. She's throwing 
herself in press, press, press, circle-whirl,
press-press! Lowering the boom of her head
in my ribs or chest each time, coming in
with emphasis. Her tail-jazz magnificent,
her purr like pigeon coos! She wants ALL
the pets, and then on and so on to head scratches
and long strokes of eagerly-resisting tail. I really
couldn't stop, she was too enthused. Her fur
feels glossy, so deep you could flail lost
and found in it.  

My heart broke with love
and a recognition of
how easily-manipulated we humans are
by any being who breaks standoffishness,
who lets wary, leery indisposition drop
to deign to receive our flawed human 
love, and continue as if neither one 
would stop.  

Then gone, like that. Now gone,
like this. I just had
the most extraordinary experience
petting a cat.

Regrettable excesses

Her cunt could make a dildo cum 
and that's no way to start a poem, 
but sometimes telling only truth 
might risk offense in ears uncouth.

"sundown in paradise"

It's almost the hour 
where everything's changed
the sky's turning rose and gold, 
and strange 
Get lost in this beautiful eve, 
wouldn't you? 
Sometimes it could seem 
like we're missing this view. 
Well here we are as usual, 
wearing no clothes 
I feel like these occasions
should be special, you know?

Well, I've got an apple 
and I know a snake 
it's perfectly innocent, 
okay? 
And I'm always naked 
and you never notice 
Open your eyes, take a bite 
let's play 
Take a bite 
Take a bite 
Take a bite 
Open your eyes, take a bite 
Take a bite
Take a bite
It's sundown in paradise

Lord knows it's paradise 
always here with you, 
and nothing good could come 
of improving this view 

But certain of the details 
have shrunk from neglect
Let's make a bigger picture 
of ourselves, what the heck 

'Cause I've got an apple 
and I know a snake 
it's perfectly innocent, 
okay? 
And I'm always naked 
and you never notice 
Open your eyes, take a bite 
let's play 
Take a bite 
Take a bite 
Take a bite 
Open your eyes, take a bite 
Take a bite
Take a bite
Sundown in paradise

The fruit of the knowledge 
of the tree's going down 
So sweet and unsettling, 
tongues and stomachs frown 
It doesn't seem we've managed 
to metabolize this 
For once it's clear forever
that innocence was bliss  

At least it's clear forever
I could never wrong you 
And yet, it feels so naughty 
We can tell ourselves, too 

And I've got an apple 
and we know a snake 
it's very far from innocent, 
okay? 
And I'm always naked 
and you're struck with wonder 
open your eyes, take a bite 
let's pray 
  

nonfictionesque

England's British Winston Churchill's 
in the news again, back then. Saw it 
on a movie, just. He talked the country 
into it, and history was not the rest 
it could have been, most ever since.
Her people called, that island home
of theirs had toil and bombs to catch,
and blood to spill. About her seas and
channels boiled. All the strings attached
pulled taut, inexorably drawn in many 
wills to more or less unite, align and 
fight to live, and die and kill. For this 

means war. And war means time 

and death, dishonor, treachery.
Ignominy in duty staked 
against the cost of total 
loss. 

And at the end, 
the credits roll. And then you find 
it all was fake.    

opportunisticat

I love how kitty 
who is not allowed upstairs 
to the loft, gathers herself
innocently in the vicinity
as if aimlessly milling, then
when you go to crack open
the closet-like door, revealing
the almost elfin staircase, she 
starts ducking and bobbing 
her head around, hunching 
shoulders, tensing four legs 
for the bolt between two 

'til 
shoosh 
slip-click 

too late, kitty. 
You tried. Don't 
lie, you were 
totally trying. 

Sorry 

those eyes, though. 
Predatorially curious 
orbs in fur angelface. 

Exiled down here, but 
still bobbing and weaving 
cerebrally for the shot 
upstairs.  

undersides

I am interested in 
your undersides - which 
typically are the soles
of your feet, plus just
under your chin, 
where a finger more bold 
might chuck. And then, 
down and between 

where your
dorsiventrality 
dovetails
in round and cleft, 
as cryptic and neat 
as a visual fact. 
Where a hand 
bolder still 
might probe 
and caress, 
but not 
just yet. 

For now, 
on a public beach
lying down 
your undersides 
have before my eyes 
rolled over, become 
your back.  

And I wonder how you 
the magician's assistant 
and very self 

have performed this 
act, without patter 
or barely a prop, 
and nary a
misdirect. 

explains it

Listen I 
explain shit to people 
the same way people understand it. 
I don't dumb down or insult intelligence 
frankly I think intelligence probably knows 
it's above slights unless it itself is. Slight 
I mean. I tell it how it means. 
I can't help it if I don't mean a thing 

I have nothing to say then. People 
have every right to expect whatever 
the heck they want of me! "Expectation" 
is the least reliable form of fantasy, 
and if that's how they wish to indulge
self, hey. 

Knock it out, self. Knock one out. 
I'm not going to tell 'em knock it off. 
I'll make an intent but not intense 
Sincere but not serious (how can it 
be serious?) attempt to know what 
the hell their deal is, and then 

I'll explain it to them. 
Just how they understand it. 

And then we're all on the same 
page, and hanging on 
as some occult hand 
turns it
and the shadow falls 
across the underside, where 
we now abide, watching the facing 
page fly up to meet us 

faceplant. 

All on the same page, 
and the eyes of the reader 
have moved on. 

You ever get that feeling? 
Or one like it? Don't worry, 
it's totally psychological

backbellyness

I was looking up words of -ality 
trying to discern their ittiness. 
Was personality a personal itty?
Or the -ality of a person? I guess 
it may seem to you a bit picky 

to care. 

But it seems to me
the difference 
is stark,
staring,
abject

huge. 

If one's person 
truly has -ality, 
- this could be discovered, 
determined! It would be detectable! 

Something could be known 
about it. 

Whereas, if it's just 
the ittiness 
of being personal, well. 
We all have that. All unique, 
nothing special 
about it. 

So I perused and pursued the point 
'til some quarry had been cornered
and turned, and partly abused, and 

ultimately it was "dorsiventrality" 
that provided the clue. "Back-bellyness," 
the quality of having distinct surfaces 
corresponding to backbehind and
underfront: as of a leaf! Or of you

I started 

to think of your backbelliness, 
and I'm abashed to admit 
I forgot all about your personality. 

I think we'd better face the fact: 
whatever personality is, 
dorsiventrality is a 
part 
or two 
of it. 

some kind of weathergirl

The channel 6 meteorologist 
is a chirpy and adorable optimist. 
She says "80% chance of sun!" Okay. 

But I really don't know
what the other chance is. 

20% chance of rain, I can stand.
But for hail and tornadoes at 20%?
I might stay home, with my head
tucked between my knees all day
in the cramped damp basement. 

Let's wait and see 
  

wiser words

You can never go back. 
If you do, you're just traveling 
forward into the past.

You can't do that.
It's impossible as shit. 
Like the sun rising west
to set east. Legit. So quit 
tryin to spin-reverse nature, son.

Set your feet where you
are, and face where you're
going, and take what comes. 

survival list

Stand fast, girl.
Cut quick. Hold slow. 
Keep your head up
your smart, wise ass.
As usual as usual gets 

It's served you so far
well enough. Tongue
enough in cheek, eyes 
in complimentary eye 
roll mode with each dish 
some impatient waiter 
serves up. You kissed 

a toad once. Long since 
a princess, it worked,
worse luck. You take

what they serve, get it
down and grin, not a thing
to wish. "Better than yesterday,
worse than tomorrow," that's 

what you say when asked. 

Nothing worse than what's
behind you.

All things pass.

All good things come too fast.

Forever comes never, but everything
lasts and lasts and lasts. 

Stand fast. 

wet light and expanse

There is so much world 

between the leaves

with sun broken through

on the water beneath,

and reflections hung 

between three damp stones. 

The canopy shifts

above and beneath,

as your eyes 

find home. 

ice pill

He took a chill pill as directed. 
His fury froze splitting painfully,
instantly frostbitten insides as
his eyes and mind grew cold
as ice, and twice that cold. He
became like unto an ice sculpture,
except opaque with blood, with organs 
rimed inside with frost, and slightly
moving. Breathing. His skin still
warm. To each appearance human,
and no deception. Everyone eased
and breathed, as he grew implacably
courteous. None of them could tell
on the inside, teeth clicked in gears
grinding up to smooth whir, blades
were sharpening, everything
was ice.  

the views exchange

You have not agreed
significantly 
enough with me,
and therefore: war. 

How dare you, you! 
I do declare I shall 
excoriate galore 

Until, displeased 
I go re-read 
the thing you opened
up with sly. 

Deceptively, 
we did agree
right from the start!
OK then. Bye 

communicado

I dig big subtlety 
and boom nuance. 
I believe you get 
my point I believe? 

I think I do, but you 
seem to get more.
I will have to play 
this pretty cool. 

I do not wish either 
of us to deceive. 
 
When I get my point, 
it's already across.
I find it comes clear 
with no signal loss, 
and aspects of it become
known to me: yeah, I did
mean that. Sorry. That's 
on me, of course. 

But could you explain
it to me? I wasn't quite
thinking, but I think
you'll find the implication
is clear, I trust? If so, I don't
always think, but I mean 
more well than any you'd
throw your pennies in! While
making a wish. Which the genie 
can well adjust, I guess.

But me? I'm stuck at a guess, 
until you tell me. Please don't 
be coquettish, coy or opaque. 
It's only me. Please don't be
obtuse. Don't pretend. Tell me,
with all at stake: whatever 
that is, what did I even mean,
by you?

Anyone acute as you shouldn't be 
obtuse. You're pretty acute, don't
you think? 

I do. Anyway, whatever you say 
I'm inclined not to make a stink.   

Alternating current direct current

I love AC/DC. I love 
how Brian tugs the brim 
of that tweed cap, centering 
and staggering as he belts 
that on-key howl. I love 

How Mal and Chris 
(and I present-tense this; 
the immortals don't take 
past tense) stand to the back, 
Mal stiff-jolt twitch, Chris 
more laid-back, but they 
stride in lockstep unison 
to their mics, called 
by the chorus to holler 
hard harmony. 

I love Angus Young. 

But there is no reason not 
to love Angus Young. How 
the squonking squall of minor 
pentatonic blistering cut-glass 
glissando he unleashes from 
within, jerking and flung 
like a puppet on six strings, 

Well, I find it refreshing. 
An infusion of juice to the ears 
that flows straight to veins
and bolts nerves to their joins 
by concussive volts in chords 
and notes. 

Who cannot appreciate these pure
and bone-simple dumbass songs
has probably overthought them,
and underthought some primal 
things. Or else they think the guy 
sounds like he lost a bet with his
larynx and has to sing with his nuts 
in a vise to make up the difference, 
and they can't understand a thing! 

Which is understandable. People 
who don't love AC/DC, that's often 
the reason. They can't understand 
a thing  

soft karma

Karma is the world we make
for ourselves, of people who know
how we really are in what we give.
Wherever we go, we begin anew
on the same kind of warp and weft we live,
unless we decide to change our acts.
Selecting from different flax and dye.
Incorporate new techniques and arts,
and improving the web in which we lie. 

Bakunin Bokonon

Every time I see a quote by Bakunin 
I think it's from Bokonon. So I'm like 
damn that's a pretty sweet dude most 
times, but he sure gets grumpy, too

When I discover my mistake, inevitably
I always reflect on how different Cat's Cradle 
would be with this jarring note. All those
characters embracing Bakunin instead. 

Imagine 
surrounded by warm, frozen death 
well past the end of the world, 
sky filled with tornados -  
on a petty little island
where fate left you stranded, 
you encounter Mikhail Bakunin: 

the founder of collectivist anarchism,
frozen solid and covered with frost
with his tongue sticking out 

killing time (Reichenbach Falls reverie)

Killing time,
looking down
from abyssmal heights
of the rarest air, he was struck
by the shape and tone of the
rainbows made, in the vertical
maelstrom mist of spray. He observed,
as he always did, the rocks

upon which they played. "I believe,"
he let slip, uncharacteristically aloud,
"I foresee a rather excellent quarry
down there, one day."

don't love me I'm over

No more to see here 
Baby, please go home 
I thought I could love you 
but now we're alone,

I realize you're such
lonesome company. 

Oh misery you, 
Oh misery me. 

So cruel, is love. 
When you're over something
that was barely a gleam
from a dream, never seen 

Don't love me, not-darling
I think we bring out
the worst in ourselves
Without any help 
from each other. 

I thought
that I could be the one
you could need. 
But all that I want 
is for this not to be, 
unless you could remake 
you and me 
to become what we know 
now this can't be. 

assistant vs. assailant

The difference, you ask? An assailant
is basically an assistant who assists you
in getting assailed, i.e. attacked. Unlike

a traditional assistant, who takes direction
from you and performs whatever tasks
assigned, an assailant is typically self-supervising
and assails you whether or not you required any
assistance in that area. Or indeed, assistants.

Now here’s where it gets murky. An assistant,
you pretty much have to hire. Now and then
because of your stature (whatever that is) you
might acquire a volunteer or intern or whatever
to help you, but most often you have to strike
a bargain: the old time-and-effort for pay gag.

Deal struck, they begin the assistance you craved.
Periodically, you pay them. And that’s where it gets
murky - sometimes, you may pay your assailant, too.

HUH?

Well, it’s basically so they discontinue the job
they’re doing. And yet, this is no sure go-by.
Some assailants (operating along the volunteer /
intern / docent model) do it for no pay!

How was the assailant engaged, though?
That’s interesting. If we can figure out how
assailants are engaged, maybe we can figure out
how to avoid engaging this or that one. Maybe you
provoked them? I’m not saying that makes
their nonconsensual assistance
in the matter of your bodily harm

(or anyway, roughing-up) excusable - in fact,
try the police! See what they think. Technically
assailant is a black market position. The cops
frown on such jobs. You may be able to run them
afoul of the law! I have no idea what you said to them,
but insofar as it was probably not, “Hey, need a little
help, here. Could you assail me?” - chances are
whatever you said, they may have overreacted
or misconstrued what you wanted.

And maybe you didn’t even say anything!

That’s the messed-up trick with some of these
self-supervising types. They act on their own initiative
- which can be a good thing! Ever had an assistant
who never did anything except and unless you tipped
them off? But when one of them takes it into their head
to assail you, that’s trouble if you don’t take a firm hand
and keep a cool head.

Sometimes even if you do.

In a worst-case scenario, sometimes we can only do our best.

That’s the main difference, though. An assistant can help you
with a lot of things. An assailant, typically just the one. Injury.
And that’s hazardous. Injury unchecked has been known to prove

fatal.

It’s your job, ultimately, to be able to tell the assistants
from the assailants - and to not ride the one so hard
as to turn it into the other. Which does happen. 

It can happen either way. 

cotton and gauze

Did I come too close
in your time of need?
Does it put you off, now
knowing me? 
Did you show too much, 
and in memory cringe? 
Do I bring back bad times, now?
When confessions have turned to sins, 
sometimes we lose faith.
Or sometimes it's just
an embarrassment. 

Sometimes we must travel apart for days,
for weeks, for years 'til we find ourselves
and wince. 

Wherever the other is then 
will be hard to tell. 
We may want to reach out and see.

We'll want
to make mends to the warp and weft 
of such symphony, once just playing itself,
and find out how much is there, and left.
And whether it could again comfortably be.   
 
Well from my side
at least, the whole thing is.
I never could change my heart
once turned to best. 

Anyway, so you know.
I don't believe the above at all.
There is too much behind 
and beneath and ahead 
of depth sounded, heights scaled, 
and cushion to break 
any kind of fall.

Of light and direction
by which we've led
and followed in places,
by swapping leads
without changing at all,
except growing up. 

In thought put to words
so artfully sharp it bleeds
and breathes, and it lives
without need. Gratuitously, 
as it always does.

However apart we may walk,
pretty sure it will be for some 
pretty, sufficient cause - 
since any would do,
far as I can see through
this world of gauze. 

and the wisdom to know

I believe in your mind,
the force of your personality
and the excellence and resiliency
of your character. You have it

Well within you to spot, catch
and master every degree of this
shit that is in your control,

and wisdom

to weather of degree of it that isn't.
But not necessarily the wisdom
to know the difference.

That part's fantasy. 
Nobody actually has
the wisdom to know the difference.

And anyway, it's to our benefit
we don't. Because sometimes
the difference winks.

calm alarm

Everything's detected
In the moment is fine
People are respected 
and the sun's gonna shine
Predators and bullies 
making scarce, no fear
Disasters and catastrophes 
- sound the all clear! 

Sound the calm alarm 
Calm alarm 
Sound the calm alarm 

When that alarm is blaring 
you can hear it everywhere 
Then you know it's okay-fine 
breathe easy-free from care, yeah 
Freeing up attention 
from defense and distress 
to focus on what's worth it,
or your very best guess 

Sound the calm alarm
Calm alarm 
Sound the calm alarm 
When the calm alarm's
going on and on 

Well that's when life's for living, 
and the worth is on tap. 
The purpose and the meaning 
come to smack you like an ass-slap
It could go on forever, 
and you'd call it just as well.
'Cause you forget the number 
you're supposed to call to tell them: 

Turn that thing off! 
This is an emergency 
You don't know how to stop
the siren's call of peace 
The calm alarm 
is always in the background, now 
Might as well give into it,
settle down somehow 

Calm alarm 
Calm alarm
Sound the calm alarm

When the calm alarm's
going on and on 

That's how you know everything's
okay-fine you're living in
the moment might as well
let it shine.   

radical equipoise

her foul self: 
relevant.
Taking on a false move
for a purpose to. If only everybody 
could back me up, I'd be like:
Get out of here, I got this!
But without that support,
I stand bold and bowed, 
ready for any amount 
of her bullshit. 

the inheritance

People's kids 
on Instagram 
grow up so fast 
because they can.

The world they sit inheriting
is weird. But they shall understand
it as it seems, as it appears. 

Like we found ours. 

About that weird.

She gave me the look

And I go la lala la lah,
kissing as the ocean 
lovin' like wet sand 
all these things about her, 
tasting like a juvenile scam, 
and I tell her so. Just so, 
and I go la lala la lah,

And she goes nana nana nah. 
She gave me such a look,
I went what in the world -
is that your eye color? It's like
someone wrote a song 
and got it all wrong, 
except for the hook

less askew

So many things I have to do
So many ways I have to try 
So many lives I could yet live, 
Only one death I'll get to die. 

The timing and nature of that are key. 
If I knew the timing, I might postpone.
If I knew the nature, I might avoid. 
Since I don't, perhaps

I'd best stay home. 

But that could be all death wants of me. 
It's just what death might expect me to do. 
Death could easily then know where to look, 
and find me at home. More or less askew
 

new tune

Something went wrong inside of me. 
Now every time I do that thing 
how I'd normally do, it's reminding me:
Perhaps the old ways are not best, for you. 

Reminded, I twinge in wince and cringe, 
adjusting procedure in course-correct 
to the newest best way I have to do, 
in a move to bypass this training wreck. 

We accumulate tips and tricks like this, 
as by tics and degrees we go doddering. 
Adaptive and strong, we are well-taught things,
drawn taut and intent on each new-pulled string
as we bring ourselves ever more cautiously
to whatever this dance of ours shall bring. 

subreality

all around underground
I can make a shoop sound
people up above gonna 
wonder what the shoop was
I'm not gonna tell them 
secret and invisible 
people in the world be like
"everybody's miserable" 

I am well below them 
they can be above me 
knocking them for attitude 
is very much beneath me 
gratitude is easy
all around underground 
snug in subreality 
I can make a shoop sound 

dead friends can stay

Every time I turn around to find you dead 
in the room, lolling about in unnatural attitudes
(but you always had one of those) (now it's 
plural), posed and stiffening at the table, or 
the desk, or the couch, or on the bed, I reflect

how I never saw your corpse. It tore my heart 
out. No one told me, I heard after the funeral. 
Your friends were never mine, and I guess 
they felt I had left the year before, and 
was uninterested or uninteresting. We 
always got along with your friends, 

but I must have not occurred. Now 
at random times, hi. You. I remember you 
so well, not like this but alive. Breathing, 
gathering strength for some charge. 

All charges fail, all causes crack, 
since you have died. I was not there 
to have your back. And it was not 
the kind of death my life so given 
could distract. So welcome friend.
You always were. Stay anywhere 
you wish or like. It's strange that 
you should haunt me now. 

But you were always strange. 

So's life.  

peas: canned or frozen?

The way I see it, fresh peas is best. 
In a recipe that calls for peas? You can go 
canned, and probably no demon will rape 
you in both eye sockets leaving you seeing 
red for life, or you can go frozen and probably
everyone who looks at you every day for years
thereafter will let you pass by without spitting.
They won't even know, probably -
unless they saw. 

But fresh to my mind is best. Fresh peas 
have been waiting there fresh for you 
all along, to discover! On the stalk, 
or in a pod, or still part of the pea
plant itself, being fed and nourished 
by arcane vegetable means. Probably 
whatever part became the pea came 
out of the ground that way: fresh. Before 
the flower and the bee, that part was part 
of the plant, waiting. All we had to do 
was wait with it, for it, to get ripe 
and ready! Ready to can! Ready 
to freeze! But you can, 

if you try,
or if someone lets you 
(and nobody hollers, "FREEZE!"),

swoop in on the ripe pods and bolt!
Before the scumbag can have his 
canned and frozen say. Making off 
with fresh peas, hollering "Watch it! 
I'm a pod person!" to deter pursuit 
and curious onlookers. Clearly, 

you've made your decision by then: FRESH, 
and I won't criticize your methods. Prepare 
the dish, obedient to instruction for best 
results, and as to how many it serves? 

Well, how many peas were in how 
many pods you manages to get?

Probably less than the dish calls for, 
or the diners expect, but cheer up. 

Most people don't even like peas. 

God in Name only

People all worship this alien 
It does nothing precisely as advertised,
which includes everything in the universe. 

One can't help suspect that somebody lied, 
but they lied in the Name.
And that Name has pull.

So any who speak it with confidence 
can speak for It, whatever they will.
No fear of any correction.
No need of defense. 

Advertising is our job. Apparently,
and we do it well. If with not much
sense.

Whatever the alien has to say,
we'll have so much more time 
to hear out in hell.