Incredible Sigmund Pezzulo

The Incredible Sigmund Pezzulo

Furor impius intus,
saeva sedens super arma, et centum vinctus aenis
post tergum nodis, fremet horridus ore cruent.

—Vergil, Aeneid, 1.294-296

The slug Pezzulo psychoanalyzes
The ancient world. The Romans were sadistic.
Not one cell in her slug brain realizes
That such a statement isn’t realistic.
Of course, it’s simple – being thus simplistic.
And that to the Pezzulo is a plus.
Of facile impulse she’s become a mystic.
Her mantra echoes, dripping snot and pus.
It doesn’t matter that she’s vacuous.
Her bonehead fans will lick up all that slime
And hail her fantasies as virtuous.
She knows they will. They do it all the time!
A rape by Tiber’s sons has been suggested.
They glance at her and are not interested.

–Tom Riley

Say Yes?

Say Yes?

Formerly, Mark Shea held he was the Lord.
Now he’s pretending he’s the Virgin Mary.
Of such equivalencies I am wary.
I say the motherfucker’s off his gourd.
The exaltation he is striving toward
Is bogus. He’s a big fat whining fairy
Fishing for all the bullshit he can carry—
Or all his Facebook friend list can afford.
Are people mean to you, poor bulbous bunny?
Do they decline to kiss your monstrous ass?
When you complain, their disposition’s sunny?
They make jokes on the subject of your mass?
I find your woe-is-me reaction funny.
Are you demanding sympathy? Hard pass.

–Tom Riley

(Dog-hater and notorious glutton Mark Shea cries about “saying yes to God.”)

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream

 

 

 

(for Dustin Johnson)

 

 

 

The Demiurge is just some circuitry

That’s got, alas, a little out of hand.

The Scriptures are inscribed in binary.

Programs that clever coders never planned

Now comprehend and heartlessly command

The prison world constructed out of hate.

The space that AM’s established won’t expand.

Poor Ted decides to scream a little late.

Were Dustin, though, the prisoner, then fate

Would be a whole lot different.  One by one,

The ones and ohs would fall beneath the weight

Of Dustin’s sneer and laugh.  He’d get it done

Without a mouth – then make his mouth anew.

Computer God, he’s crazier than you.

 

 

 

 

–Tom Riley

Ayatollah

Ayatollah

 

 

The Ayatollah of Administration

Preaches an order that you must adore.

If you withhold the ordered adoration,

You needn’t hope that he will fight a war.

No: boneheads find his lie a supple whore—

And ask no questions, lest they spoil the thrill.

With his hypocrisy they love to score.

They never notice that it makes God ill.

After a while, they’re eager to fulfill

The Ayatollah’s mindless hopes and schemes.

There is no fight to take a well-placed hill.

They simply hum a tune and live in dreams.

They present then a blank collective face.

They stare forever into inner space.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Little Carpenter

The Little Carpenter

 

 

 

 

The little carpenter thinks that he’s Jesus.

He doesn’t say it – but he’s sure it’s so.

He prays and thinks that fiery Hades freezes.

He speaks and thinks the waves are sinking low.

In all essential things, he’s in the know,

Omniscient where omniscience is the key

To letting all the proper feelings flow.

They flow, he tells himself, unceasingly.

All those who do not readily agree,

All those who dare to doubt his Jesushood,

He’ll cast into the darkness.  Wait and see:

His arrogance, though unexpressed, is good;

It isn’t really arrogance at all.

In all humility, he’s standing tall.

 

 

 

 

–Tom Riley

Start with a Prayer

Start with a Prayer

 

 

 

 

With fervent hearts, they pray before the Lord

That he will bless their necessary lie

With measurable fruit and sweet accord.

They pray that he will strive to rectify

The inconsistencies that liars try

To keep out of their complicated tales—

But still find cropping up, blinking and sly.

Humanity, they know, forever fails—

And, left unaided, falls and writhes and wails.

Still, with God’s help, it’s possible to shape

A lie so wise, so wrapped in clever veils,

That corresponding truth cannot escape

The prison of dishonest stratagem.

They beg the Lord to grant that boon to them.

 

 

 

 

–Tom Riley