Friday, October 28, 2011

Dear Angel,

The Trouble is
I got tribble troubles
like everyone else
but the problem
with my troubles is
they come in a spray-on form.
My troubles easily aerosolize.
Self-cleaning oven
is every bit as funny
as I won't come in your mouth.
By now, you might be asking yourself,
Just exactly how many nuns
does this fucking guy own?

And the truth is I keep them
chained everywhere in this house:
nuns in the basement, nuns
ruining the kitchen, nuns
crucified on dildos over there.
Forgiveness is the new Fuck Me Harder.
I walk the dinosaur,
I walk the dog,
I walk the Light.
Like God, I have few favorites
and shove them in your face.
Sometimes, I staple things
to lions, sometimes I dance.
I am terrified of virtually everyone
except for everyone virtual.
The only thing that has gone viral
is my bad behavior. Selah.
Like most humans and cats
I want love but I really don't
know where I'd put it, Thanks
so why don't you just keep it?
It'll end up in a thrift store.
Like anything won't.
Ish Ka Bibble. Ish Ish.
I want to not die
and go to heaven,
just like those raptors
in the YouTube rapture.
Dear God, It's Me, Shithead,
and I want an estimate
before you do anything.

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