Dunderheads were led into thunder domes. Cats were heaved, therefore rats increased, in incense-sweetened sanctuaries.
Love comes limp.
With our clap-stomp frolic, we shall cure alcoholics, then boost the sensations with wine.
For the next six days, libations appraised at the ABC suit me just fine.
Doubt is a virtue. Shaytan never hurts you. He gives what our tongues cry for. Politely I pass on the communion glass. I was drunk when I came through the door.
I said it before.
He don't look much like me, so he ain't my god's son, yet still, to his feet I run. Though it's mineral rain, that cleans my bloodstains, and my crops are still fed by the sun.
Pardon the pun.
When I point out the finite power of the painting before the pews, I'm treated as someone crass, as you wink at another man's wife in the church, 'cause last night, she done gave you some
Copyright © Mark Morris | Year Posted 2020
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