Dumpster Diving for Your Love – Canto VI
Beneath the moon, with 'shrooms that fruit and sway,
John Johnson, cloaked in garb of Super Mario,
Retired to where the bunkhouse shadows lay,
Among many mothers young, with small kids in tow.
Here met he young DooDoo, as night turned to day,
A sleepy Salma Hayek in the lamplight's glow.
After talking, a sweet kiss so soft yet bold
As dark night wrapped round and round them cold.
At three AM, a scream pierced through the peace,
DooDoo awoke, sweat-soaked and distressed.
John slept on, undisturbed, his snores not ceased,
As workers stirred, released from sleep's caress.
DooDoo spoke of Chalamet, her fancy's feast,
And Spanx too tight, all dignity unblessed.
Then a bee from nether regions took its flight,
To sting her heart in terror and bumbling spite.
She begged of John, though Mario he seemed,
To sit beside her through the dark's long hours.
John himself of KC fountains dreamed,
While DooDoo slept in frightened cower.
The morning brought inquiries, while sunlight streamed,
Stardust's suspicions sharp like thorny flowers.
Baba Raj explained, but kept some secrets deep,
Of night's odd coupling and dreams that banished sleep.
Stardust, enraged by jealousy and doubt,
Decreed a fate most grim for DooDoo, John.
"To Mycola-Hotep we'll be devout,
A sacrifice, so presence here be gone."
Baba Raj pled, "This path, please do reroute,
For death won't heal the care you need be found."
Yet Stardust called them forth, her anger clear,
Their fates now hanging in a balance dear.
Oh, the Mushroom God, Mycola-Hotep, reigns,
In shadowed groves where spores speak so dank and dim.
His will, a mystery mired in dark domains,
Commands the fate of those who might come see 'im.
DooDoo and John, in night's enveloping chains,
Unwitting pawns in sacred, ancient schisms.
Their destinies intertwined with fungal rites,
Where dreams and darkness blend in endless nights.
Before Stardust, they stood, the sun high above,
Mushroom God's demands hung in the air.
Their innocence, their stories, could they prove?
Or would they feed the fungus in Stardust's despair?
The Muse alone, who makes all magick move,
Knows what the future holds, what we must bear.
But what does the Muse know of coming warfare?