February 18, 2009

Aunt Sally Jessy Doggerel

Look at you, Aunt Sally, you're walking around your house at midnight drinking white wine
From a large cup! Don't look up,
The bible has become your handicap,
You were always my favorite aunt after Aunt Enid croaked, & your love for the divine,
The ornaments of gold & silver & ivory,
And the dildo you hid at your husband's mortuary,
Are all become too involved in the future, let your bottom release its trenchant little whine.

Seems the trees, rectangular, nonsense, like a galley-slave repetition of alcoholic mumbles,
And of course also your disciples,
Aunt Sally, I can see your arm ripples,
Hang the synthesizer on the wall & wake to the sound of Appalachian banjos,
Jesus has gotten in between us,
Mary Magdalen, & the psychic chip in my penis,
We are collected, red whiskey & pain-free, let the trees crumble like the architecture crumbles.

Now that your husband has come home from the war, Aunt Sally, & put aside life,
Can we remember to forget the lost pages,
I never doubted the police weren't 99% courageous,
But there is a time for all things, botanical & arnophiliacal, and there is a time to be alive with your wife,
The correct hour for our reasoning,
And after that, the squid's inkiest cunning,
You & me, we shall not taste of death, till we see the Son of Man coming into his kingdom, the holy sheriff.

Thousands will know about us, thousands of people will come from faraway,
James will clear the slugs off his plate,
And see his reflection in his dinner's fate,
Drink up, Aunt Sally, I'm lost in your decolletage, I feel your decay,
Thousands of people on the internet
Have ordered a custom-made Aunt Sally Jessy beret,
Finally, suddenly, a shot rang out, fermented whale tears, the last act of the day.

Five times five times five, here beneath heaven & we take our daily doughnut,
Are you allowed to be so self-referential?
Making headlines from your prittle-prattle,
Look at you, Aunt Sally, you have become the huge spaceship that time forgot,
You've swept these meanings under your pile of rot,
You've let me hug you for too long, even after we were caught,
But he's back, he's back, he's back, thank the saints, whether I like it or not.

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