October 05, 2007

Genius Prayer

Glory be to my gonads! I can teach the Cafe Gratitude something about abundance,
And cooking mountain oysters.
My wife knows about my boyfriend, but my boyfriend never grasped the subtleties of polyamorous romance,
Before he took the bloodthirsty sickle from his belt & began running towards the cottage,
There was no balance.
The princess of the scales never ventured here from her elysian cloisters,
And a decision-making job results in decisions being made, so says the God of Centrifuge.

Our whimpering & muttering, a few errant gnats heard our request.
They're still buzzing about it.
Now we're shooting quarks thru lenticular galaxies, sexual imagery you know best.
We were fruitful, we did long division, we reified our meek-inheriting descendants,
And then one smarty-pants prime minister
Destroyed an entire colony of termites with a single flaming bag of shit.
I dream of philosophy in the daytime, but after hours, only of getting into Dolly Parton's pants.

And a soul that goes whoring after wizards, or has mastered non-verbal spells,
I will cut him off from among my capers.
I feel the vibrations of the future of the planet as so many tolling life-knells.
The omniscient is still anxious, we have not lived chaste & honorable lives.
Saint John is scoffing at me,
But Saint Frideswide is too busy making out with lepers.
Let Shakespeare exalt his illegitimate children, I am going to meditate ceaselessly until the pizza man arrives.

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