A MERE BAGATELLE
You weren't supposed to notice how this really
sounds like a Mid-East person's name instead
of what it is - Emir Bar Gatelle, or something.
Yet, despite talking, the Sun paints a yellow on
the sitting room's fancy, the light in the glasses
clinks. The man selling rosaries two doors down -
he's still running that stupid Christmas lightning
nightly on Nassau - walks around like a dwarf
looking for height, nodding and reaching. All I
can do is assume he's (Good-Great God) praying
again! It's two holidays later and he's still lighting
up the night. Fitful buggermaster, I'd bet.
-
It happened once at the harem. And Buddha
arm-wrestled Jesus, while the winner took
on Mr. Mohammad. Thirty-seven and sixth-tenth
Virgins were ready, in Heaven, to assault the victor.
Or, something like that - I really forget how it went.
All that pathetic Doctrine knocking and banging
inside my head. I want to run home screaming!
You weren't supposed to notice how this really
sounds like a Mid-East person's name instead
of what it is - Emir Bar Gatelle, or something.
Yet, despite talking, the Sun paints a yellow on
the sitting room's fancy, the light in the glasses
clinks. The man selling rosaries two doors down -
he's still running that stupid Christmas lightning
nightly on Nassau - walks around like a dwarf
looking for height, nodding and reaching. All I
can do is assume he's (Good-Great God) praying
again! It's two holidays later and he's still lighting
up the night. Fitful buggermaster, I'd bet.
-
It happened once at the harem. And Buddha
arm-wrestled Jesus, while the winner took
on Mr. Mohammad. Thirty-seven and sixth-tenth
Virgins were ready, in Heaven, to assault the victor.
Or, something like that - I really forget how it went.
All that pathetic Doctrine knocking and banging
inside my head. I want to run home screaming!
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