Riddles


Joke a little, Smoke a little
Conjure cats that play the fiddle
Riddles that are crafted by a world that’s truly flaccid
The spoon kidnapped the dish
I’ve washed my hands clean
With blood of the cow that jumped over the moon
Clipped his hoof and split his spleen
What are these words that seem so clean
But to the root their message obscene
Causing I to intervene
I’ll be your rabbi, cleric, shaman, pope to tell the truth
Behind the scene
These are not words that emit hope
When examined through a microscope
Translucent joy
A tangent fear
False comfort through a distant peer