Man in sky discovers lubricant

This is what I’m writing a rectal poem.
Here it goes, twisting, then staunch.
What I took in I was loosed of,
poor Baptists, and gathering here
they stole in the dark my sheddings.
Poor things, I say, who’ll take those.
Sloping foreheads and four fingers.
Drown the babes and mock their pose,
tell their blood about their psalms.
What feels good is ungood, they know
or cogitate so high on lonesome God.

~ by Jeremy on May 26, 2012.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: