Monthly Archives: October 2013

On Sacrilege and Miscommunication

I think I’m God. I always have,
But now I’ve found some proof.
I learned my place just yesterday
When acting like a goof.

My friend was in the bathroom,
And she had been for a while,
So I asked “You having a baby in there?”
My face, it held a smile.

She called back, smiling too.
She answered me, “No, shit.”
“No shit?” I thought? “She really is?”
My heart did flip and flit.

You need some help? An ambulance?
She laughed so merrily
I found it hard to believe
She was birthing my baby.

Then it hit me like a rock
Flung at near-mach speed:
How could she have my baby
If we’d never done the deed?

Was I the virgin father?
Was I Jesus’s old chapper?
Was the second coming going on
Atop my porcelain crapper?

She couldn’t be a virgin mother,
That’s a fact that I knew pat.
So I was the father, but so was God.
How do you logic that?

So thus I must conclude that I am God,
The father of the savior.
My son, he is so small and brown,
This time I’ll call him Javier.

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Baby Rock

A fumpquadrillion years ago

There was a baby rock.

He was tiny, like a pebble,

And musical, like Bach.

The baby stone would sing and moan

Some songs, both longs and shorts.

His first record went multi-platinum,

Not bad for a teenage quartz.

As he aged, his music differed,

In its lyrics, its style, its tone.

This June you might just see him on

The cover of Rolling Stone.

Baby Rock was an instant success.

He’s got some considerable clout,

And he just wanted me to remind you

To stay tough and to baby rock out.

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Mustang (For my Sister)


She grew up in sixty days,
Perfected by a sergeant’s love.
Her weakness died in August’s blaze
And a flawless warrior soared above.

She dressed in tan as she ran by,
In green when she was done.
She marched in blue under cloudy sky,
Embraced me ‘neath the sun.

The days that followed all were bliss,
That faded with each other.
At night we parted with a kiss
Between sister and brother.

I’d just four days to see the change
Before again we had to part.
Our eyes cannot see past the range,
But range means nothing to the heart.

So I saluted one time more
And walked away to catch my flight.
I smiled, walking past the door,
But on the plane I cried all night.

And thus my mustang flew away,
Unbridled by her childhood fear,
And so I wait until the day
My airman once again is near.

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