You Are Only As Sick As Your Secrets.

This Ignorant Tragedy
within The Catholic Church;
where the POWERS at be
have been more concerned
about Protecting their Priests
than their Children;
has rendered
The Church
Evil,
Null,
and Goddamned Void.

My use of “Goddamned”
has never been more appropriate.
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I’ve never written
a ditty drunk.

Here goes.

So.
This ditty is about forgiveness,
white goats,
and Grant Hats.

Mispellings are expected
and understood.

I think I missed
a date tonight,
a commitment,
which is something
I don’t take
(holly go) lightly.

(I hope my two ex-wives I left aren’t reading this)
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“What the fuck is going on around here!!!”
is all I remember hearing.

“Eat Me Hollywood!”

I don’t know the statistics,
but I bet we humans
only see about 50%
of what is really going on.

We put together
our own meaning of life
with only half
of what’s really out there.
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I CAN’T DO THAT AND STAY WHOLE.

Those seven little words
that guide my life
have caused me
more pain
that any other seven words
I’ve ever heard,
or used.

I self-inflict that pain,
knowing that
compromising my wholeness,
well,
would be
compromising my wholeness.
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Have you ever had
a BOIL on your body,
you know,
the green kind
that pusses all up to white,
and hurts so bad
that you think
that if it doesn’t pop,
NOW,
then you won’t be able
to cope with living
one more minute?

It gets real hard
and if you bump it
up against something,
then every obscenity
your big brother
ever taught you
comes flying out
before you even
open your mouth?
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“We don’t HAVE to go you know.”
I would just as soon
as stayed around town
and enjoyed the sunny day,
in the city,
riding my scooter;
SISTER LOUISA’S SPIRITUAL SCOOT-SCOOT.

I was hoping to give
my friend an out,
just in case,
he too,
didn’t want to go.

I silently sighed
when he said
that he wanted to go,
and we went.
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I’m looking for a good

CHURCH bus,
cheap.

Back when I was a
Presbyterian Deacon
in the Eighties,
I drove
The Church Bus.

I took good peeps
from one good place
to the next good place.

I voluntarily left
THAT life.
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“What she said about me
is more about her
than it is about me.”

THAT is some good advice
to those of us
with sensitive souls,
that I learned from
my fabulously tragic
friend Hollis.
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What is it
about Natural Death
that we Human’s
can’t handle?

We’re retarded,
and I consciously
use THAT word.

Raise your hand
if you know someone
who has NOT died.
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“If you see one of those
little galvanized
milk delivery boxes,
you know,
the vintage ones with the
Red Dairy Label
on the outside
and a lid on it;
I need one
by my front door.”

I was talking
to a friend
on the phone
who needed
to drop off
something small
at my house.
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