I find the old picture
like a forgotten candy bar tucked away in ones boot
only to be remembered in the middle of a munchie fueled, drug
crazed search
It is in quiet moments like this that I meditate on thee
You break out and are upon me
like the warm shhuddering piss of a walrus at a breakfast buffet
I find myself helpless
and in awe of your immense power and grace
The Greek Chorus may taunt me
singing (to the tune of Camptown Ladies) “Johnny Cash didn’t have
a mustache - doo-da - doo-da”
but I simply smile to myself, because I know the truth…
Just because you don’t see a mustache doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
