Finger at the Stars
He jabs his finger at the stars; proclaims
you’ll eat no cake for thirty days
like an inverted Marie Antoinette.
Oh, for God’s sake, you dare not think,
end of days without a drink,
everything shut, and this town
is coming like a ghost town
except you cannot mouth it, sing or act,
expect a hefty fine for that,
best incarcerate and shut your trap.
Such a forked celebration,
for a league of nations
who come here with deliveries from evil -
fleets of scootered fast food.
Here’s a cat without her flap,
she’s nailed there in crucibles of crucifix,
you’ll get her spayed for giving lip,
so best to just put up with it
when even chewing nicotine gum
could get you some -
watch these old, old men spout tired fire
and you wish to hell they would retire.
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