ode to the tides:  wheels within rings o fire

blaze through family trees like cicada shells

stuck to ashes dying of the effects of borers.

over hundreds o ground holes; the exhumed

fly to meet  & mate to procreate & die soon

so there’s a whole lot of singing & fucking

without thoughts of religiosity & purport  

ode to the mind:   crimes of the idiotic rife

to the top o the crop for some 231 reasons

to doubt  the logic of those misers of strife

doers do, & singers sing, …& writers write,

& lovers love, & judges judge, & jailers jail,

& Christians & Jews will everlast the knife

‘cause,  get right down to it,  it’s a bug’s life: