Three Halves

Three halves and three quarters,
Makes apple pie,
Two loaves of bread in the sky,
Moreover move over and let the man pass,
His crazy will kill you if you stand in his way,
Who's crossing whose borders,
Nobody knows,
Except Fruznic, I suppose,
Taken too lightly I've taken much longer,
Than turtles in torment with touches of turmoil,
Divide them up again,
Multiply twice,
The answer you get is rice,
Fed to a kitty as though on the table,
What we get is scraps; that is all that's left over,
The evil made more good,
The good made bad,
Travesties in myriad,
Eaten by the toothless, towering torpor,
We slowly digest while we ponder the meaning.

6, 4r, 7r, 11, 12