Satan Calls You Poem by Mark Heathcote

A Cobra whispers to a Horned Lizard
"He's got a-good-foothold on ears and minds".
They're lining up tens of millions adrift.
Satan profits from each of the four winds
Our sense of injustice-isn't-rectified
He afflicts and conflicts our flesh, assists
In a manner meaningful, quantified
People, never ask? …does, Satan exists.
His adversary, questionable
Did you read the memo, "Prayer is dead"
… That dude-Lucifer the unmentionable
Caused the death of Catholicism; discs of bread,
Warm wine represents the blood of Christ body.
People love their abyss of drugs and drink
They don't whine-on about melancholy,
Bodied in a hot daisy-chain interlink-

They're all happy wayfaring Infidels.
Who'd give up rosemary-beads and sandals?
For scenes from the bowels of hells brothels
For lascivious moments, hot scandals
Lives become somewhat tainted with neglect
Folks sleeping-rough on every city-street
Of their fate, that political, excrete…,
No-longer care, who is the architect
That's ejaculated, in every, tabloid
Tells us it's a dog eat dog world, stays guarded
Closed, captured black and white in celluloid;
Live life in-full-Technicolor, uncharted.
Have your sexual mishaps let them shape you
Desire is the clay, vessel that reshapes you
So slip-on as many shoes as you dare too
Be diverse, explore another avenue.