"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me."
Hunter S. Thompson

Riip Redding

Scrambled Sunday Slam-dance

caught a flathead catfish with
a seventies porn-star mustache
he winked at me when I opened his belly

in his guts
I found a used yellow condom
and a diamond engagement ring

took a quick shower to be holy
but laid down in the tub and fell asleep
nearly drowned
was late for redemption

magic promises of the two-headed preacher
rattled my ears
but not my soul
perhaps I am irredeemable in the state

flesh-crazed Sunday canines tore
barbeque-basted corpses
in between witty lies and sacred hatred

oriental chairs
red with gold paisley
they reminded me of grandma
she chewed tobacco and smoked cigarettes
I miss her laughter

babydolls speak in scrambled Scrabble tiles
smiling feline masque exhales a foreign-tongued

forgot to let my happy beast outside
my dreams will be littered with worry
and feces on the beige carpet

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