Sunday, January 08, 2006

So your body is a temple...

Your yawn beckons a chasm
(No doubt the queen of darkest alleys)
And utters a sleepy spasm
From your lungs and pagan valleys

Where apathetic are the saints
Who worship what each idol paints
I have never been moved by any a sermon
Of second hand grace
And communion bourbon.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Genetics has a lot to do with how religious we are oddly enough.

I does serve a valuable social purpose however, and a valuable vice.

TintedFragipan said...

Hmm, I sort of lost you at the saints in her yawn, but I like the rhyme.

Anonymous said...

as the post above mine says, I think the rhyme in this is one is nice, its also fun to say in a serious tone. But thats just my neurotic opinion

Anonymous said...

hm... this isn't really a good poem. i don't know who maverick was trying to appeal to with this piece of crap.

Dr.A said...

I'm just kidding maverick I l*** you.

Maverick said...

when I find you, doctor, there will be blood.....oh....there will be blood....metaphorically speaking, naturally.

Dr.A said...

as always.