remains of the day: filet mignon barbqed on the roof with the crystal hammer 1990 Vouvray (of which we scored two cases for a lot of money, but a bargain at any price). A meal fit for murder and singing soprano simone who waits on Zeus.
And with my Gowanus run and greasey fingers I find that
All the world is an oil slick
which is to say a sort of cracked mirror
by which to reflect our polluted lives,
but my Jeseus gonna be here, he gonna be here soon
with a great golden shot gun
he gonna shoot out the fuckin’ moon
He gonna cover my head in red Poppies
and Blanket of pure yellow sonSUN
and then he’s gonna open up the back
of that gold Chariot Cadillac
And ride me up to the great gig in the sky
Where I’m gonna get God drunk on sweet Irish whiskey
‘Till he pisses on the world so hard
you’d swear that thunder bolt bastard
was the devil
cause he is.
I mean the arrongant fuck claims to be “All Things”
So he should own evil too,
but he wakes up on Sunday and can’t recall a thing
and Ezekial and Noah are whispering in the pews
about the hookers and all that coke
and of course the pissing.
There was a sign on the door that said: “Jesus was here, but sometimes he comes late… like around ten o’clock. But Jesus says not to worry. He will always come to take the trash out.”
I took this sign as a sign, because, of course that’s exactly what it was… you know something to read, telling you about the trash… but still, it’s good to know that Jesus is coming, even if late, and that he’s got the trash covered. So I got that going for me… etc.
