Adolf Hitler was a character.

I mean, I didn’t know him
But I read his book –
That book called “Mein Kampf.”
That book called “My Struggle.”
That book that was mein own kampf to stay awake through –
But, still, I read it.

I know full well: Adolf Hitler was a bastard.
I don’t know how much of his writing was true.
Still – although he was a bastard,
Although he was delusional –
I stand by what I say:
Adolf Hitler was a character.

A character like any other conqueror
One to learn from mistakes and victories
That, perhaps, lends comprehension
When delusion goes too far
And from whence it blooms.
And yet-

And yet, I almost didn’t check out this book
After the Jewish girl at the register
Sported a sour sort-of sneer –
“What kind of person reads this thing?”

But still I took the book.

I sympathize with her heritage –
Horrible as the experiences of her ancestors –
I sympathize, yet empathize not with her
Whose empathy would destroy interaction;
She who would have me ignore what has happened as something to be forgotten
Or avoided from unconnected outrage.

I do not know her, and will not pretend I ever could,
Since desiring to learn our history
Is unappealing to her feelings,
Which secretly tickles mine
When all I sought was cerebral pursuit
And did not expect a joke
From researching so somber a subject.

But whose fault is that?

I was playing on the playground
As kids so often do.
We were acting “Grown-Ups;”
I was the guy from the news.
I straightened out my papers
And flashed a smile so swell,
Proclaiming calmly to the camera:
“Earth is goin’ to Hell.”

“Whaddya mean?” inquired Sucy,
“How is that even possible?
Earth and Hell are different places –
Are you some kind of fool?
Sure, that global warming crisis
Makes our climate hot as hell –
But what sort of sign is that if
The adults are still too lost to tell?”

Lionel scoffed, “I do not think
You’ve understood his gist.
He’s just repeating what news anchors say
When referring to terrorists.
Religion corrupts the human mind,
As the smartest scientists say.
Come on, wouldn’t life be more peaceful
If it was pointless anyway?”

“I don’t believe you, silly head!”
Cried frail, sweet May MacKay.
“For then all murderers and rapists
Would be considered A-Okay.
If life is just as meaningless
As hopeless haters would have us believe,
Why do our thoughts of suicide
Incite such harsh reprieve?”

“Blame the Republicans and their tax code!”
Accused the wildly woke Bill Carter.
“Their regressive restrictions
Make American happiness harder!”
“The Democrats are one to talk,”
Sneered George Lincoln sardonically.
“Abortion, Socialism, faulty healthcare
Insult all our liberties.”

My playground friends disputed
Until an all-out war was raised;
Fists were flying, women crying,
While I watched on, unfazed.
Our teacher clasped me on the shoulder,
“Young man, no need to fret.
Our darling Earth may be going to Hell,
But you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

Scritch scritch.

It’s under my skin. It’s under my – scritch scritch scratch – Gah! Skin! I don’t know what it is, I don’t know why it does, but what it does it does under my skin. Then my skin gets to itching ‘til I scratch the scritching. Hey, but then it starts bitching all over again! You laugh at my problem, but that’s not the problem. The real problem is not my skin nor the scritch, no – scratch – the problem resides in my hands and their itch. Their itch to scratch! Not a knuckle is scritched – you’ll find no scratch across my wrist – it’s the itch within themselves that gives my eye this twitch! Their very desire to scratch is the itch I must match – scratch scratch scratch. But they don’t give me a chance, leave me out of their dance – they itch to scratch without my consent, then go and give me odd scrapings and a blistering rash. They reach where they shouldn’t, they latch when I wouldn’t, but I couldn’t tell you if that’s good or that’s bad.
It goes on and on – scritchy scritch scratch – until I am absolutely sure: hands are just hands. They shouldn’t itch on their own! This scratching’s all mine or I’ve nothing to own. So, good or bad, who’s to say? But they’re wrong over right by every mark on my face.

So, in a last ditch to ditch my hands’ itch, I lopped them both clean right off at the wrist. Tied a blade to my head, gave a guillotine-butt, then Voila! their itch and mine, no longer conjoined. A simple solution…and such fast relief! There they flop ‘cross the floor, overcome with desire. I wish them safest travels for another Itched to hire. As for me, I’m now free to scratch itches that are mine. Indeed, I have been freed! To – scratchity – scritch –

Ah.

SCRATCHITY – SCRATCH

AHYAHYAH!

Damn it! – SCRATCH – Where have my hands gone? – SCRITCH – Get on back here, now, tout suite! These stumpy, weak massages cannot do the trick!

i spied a Tranny
stumbling down the street
with too-tall high-heels
strapped to his feet
their clacking like a trigger cocking
to shoot down hope from my heart with haste
since this Tranny’s futile feminine beauty
reminds me how natural females process prowess into waste

Out on the trustworthy Pegasus
Sat myself with a rod in a chair
As I silently surveyed the Pacific
And ruffled the brine in my hair.

My line was avoided all morning
And a nibble was naught all the noon
So I wait with the greatest of patience
‘Pon my very first glimpse of the moon.

I think of fish lurking below me
And sumptuous dishes prepared
Once I gut and skin and debone them,
Their bountiful fruits gushing bare.

Like Halibut steaks
Scorpionfish cakes
And Sea Bream sashimi en masse
Add Snapper flambéd
And Sole freshly flayed
Or Barracuda pickled with Wrasse
Perhaps Moray Eel fried
And Yellowtail hide
Will bring spice to the rawest of Grouper
Blackened Swordfish
Or a Salmon roe dish
Flying Fish would be super-duper!

The night was beginning to fall
As I cast my line one final time
When it was yanked with a fearsome pull
And my whole boat turned on a dime.

I cranked in as hard as I could
With the line as taut as cold steel
When a shining fish flew through the air
And broke free the spool of my reel.

A Mackerel Shark stared blankly at me
And my heart sank to the bottomless blue
For you can’t eat them in California
So I tossed my hard work over in lieu.

My frustration knows not high walls
With this stolen catch of the day,
For asses have the weakest of hearts
And drown everymen with their bray.

squirrelly-squirrelly
SQUIRRELLY-SQUIRREL!
Look as rodents go a-rocketeering
Up and down that scrawny boy
bushy tails twitching tails
antennae tails – a regular nut-dar
searching for scrumptious signals
chitter-chitter-chittertitter
cute little mouse with its featherduster tail
sweeping it soft to tickle his nose
in adorable…Wait.

That’s bloody disgusting.

To have a nasty rodent
Scamper on your chest
ruffle up your hair
with paws that played
in its own shit
prob’ly carrying rabies
or some disease –
Going ‘cross that boy’s face
Afore he bounds off to pound some girl squirrel –

Let’s be serious:
Something’s squirrelly screwed with anyone who squirrels with squirrels.

Observe this spread of Earth’s sweetest joys,
Oh! Won’t you partake?
A plethora of fleeting streets, feats, and toys,
Witness not a single fake!

The world is wide, time perniciously short,
Usually squandered often.
This fine night, prove my worthy cohort
And time I soothe and soften!

Drink dry draughts of fine cheap beer, their
Sensual heat, so sweet!
Or sneak a snort of costly coke, my dear,
And from the dumps be beat.

Seize from the tree of Earth and see
Things Earth cannot hold!
Simply hold fast to your drugged repast;
You’ll feel as good as gold.

I wager, if lay you down besides a beaut, it
Should be a boon.
In no time flat you’d clutch the fat of her
Bare, fresh moon.

If it’s moons you desire, so shall I shower
Down wealth above;
For monetary value possesses practical power in
Luring lewd love.

Permit me whisk you away to a faraway realm
To exist in fantasy –
Leagues away from the bland, dreary helm
Of Captain Reality.

I promise your pleasure ne’er be begot,
A journey filled with ease –
You can be sure of that, friend, or my name is not
Mephistopheles!