Death cures all sickness.
Freud said the goal of all living things is death.
Can I get a witness?

So then it is slow torture for us to do things,
Like keep houseplants and goldfish alive.
Death cures all sickness.

It makes the will to live seem pretentious
When we make it point to continue on, survive.
Can I get a witness?

But I don’t believe in cheating.
Not all living things understand suicide.
Death cures all sickness.

Drunk at night I bear my heart repeating,
That I not go gently into the night.
Death cures all illness.

No, I am bone and breath
And will not strive for death.
Death cures all sickness.
Can I get a witness?

Laughter cures ick
She stumbles in sick
She chuckles through tears
Laughter cures fears

Smiling cures cuts
He throws up his guts
He grins in pain
Smiling cures strain

Love cures cries
They decay in disguise
They kiss old corpses
Love cures organs

We lick our diseases
For seasons of pleases

Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me