Heaven Sent

From Me:

Michael Patrick thank you
For being such a mean kibbles man
Michael Patrick thank you
For showing us where to stand

Michael Patrick is a flamer
Who claims he isn’t gay (claims)
Michael Patrick is insaner (than most)
Just listen to what he has to say

If there is a feather-bed heaven
All sleek and blue and fat
And Michael you are in it
I know that’s not where it’s at

If people like me belong in hell so hotly
Then we will reside in love
My hell-suit will drape me just fine
AAnd your hell will be above

You can judge your angels
For flying with two left wings
And I will polish my hornies
Till I know they will truly sting


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



From Michael:



THE SOUND OF ZOMBIES

"The halls are alive with the sound of zombies
With drunk-a-logs they have sung for seventy years
The halls fill your brain with the sound of zombies
Your brain wants to explode to every drunk-a-log it hears

Your brain wants to rip the steps to shreds
which rise from the dead & explode into hell
Your stomach wants to “puke” like a zombie that flies
to an AA meeting & the higher power

To laugh at the big book when it trips and falls
oversteppers on its way
To cry through the night like a bill & bob clone

You go to the meetings when your brain is "loony"
I know you will hear what you've heard before
Your heart will be cursed with the sound of zombies
And you'll vomit once more".

Peek_a_Boo

Many of us have said:
So universal to try trust
Taxis drivers will lie to us
Swollen tongues-a-searching
Today’s starry story lynching

There exist many shades of red
Babies’ birth teaches
Peek-a-boo looks a bed
We say a universal game
Round the world the same

No matter where a traveler treads
People try an easier way
Universal sloth
Cut from Darwin’s cloth
We yearn to learn leisure

Many a bed we lay our head
And dream the bright dreams
We think we think our thoughts
Falling snowflakes of desire
Flickering flames of fire

The Lord's Manger

Homeless, sleep most everywhere
Grocery carts precision packed
It’s kinda hard not to stare
Lacking lives in disregard

We love them so in our hearts
Tho’ our heads say they’re bad
We could be pushing those very carts
The fact we aren’t makes us glad

They don’t ask for help from us
Just money for the high
I shake my head and simply sigh
They sleep in the lord’s manger

Animals don’t want to live this way
Animals want food and shelter
Cold concrete’s a rock hard stay
To see this makes me sad

We all don’t choose their fate
Waiting for death to cut us hard
Because their pain is so very great
The poor men’s souls are scarred