Tuesday, July 31, 2007


Dear Fanged One

This diet drink will conquer the world.

Lord, I’m feeling a nail growing into my toe

like a bad idea. After the surgery

in which the pure silver canister

replaced my brain, I shivered with

buyer’s remorse. Lord, I’m feeling

disgusted about tacos, and I’m

wondering if anything’s wrong. Did

you not get the check? I’m hoping

this diet drink is an invasive species.

Lord, I’m photo-shopping my soul,

overlaying banana leaves with spikes

& leather & real monuments of faith

like thunder & wriggling spines.

Lord, would you be satisfied with my

diet drink? Lord, I am breaking out.

The organ music you commissioned

is killing all the ladybugs.

Lord, This diet drink is working,

all the fences are clearing up.


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