Little Stories

I'm not in love. This whole thing is a farce.

Michael, I'd sleep
But I'd rather lie here
And watch your face
Because the way it looks
When it's facing me
Is like an angel cooked
In bacon grease

Heaven is as imperfect
As the ghosts who haunt it
God's just a terrified tenant
In this home we've possessed
We write our prayers with a choir of scorned corpses

Tidy up
Slumlord Jesus
Ashes and flashes
Cover the masses
Distract from the lord's duress
Bones crack and moan
Like the windy forests at home
Lead us not from temptation
And spare us not the money-shot

The countdown concludes
And there she is asleep
Careful not to make a peep
Ashes to ashes, my sweet
I'm glad we have these little stories

Reviews

[Marie]

These are clever little flashes of something...I'm not sure what...

[Michael Sabino]

Thanks so much for reading. I tend to mix small narratives of actual events with intervals of stream-of-consciousness ramblings.