With more skat
than a stray cat
can poke his eyeballs at
the punk
in the Midnight Choir
starts to twist and shout
Yet …
the All in All
all too beautiful
for even a bird on a wire
to sing about
Like that
concert hall in Vienna
where your lips
were so warm and wet
Getting a feel
of the real deal
… that love thing
Upon a mission
a royal commission
seeking foremost
the rock solid Kingdom
It all starts from within
Seizing the living moment
Best be in it
to win
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
To find truth
without love
or at least a trace
of faith and hope
like trying to climb
the highest peak
of Mount Everest
naked
without oxygen
or even a rope
Not saying it can’t be done
but man …
sounding much like
a clanging gong
in the Temple
of a world gone wrong
Or have I found
that love thing?
From the mire
of the dire basement
that we’re standing in
try as you might
to sight the heavens
across the endless skies
Far better
in the light
seeing the world
through heaven’s eyes
Heart and Soulful
Holy Mindfulness
is the rightful place
where we all belong
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I too
have tried
in my way
to be free
If it be your will
then let it be
Yet
here on earth
they sentenced me
to forty years of mayhem
for spying
the celebrants
of sin
Tell me
where does
this world end
and the next begin?
Because
I don’t like your
toxic culture mister
And I don’t like
the choir
you’re singing in
I don’t like Big Brother’s
twisted little sister
The King
of everything
He’s coming back
He’s coming to reward them
The King of hearts
and minds
the Prince of Peace
returning
But first
we seek the Kingdom
Then let freedom ring
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I’ve been buried
and I’ve been dug up
I call it grace amazing
You called it dumb luck
And thank you
for those items
that you sent me
The stone monkey
and the ink
under my skin
I’ve tunnelled
towards the light
and now I’m ready
First
we occupy the Kingdom
then
let the revolution begin
Yes … Jesus was a sailor
when he walked upon the water
Seeking the lost at sea
and the drowning
The stranger
the gambler
and me
And Leonard Cohen
he’s sailing on
to the Tower of Song
Through all
the rise and fall
the pulp fiction
from hell’s kitchen
I really like
to walk
that tightrope, baby
I really like
to hear
those Sirens sing
But to see that nightmare
of deception
prowling through creation
Jesus told us
yes he told us
Kingdom starts with
Remember me?
I use to to live
without rhyme or reason
Remember me?
I plugged your Hi-Fi in
You loved me as a loser
You’d hate
to ever see me win
With Christ Jesus
my ship has finally
come in
No longer tied
to a kitchen chair
With a Glory
and a broken Hallelujah!
But first
we take the Kingdom
Losing it all to win
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I’m counselled
by a whisper
from the heavens
Once I was blinded
by visions in a spin
Now it’s …
So long Chicken Maryland
That frozen turkey
who nearly did me in
For now I’m guided
by the beauty of creation
and a thirst
for the Kingdom
where I first heard
those angels sing
Jesus told us
yes he told us
Kingdom begins within
And Leonard Cohen
he’s singing along
from the Tower of Song
~ by David B. Redpath © 2017-20
Artwork;
‘La Musica Sacra’
~ by Luigi Mussini
Photography:
David B. Redpath © 2017-20
David Redpath 
drove the car
off the final curve of reciprocated love
a trivial sex life playing in a half-empty cinema
ambling through daydreams of walking upright
the phone ringing, curious magazines
begging for photographs
would I bend over
for a close-up ?
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I was eventually released
from house arrest
a consequence of a recent
Extinction Rebellion protest
(I had nothing to do
with the bloody violence)
so I took the chance
to see my physiotherapist
who promptly instructed me
to take off my pants
as she sat back languidly
reciting all the lyrics
from ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’
I told her sternly
that I’m just a poor boy
from a plebeian family
so please treat me gently
She always ignores my requests
yet I know she does her best
with those hands of sweet poetry
No plaster cast can resist
the allure of my physiotherapist
Manipulations with a clenched fist
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My reciprocal altruism
hit a pothole
out on Highway 61
where life is just
another centre spread
in a Hustler Magazine.
When finally I awoke
from a midsummer’s night dream
with a touch of beaver fever
there was Larry Flynt
by my hospital bed
singing, “Don’t Bogart that joint
my friend, pass it over to me.”
Larry was always
a bit low-down and mean
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famous stories about plaster casts
they had to mix up more
in a rush forgot the curls
Jimi started a habit
that day
or some damn shit
busy remembering
civil war dates
for an exam
don’t know about enjoying more
100% mind everything less
come to class with luggage
people curious about my legs
questions about airport security
a toe-tapping penis
my supplements have supplements
balloons of every color
cheerful and optimistic genitals
the faucet of libido gushing
welcoming any invitation to dance
standing up or otherwise
(+) sex: disagreeing gracefully
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Short and curly stories
lost in the cracks of history
Jimi and his bad habits
discharged from the army
for discharging indiscriminately
Apparently it was a crime
to be caught toe-tapping
with some imaginary foxy lady
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dreams about having a packed suitcase
ready for a quick getaway
met a new man today
fabulous shoes
long, long toes
he was like the best cigarette I ever smoked
instantly I was charmed and crazy in love
how divine to combine adrenalin
and pure meth from a lab
twice, the Olympic stud
(+) I heard him in the bathroom weeping
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the new man is a beautiful specimen
I had no need to size him up
his toeholds are well spaced
climbing to the top is easy
the horizon beautiful
reflected in his eyes
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” a comforting feeling of solidarity with friends”
and I am thinking………..acquaintances ?
friendship has dwindled to well nigh zilch
the dance floor empty
people who wore aberrations on their feet
where have they gone ?
someone somewhere monitors deterioration
I have several folders under different names
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you think that you know someone
and then suddenly
a surprise visit
and OMG
dead relatives
stacks of bodies dried and deformed
some you could identify, others total strangers
everything became a blur, delight turned to demise
colliding thoughts
mental somersaults
Leonard Cohen was there
naked, his genitals fully exposed
perhaps it was a weird test, Noah drunk
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The condominium
of my artistic friend
Hieronymus Bosch
has come crashing down
I guess all good things
must come to an end
No more all night parties
with the Toxic Twins and
their pubescent groupies
No more moonlit swims
in the Caribbean
with Jungle Jim
rescuing Cuban refugees
Not at least
till the next renaissance
Somewhere out there
lies the broken body
of Hieronymus Bosch
May he rest in peace
safe in his Holeproof socks
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assault on the senses coming from two directions
detectives at the front door
detectives at the backdoor
their legs were rubbery
small crayon dicks
nothing could stop them
from having access to themselves
they were seed spillers
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powerless in the manacles and shackles of romance
a love that brings God’s anger
the reflecting love
the golden cup
of fornication
past due bills from Sodom and Gomorrah:
(+) the white heat of God’s anger
(+) the black smell of Hell’s rectum
past due bills for having chosen evil over righteousness
THE FATE OF POETS AND OUTSIDERS
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HE WHO ALONE IS WORTHY TO OPEN THE SCROLL OF DESTINY
information wanted by the detectives
school children could answer that question
(+) one must hear the word of God
(+) one must obey the word of God
it is possible to bend and reshape oneself
your sins remain but you escape bondage
you may never rub elbows with Jesus
but you are inside and safe
eternal employment
alphabet free
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FACT AND FANTASY
You are molded by what you think
I am an artistic masterpiece crafted
by the Master’s hand from the deep
mysteries of quantum mechanics
My celestial theory of relativity …
you become what you perceive 👁️
To be loveless is truly the prime crime
In a broken world of circumstances
and consequences, love divine is what
we all need to break through and
succeed, to roam the realms sublime
of a much higher reality
Hatred and fear are just saddle bags
of heavy gravity
Jesus Christ … he is my spirituality
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in heaven
all condos are not equal
some slip and slide
just like lovers
a little perversity
a truck load of perversity
angels barefoot in heaven
suspicions confirmed
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This side of Armageddon
we will not see again the likes
of Hieronymus Bosch’s
luxurious condominium
That hallowed place where
Dali painted his masterpieces
of spiritual surrealism
and where Pablo took refuge
from General Franco
and his hoodlums of fascism
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Picasso was proud of his cock feathers
they were the flowering of his genius
his personality like a rhino horn
daily tongue lashings
a 1000 aspirin pain
his art
a little aboriginal
a little Mardi Gras
his chubby face penis
often mistaken for Judi Dench
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the day Picasso left Placebo Town
a giant flood of blood fell from the sky
washed away the road and Picasso never returned
poets claim that red tears fell from giant floating eyes
poets claim all sorts of things, seven golden lampstands
among them someone like a man with eyes of blazing fire
do not get me started
trumpetlike voices
priestly garments
Yahweh Sebaoth
overhead
above us
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I was holding up the bar at Club
Placebo when a tourist bus full of
heavenly hosts came looking for Pablo.
I told them Picasso was totally
innocent of whatever he’s accused of,
being an artist … of course. They said
they just wanted to raise a toast to
the master cubist, not to give him a
roast, so I suggested they might find
Pablo at the Spearmint Rhino, a mile
or two down the Damascus Road.
As the sound system at Club Placebo
reached biblical proportions and was
ready to explode , the wild boys, with
their end times toys, rode up and
tied their horses to the Placebo pole
dancers. At that poor Henri the
tortoise from Toulouse-Lautrec, went
absolutely berserk, with complaining
to club management.
The Salvador just sat there painting
the toreador hallucinogenic wearing
a poetic war mask.
Then I heard someone yelling
. . . “WAKE UP, DAVID!!!”
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at the truck stop
they pull and tug
and gnash teeth often
pleased and thankful for the outcome
I see men wink and smile, big thumbs up
(+) on the cover of a magazine near the cashier
Woody Allen (tortoise without a shell) sniffing his finger
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he had seen her nude but never naked
and there it was
a small
perfectly shaped platypus
he reached over and stroked its lips
yes, there were flashing lights and 10ft. tall stop signs
all the numbers arranged in different ways were never correct
mathematically speaking, WILLINGNESS was the lubricant of his mistake
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NAKEDNESS
body and soul
no fig leaf for a mask
Honesty
like a smooth criminal
taking his last gasp
facing eternity
Aleister Crowley
all hell bent
Marjorie came
Ron then went
on the Leviticus train
with Diablo Satana
C’est la vie
Aleister Crowley
Arrivederci … una vita sana!
The occult
is an unholy insult
Sleepers awake
stop pointing a dry bone
The spirit
is life’s lubricant
a loving honey milkshake
Just like your mobile phone
don’t go leaving home
without it
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Doctor Zaius
has just been released
from the Ape Planet penitentiary
It would seem
that this once esteemed simian
was the victim of a false accusation
(a real problem for anyone
considered a celebrity)
But then
facial recognition
can be problematic
when being attacked
by a monkey on your back
Things
and faces
are still a bit foggy
from the last time an orangutan
slipped me a cosby
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don’t know nothing about mobile phones
I do recall times of trouble
at the front door
of romance
new movies
with apes playing humans
super human abilities lacking intelligence
mechanical crickets in a natural environment
wearing multiple undergarments, alert prying eyes
strangers complain that their genitals smell of ham salad
loneliness is difficult to launder…..yes, loneliness reeks of ham salad
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Platypussy
was a great movie
James Bondage up to his neck
in ham salad and dead roses
Roger Moore
never say Kosher
But then again
Charlton Heston
the original Omega Man
as Moses in the wilderness
on that Planet of the Apes
crying out . . . .
“Let those chimpanzees be!”
As a consequence
Doctor Zaius was the orangutan
who concocted the Corona Virus
in his Wuhan laboratory
The Omega mutation
will be his Opus
as the destruction of humanity
is his forte
God help us!
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when it comes to “Planet of the Apes”
one can literally pull simians out of their butt
***NEWS FLASH: HUMANS BECOME A DEVALUED SPECIES***
walk upright, talk, ride a horse, shoot a gun, what more could one expect ?
woe to the earth, simian flu
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constantly in motion
the intuitive poet who works
out of the unconscious
hands out $5 words
till he’s broke
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the airline lied
there was no life jacket
under my seat
but I found the exit
right next to the cockpit
so I took that fateful step
without even a parachute
yet instead of falling
I was swept up
into a fractured spectrum
of a sky unfurling
like a curtain torn to ribbons
by powers and principalities
rising and falling
visions of angels battling
great fire breathing dragons
sleepwalkers oblivious
to what is and isn’t real
suspended in slow motion
their mortal existence
in the balance
humans asleep at the wheel
with death
riding shotgun
all dark and mysterious
a marked deck in the deal
of a losing game insidious
faithful and true
is the Alpha-Omega
he be the life never ending
shining and victorious
from Miami to Malibu
sea levels are rising
as fault lines start shaking
from Florida to California
condominiums collapsing
a pseudo contagion
of placebo paranoia
is rapidly spreading
as shadow kingdoms
in the light of the Son
are finally undone
the judgement of nations
where power and glory
is fetid and fleeting
salvation is a decision
in the believing and doing
that sinking sand
of an accursed land
is no place to be standing
when the Earth itself
starts rocking and reeling
“It’s so much darker when a light
goes out, than it would have been
if it had never shone.”
~John Steinbeck
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Miles Davis in the front row
of an impotence
that he was told
at best
temporary
hours and hours
of pulling on his pud
the truth was there but limp
(+) high above the lower plateau of Salems, Kool cigarettes
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don’t know nothing about $5
I don’t get out of bed
for less than a sawbuck
in Placebo Town
menthol was banned
by order of Mister McLean
the Malboro Man
as he is a noble being
of the collective conciousness
at home in the Placebo Universe
a rugged individual
too kool for school
the self reliant cowboy capitalist
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Impotence is a problem when
playing the horn for a living.
Rest in peace Miles Davis 🎺
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physical and spiritual wandering in Placebo Town
pills for happiness
maps for mazes
crooked ways
misleading directions
from roadside Christians
mistaking one place for another
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nowhere in the Reader’s Digest Bible
Satan’s journey to Eden
a necessity that life
imposes on humans
long is the way, my friend
outcast from the physical world
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I consulted the editor
and head priest of Reader’s Digest
his advice was just too condensed
that when it comes
to Kingdom questions
laughter is the best medicine
but if all else fails
take a couple of aspirin
and have a good lie down
dreams of an extreme mañana
with visions of the sublime
are a side effect
of a virtual spiritual enema
doesn’t mean it’s Armageddon time
Religion is a weapon
a contagion in the hands
of the compulsively insane
the gullible played like in
some inane computer game
I thanked the Editor-Priest
with a one year subscription
and then hit the road again
like a trailer trash Willie Nelson
“For God is not a God of confusion
but of peace.”
“The natural person does not accept
the things of the Spirit of God, for
they are folly to him, and he is not
able to understand them because
they are spiritually discerned.”
~ Paul the Apostle
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at one time
Placebo Town was the first light
one encountered when leaving the Void
not saying that I come from an old family
but my uncle was in his backyard
when Satan floated up
asking directions
to his new home
H A D E S
“just follow your nose”
(later Dylan turned that into a #1 hit)
permit the scent of 10,000 rotten pole cats
to guide you to your residence of torment
a burning lake and a frozen lake
and things better not spoken
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Much to my surprise
an affordable meal
can be found
at the shopping mall
in Placebo Town
In a corner cafe
a newborn baby was busy
being fed on the breast
I said that I’m a hungry man
and not meaning to be rash
but could I possibly be next?
More out of pity than greed
that mother mercifully agreed
after insisting on cash
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Eve was troubled by memories of life before Adam
between moments of existence, it was not Adam’s face
that pressed itself to her, seeding her without warning
one could say, “paradise was erased before it was written”
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Did Eve
have an umbilicus
prior to the eviction
from the Garden
or even a uterus
ready to function?
After the fall
as a consequence
did Adam’s testicles
shrivel up
into neuticles
balls and all?
I’ve searched the records
but this vital information
is sadly not written
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“what people can’t grasp is that there were thousands
of Adams and Eves after the exit from Eden”
………………………..Rusty the Rabbi
“I don’t really give a rat’s ass about Adam and Eve
after the exit from Eden. They just became manpower
for the underworld. I think the original Eve still does
attendance at the burning lake”
————–MultipleMichael
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Eve
now wears
make-up
and frilly knickers
in order to attract lovers
and kindle their desire
Satan
now wears
make-up
and sheepskin
to attract humans
to come join him
in that burning lake of fire
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it wasn’t that Satan and Eve were strangers
long before she was sucked from the marrow of Adam
Eve was 100% male and a member of the “Lucifer Fan Club”
(+) please note that there were no female angels, no female angels today
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they say it is about heirs and inheritors of God’s Kingdom
to stand in his company, to risk being gobbled up
he who puts no trust in his servants
angering an old friend
with the human race
Adam naming sheep
in his sleep
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Adam
was reduced
to a sorry specimen
like a broken shell
a mere shadow
of his former self
after just one night
at the Honeymoon Hotel
with that night manager
peeping through the keyhole
at a naked tortoise
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Honeymoon Hotel night manager second thoughts:
(1) never go camping with him
(2) never share a one man tent with him
(3) never share a sleeping bag with him
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Then I guess
as a paying guest
Brokeback Mountain
is out of the question?
That devious night manager
is a multi-flanged predator
as well as a low down philanderer
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poetry workshop:
God is actively removing his will from humans
leaving behind some traces of divine power
it is common that people express love
a habit troublesome for angels
knowing humans lack
any definition
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Placebo Town frowns upon
any form of poetic romance
At friday night fight club
where love is a sign of weakness
you best to keep your humanity
well and truly hidden
deep down in your pants
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God is unknowable and inaccessible
he is the opposite of reality
the silliness of heaven
the soap opera crap
beyond measure
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Could it possibly be
that some things
you thought you knew
were true . . . but
on a whole other level
Babylon is the mother
of mysteries
Theology
Philosophy
The truth is simple
In Christ Jesus
the invisible God
made visible
But then . . .
people do love a carnival
in the endless search
for divine perfection
The complex of chaos
wheels within the spirals
of perpetual motion
Creation and destruction
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leather-clad scallywags
pedestrian peeping toms
openly denying themselves
the very things they eyeball
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one thing I know
that I know nothing
black is a thousand shades of white
white is a thousand shades of black
people talk nonsense
words are misspelled
Judeo-Christians
just baby birds
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Who knows, Plato?
Rusty the Rabbi resembles
that remark. A fatwa too far
aboard Noah’s lost ark.
Ostracised ostriches
voracious vultures
and estranged eagles
all scratching in the dark.
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the night porter and I do nine hundred $
I put on James Brown and Bobby Byrd
James counts it off
the horn section
the skinny girl
everyone
baked
(+) Thank God for my space grown cotton body pillow
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In Placebo Town
where life is but a dream
people they seem
to come and then go
They rise with the tide
and then melt like the snow
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a young Mick Jagger on stage
more skinny than skinny
a limited audience
dressed in Dollar Store capes
probably devil worship Halloween
Mick sings, “what’s my name” 10,000 times
he goes overboard, way overboard
ends up removing his shirt
an image of a horned one
painted on his chest
( I fainted, John and Yoko are in the audience)
(+) I am informed that people who masturbate
to this video, hold the squirt for the Lennon
appearance
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“A stiff prick has no conscience.”
~ Julie Andrews
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Some call Yoko Ono
a performance artist . . .
Caravaggio
once signed his name
in the blood of John the Baptist
He never again
signed any of his paintings
Michelangelo Caravaggio
the tragic visceral artist
Lucien Freud
the grandson of Sigmund
was left null and void
when Picasso seduced
his fiancée right in front of him
All I know
is that you’ll be sorry
and she’ll be sore
if ever you ever
introduce your girlfriend
to Pablo the minotaur
that randy sex fiend
From then on
all of Lucien’s paintings
were like a carnal crash scene
from that Andy Warhol movie
‘Flesh For Frankenstein’
Some called it Expressionism
I call it a horror show
spawned of a cerebral embolism
Some call Yoko Ono
a performance artist . . .
I don’t know what that means?
I just don’t understand.
Didn’t John Lennon
refer to her as plastic?
Yoko and her Ono band.
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people often ask me
about Yoko
at best,
she’s one of those creatures that science can’t explain
millions of hours she sat two feet from John like a loyal pet
crude friends have said that she has a Satanic vaginal tube
you put your dong in and Lord-have-mercy its stuck
pull with all your might, just heavenly pleasure
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I know all the toll booth operators by name
they know me and know I love them
“have you seen him ?”
they reply, “any day now, any day”
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The Night Porter
at the Hilton Placebo
looks just like Ronnie Wood
in a cheap rental tuxedo
When I asked him
what was his game
and who was his tailor
he swore that Mick Jagger
was nowhere near
and not the one to blame
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poetry workshop:
a group of educated people justifying Jesus
costs and rewards for 45 minutes
I was daydreaming about last night
the night porter and his pillow soft buzz
Cat Stevens at his best
wooed by narcotics
pity those
forsaking
today
for tomorrow
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Apologists
apologising for Leviticus
Evangelists
attempting to raise Lazarus
Poets and daydreamers
stoking that fire down below
with their knickers in a twist
Burnt out hippies
chasing moon shadows
An infidel Cat Stevens
at his blasphemous best
The Oracle of Delphi
in a delirious trance
once whispered in my ear
“Dreamer, know thyself,
and always remember
. . . nothing in excess.”
Back at the Honeymoon Hotel
as I lay down to rest
I found a note under my pillow
saying …
“Apologise for yourself!
For the living
tomorrow is always
the penultimate test.”
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for the living
tomorrow
is the test
what
I thought was a bomb
turned out to be a fuel intake explosion
they said that I wouldn’t live
and I died a thousand deaths
parts missing
some growing on animals
didn’t much matter
I spent a lot of time
talking about Noah
when asked to change the subject
I would dive into Adam and Eve
begging for a liquor never brewed
pancakes from heaven, light and fluffy
Jesus told me daily that he had respect for my pain
he would suggest that I had enough
and not ask for more
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the night porter
pulls down clouds
stuffs the pillows nice
night porter bliss
no common bliss
the price to be paid
joy to have merited
the pain, the deprivation
the benefits of trial and loss
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try as I might
I could not recall their faces
Adam and Eve and Noah and Satan
funky valentines piled up over the years
all our choices will be justified in the end
the school bus of “not now”
it slows but never stops
I wave at the life
I never lived
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a look of agony
constantly falling
suffering sizes upward
mistaking defeat for death
tenderness of flesh for love
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I wave at the life I never lived
wife one wife two wife three
naked children by the road
begging for a hand-out
a religion of denial
Sabbath Bath Salts
mental masochism
anguish and despair
bypassing brotherly love
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a hermit
at the outer limit
of incongruous chaos
and a rebellious recluse
stone free
emotionally impervious
and spirituality footloose
on a reckless spree
I never asked
for what eventually
happened to pitiful me
I never made any request
to be fortuitously blessed
the life I lived
surviving calamity
broken bits healed
wives and children many
the fullness of life revealed
divine providence at it’s best
Some mother or other
musta been praying for me
whoever woulda guessed?
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go to church
everyone busy veiling themselves
100% reluctance to be open and honest
(+) the omission of markers
(+) the strictures on expression
I wave at aggressive self-denial
the life I never lived
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romance:
(+) the dark into an opportunity
(+) a form of sensual masochism
how many valentines will show up in your valentine box ?
the status quo:
the cheerleaders
the jocks
(+) trying to transcend “anxiety of gender”
(+) trying not to transcend “anxiety of gender”
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forced
to walk naked in front of the nuns
who judged our piss/shit stains
children in prison
serving the Lord
(+) the nuns preached, “emergence through opposition”
going to the toilet took on metaphysical proportions
the older boys slept there waiting to beat you, rape you
fellow inmates refused to eat and died of thirst
the secret was to become obedient unto death
(+) test the loving Jesus of the Cross
(+) punch him in the nose and take his place
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(+) to rob Jesus of his glory
(+) to pleasure death
the life I never lived:
a thousand wives
countless snot-nosed children
clad in prison garb
littering the country side
(+) the pressing need for money
what a joke, I never lived that life
adoring hearts are never broke
I opened mine and asked others
to take a stab
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Polar bears from way up north
taught me everything I know
they coughed up diamonds and gold
keeping me toasty warm
while others froze
(+) I was the only one not afraid to punch Jesus in the nose
(+) I pleasured my death and the death of anyone afraid
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those who hammered me to my grave
claimed the Polar bears were manmade
not God-made
truckloads of Hebrew and Greek texts
Beatle lyrics and dusty Quakers agreed
I had no right to challenge widely held beliefs
(+) I had no right to pleasure death
(+) I had no right to trim the feathers of loneliness
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after every performance
“why didst thou leave me ?”
(+) a fresh angle cut on the feathers
the poet with his loneliness
no lofty flight
the heart wrapped
the intellect so limited
me legs in a box
I keep out of sight
me legs in a box
always cold
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“I always remind folks to behave in a courteous manner
when being transported by Death. There are two drop off
areas and one of them is gruesome.”
———–Rusty the Rabbi
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“I’m very happy with the Abraham’s
Bosom Condominium I purchased
from Trusty Rusty’s Realty.”
~ Dead Lee Ernest
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the sign over the door:
“we don’t take kindly to the intellect”
I had visions of topless women
welcoming warm hands
“feel the strength of our hearts”
I suffer daydreams of females
eager to share emotional responses
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Sunday School in Kentucky:
young girls pray to have male babies in the future
older girls acknowledge that Adam entertains God
while Eve is imprisoned in the coils of the serpent
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