Dr. Heckle & Mr. Jive
laugh and lie,
coerce—connive
fouler still
the duo thrives,
without—within
ingrained inside.
the Jivin’ hand
forms finger spin,
a jaZZy dig
at temple skin,
the Heckler
wags
his thumb from knows,
–as if he does–
yes, one of those…
the Jivin’ Man
plays games with shells
–where’s the nut?
he’ll never tell,
but Hecklin’ Dude
likes playin’ shill,
yellin’ catcalls
rude and shrill,
the Jivin’ Jokester
paints black→white,
in your face
calls left←right,
while ole Doc Heckle
–jeers–
when you,
decide which
state is true
(for you)
but if you were
to realize,
Dr. Heckle’s
only cred’
is self-endorsed
and authorized,
by fears that fester
in your head,
and Mr. Jive
can hoodwink only–
when you’re
unguarded
weak
and prone, he
presses hand
–he contradicts–
that sense in gut
(the better pick)
You can send
these peddlers’ packin’
by wieldin’
the whip & crackin’
down on doubts,
and second-guesses
lashin’
pair
with such redress, is
quite enough
to silence duo
–you’ve got the stuff–
don’t play the fool.
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