Liebesträume vom Lebensraum: I Detest Cheap Sen Sen Mints.

Anti-Social distancing: "Back Off!"

As death comes even for the archbishop, 

the rest of us are stuck with the strictly limited 

and unsatisfying freedom of domestic cats, 

well-fed and declawed,

 like Harold and Maude;

 no longer able to rummage in dustbins

 and fight in Alleys,

 no more Bowling for Dollars,

  licking ourselves while dressed in flea collars.

Everywhere we vainly search for any release for our reserves of creative energy,

 but too long and many hours dedicated to having our entertainment piped into our minds,

 by ad-libbed sit-coms and Marvel-ous heroes, 

caped squeaky-cleaned males in bulging tights proffered by censorious sponsors,

 such that we no longer know how to occupy ourselves, or entertain others, 

so  instead indulge ourselves by solving countless puzzles

 and exchange cross words when not wearing our muzzles.

With all libraries shuttered, every school forced to close,

 both wet dreams of the Rebel South

 enforced by our Emperor without clothes, 

whose tattered remnants of the Confederacy of dunces, 

would prefer to ride in a horse and carriage

 than contemplate a world that sanctions gay marriage.

 It feels as if our life's been put on hold, 

Every minute we live begrudgingly doled;

Over our heads looms the spectre of Death 

 Though still years from drawing our last breath.

 Our children sit in anguished lethargy, 

or tear up the house in bursts of pent up energy. 

This pent house, however was never meant to be.

Somehow it feels like this is all part of a plan, 

a first step in forming 21'st Century man, 

a new world order, one without hope, 

where now, if you're depressed, they'll just give you more rope.

 Not in the form of coiled twine tied into a noose,

 but opioids prescribed by a

 "Need an Oxycontin refill, dear?" Doctor Chanteuse, 

one plied by Pharma-Suit-it-kills. 

All of whom lobbied the DEA to detain, 

anyone caught smoking MaryJane. 

 'Cause lacking the addiction the Capitalists crave, 

its users were cadged, then cudgeled and caged.

At night we venture outside like opossums; 

Notice how without us, the natural world blossoms?    

In daytime bees are now busy pollinating, 

whereas last year their numbers were rapidly abating;

And even ourselves, who we think above nature, 

are forced to desist from enduring material pains

 to make material gains, 

so the ethereal reigns;

 while even the losers among us

 gain that peculiar and delicate wisdom 

that is only learned in defeat; 

so although they're despised by the possessor class, 

for a while at least, 

they're able to see,

 what it's like to live 

like the Keptocracy.

Can you fire a silver bullet from a Copper's gun? 

Drink Champagne with Attila the Hun? 

Shine the floor with ceiling wax,

 or ask a whore why she clickety-clacks,

 around in shoes with five-inch heels 

dressed in body leotards like Emma Peel's? 

Stop dressing me down and dress yourself up, 

use different metrics to measure up;

 try your hand at creating art: 

although you do it in solitude, 

everyone else plays a part: 

our fellows, who, during this interlude, 

we've come to appreciate that without them we're just screwed.