April 8: Sneaky Snakes, Shipwrecks, Wicked Workbenches, More…? (with guest James Chakan!)

She’ll not see me coming. I’m on the take.

I’m slick as silver, the real scale—not fake.

She chatters away in a stupid shirt

That bares her arms, which I’m longing to hurt—

This is my nature. I’m the Super-Snake.

 

She would see me, and she would surely quake

If she’d half a brain and weren’t such a flake—

Yes, I am sneaky and fierce in concert!

She’ll not see me coming.

 

I’d swallow her whole, but she’s big as cake

At a wedding where folks like her would bake

At 350—for taste, a venom spurt

Would really make them a lovely dessert—

I’m dreaming of a wedding for my sake!

She’ll not see me coming.

 

We’ve taken on water, taken on years;

The weight of centuries contains a flow.

We’ve faced our own slaughter, faced our worst fears:

The weight moves onward with nowhere to go.

 

We traveled eons through one landless night,

Where light meant nothing amidst the long drift.

We started to sink when land was in sight

Because the weight on us we’d never lift.

 

We looked aloft with deep resignation

At what to some would seem like salvation

But to us was the last indignation

In our terms swimming through Earth’s rotation.

 

As we drowned and knew heaven wasn’t near,

We couldn’t fathom who’d held life so dear.

 

My workbench and all its entertainment—

A man takes satisfaction in labor.

I worry such pleasure needs containment.

 

The work enables me to maintain rent;

I’m not the type to accept a favor.

My workbench and all its entertainment

 

Will not allow tasks to be in vain sent,

As I will complete work that I savor!

I worry such pleasure needs containment.

 

My side work may seem more than just plain bent;

I do indulge in some odd behavior.

My work bench and all its entertainment

 

Includes trials in torture sustainment,

In which I play both devil and savior:

I worry such pleasure needs containment.

 

If you stand for my trials’ arraignment

Know you’re in good hands that always gave more.

My work bench and all its entertainment:

I worry such pleasure needs containment!

 

Bill the white rat has a secret to tell;

It could disturb the whole global order.

He has discerned with his keen sense of smell

Infinite ways around every border.

 

Nothing you want out cannot get right in.

Negative, negative: trouble doubled

As you sealed cracks with multiplication

That left your walls naked, short and rubbled.

 

Master of disaster, Bill the rat’s fat,

Pudgier, yes, but faster than a cat.

If he gets your pure ones, well then—that’s that!

Bill, mighty Bill, makes your mores go splat.

 

Bring all your best habits—he’s got the keys!

But please remember: he favors fine cheese.

Talking to you is way more interesting than talking to myself. What do you think?