One Chef's Special - ISIS Smothered in Bacon Grease

ISIS smelt of the oldest of mummified feet
Freshly unwrapped after a thousand years bound
A fetid stench that spread for miles around
Turning even the most stolid of citizen
Until they crouched like a dog vomiting on the ground

ISIS rolls from town to town
Billowing dust and sand
Till all their asscracks were well packed
Not to be emptied
Till their black coward's headcloth is unwound

ISIS has a goal, they must, don't you?
A goal that an Armageddon can be bought for cheap
With the whipping of the weak
Boxes of surplus military rounds
And an endless parade of white Toyota jeeps

ISIS will be the star of the next Home Alone
Bamboozled by a clever child's tricks
Cardboard cutouts of military assets
Placed carefully in full silhouette
Will have them moving along to an easier target

ISIS reads their Quran with eyes firmly crossed
Understanding every other word at best
Ignoring all the words of kindness
Embracing all the horrid rest
Embroidering their 'kerchiefs with a black and white crest

ISIS days are filled with religious hate fueled madness
ISIS nights are olfactory visions chock full of bacon products
And dreams of drowning in virgins
Revealing that ISIS isn't that much different
Than a cheap strip club bacon buffet on a slow Tuesday night

Watching the World Burn

Watching the world burn
In twenty sixteen
A Turkish coup de grâce
A nondescript truck in a crowd
Just the latest and greatest
Whose life really matters anyways?

Burning marshmallows on whittled sticks
Just for the cancerous burnt sugary taste
That hangs in the mouth
An aftertaste of Trump
To accompany a sore throat
After far too much cheering for the wrong team

A bomb in a crowd
Is just my favorite thing
Popping popcorn in time with shattering bones
When it stops your snack is done
Remove and enjoy
Don't forget the salt

Looking out the window
From a privileged life
There are no fires burning in my night
Gas is cheap
No outward signs of strife

To enjoy such sights and sounds
Just tune in the local internet stations
To witness a villain being the other side's hero
If you have no skin the game
It's guilt-free entertainment
From the warm glow of all color high def LCD

And if suddenly feel myself succumbing to a sleepy kind of rage
I can text
"I fucking care"
To a toll free number
Auto-donating five dollars to repair my conscience in paper mâché
And fight the power with fists that hardly matter
Striking their chest in a barely audible
Pitter patter

Watching the world burn
In twenty sixteen
With hatelove the latest newspeak
You know what I mean

Xanthotype Sospeta

When I take flight
There will be none to see
Quivering in anticipation
I wait until your back is to me

Resplendent in yellow feathered head
Wings spread
Taking in the sunlight
Feet hooked on tight

Posed for your pleasure
Upon this random surface
I can see your horrifying pair of eyes
Gazing upon me
Prepping me in your mind
To be murdered kindly in a jar
Pinned on a board inside a slick wooden case
A neatly printed label just below me

Xanthotype Sospeta

Row upon row of other carcasses would accompany me there
A macabre display indeed
If I were not so simple
And yourself considered oh so complex
With your self awareness and opposable thumbs
Lepidopterologist tendencies and metal tools

A fellow calls out to you from outside my range of vision
For even you are just a vague shadow to me
And with excitement you turn away
Gesturing towards where I once sat for your pleasure
Antennae quivering with your every breath

With the softest of flutters
I glide away
So when you look back
There's nothing to say