I found this link thru Quin's page. You're suppose to write 100 words on the topic of the week. This week: Miracle. Here's my five minutes worth.
Miracles don’t just happen.
They just happen to be little lumps of coal
You grind between your molars and canines
Until they shine like tennis bracelets
And if you’re self obsessed just throw it around your wrist.
If not, give it to your gal
She’s the real miracle, anyhow.
Miracles aren’t spewed from the pulpit.
They’re recited into toilets
And they smell like vodka and cranberry.
And if used tampons don’t disgust you
I hear the stalls here have great acoustics
And it’s not that I’ve got a voicebox
The miracle is that I’ve got the sense to use it.
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8 comments:
Love the coal turned into tennis bracelets! And, yes, I'm glad you realize that "gal"s are the real miracle!
Enjoyable thoughts about miracles. Recited into those porcelain gods indeed. Good post.
Okay, bit of leap for from strophe one to two, but I'm willing just the same. It's hard to resist the quirky humor. Enjoyed.
Used tampons make great tea bags, if you're a vampire.
Looking forward to Sept. 15th.
linda, td and susan- fresh meat is just what we needed here. thanks for the words (of encouragement?)
varvel- you may be old, rancid meat, but you're still greatly appreciated
yo, i found out it can be longer than 100 words.. (next time, quin, read the fucking manual)
but, this? this was rocking!
go to the site and sign in... they'll send you the word each week.
thanks for the nice words about mine!
LMAO!
Meat to eat, yo!
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