When devils visit my area, they stay in motels.
They are vile deposits of hideous evil, but this does not mean
that they cannot be frugal.
Sure, they steal the little soaps or use them
to deface the insides of the windows, but
this is mere mischief--
Their real purpose lies beyond Ramada's flimsy walls.
Perhaps you've written a masterpiece
through diligence and elbow grease.
Beware the visitor wearing the disguise
of a maid or desk clerk--be on guard and be wise
To such limited shenanigans. Devils want one thing--
to clop across the starfields of your creation
in their dung-filthy cleated boots using
every method at their disposal to bring ruination
To the written child of your soul.
Hold up your little cross, they will snap it.
Confront them with crystals, they will pop them like mints.
Appeal to their better nature, those tiny flakes amid the panic,
tilt at their empire with toothpicks and see where it gets
You. Listen to me, little scribbler, I have the way!
Read them home-made haiku by the worst hack that you can find.
You'll see how devils decompensate, fauxku like weevils in their brain!
They'll beg, seize, do St. Vitus' Dance, go goofy, helpless, blind!
De nada, mi amiga. $$$ by Venmo will be fine.
___________
for Word Garden Word List--Mark Strand.
Music: Jimmy Jones Handy Man
