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Truth Is A Blind Mailman

He preached a pious excrement like any other politician.
Her smut seemed poetic until she took her knickers off.
Her light burned all night, but her heart was always dark.
His evil odiousness soon ran out of gas, but never his bowels.
Nothing is sacred if dog poop and daffodils are not.
There is more sexuality in one word than in ten brothels.
His reality was a bad dream and we all lived in his mind.
Seraphic activists will hunt you down with a righteous frown.
If you are a jerk 
then the order of holy men, is your sacred calling.
              Dorothea, put that sacrificial knife down!
I am always alone in a crowd, fortunately.

Copyright © Eric Ashford