by Eric Chaet
I’ve got fleas where I can’t mention
& they haven’t got humane intentions –
fleas from my waist down to my toes –
& they’re sending their astronauts up into my nose —
I’ve got fleas moving out into my world with me.
Mosquitoes dive-bombing where I’m standing by my road
waking me from sleeping in some forest I don’t know —
where I’m dreaming my dream of stop turning to go —
parasites adapt better than anyone I know —
I’ve got mosquitoes moving out into my world with me.
I’ve got rats in the grain I’ve got stored up –
rats in my government, production, distribution —
in finance, education, religion, revolution —
rats near & far, moving out into my world with me.
I’ve got tyrants who rule with iron fists
sending tanks into cities, napalming little kids —
hiding behind comforts they say that we all need —
I’ve got some who murder slowly, some who kill with speed —
I’ve got tyrants moving out into my world with me.
I’ve got people, resigned to being beat —
trying to recruit me, “Same old shit,” is how they greet —
vassals & their victims — dreaming while awake —
who want me to agree that they’re too smart to make mistakes —
shackled together, moving out into my world with me.
I’ve got habits — they tie me to the past —
routine or crisis, what costs what, & approbation knacks —
resenting, blaming circumstances, trying to dodge facts —
howling in a way acclaimed by some crazy, whomped-up pack —
got to shake these habits moving out into my world with me.
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