Hades, after the eyelid removal surgery

is that an eyeball in the toilet?
no. it’s Cro-Magnon man.
shut your eye, Shuma-Gorath.

why so blue, Sylvia Plath?
didn’t you know we’re in the spirit world?
Earth happened when the explosions went off the script,
like, totally Clinton Health Care Plan ’93 Teleprompter FUBAR,
like,
TOTALLY.
nonetheless, the koi continue to swirl in the pond.
another recipe of the anarchist’s cookbook,
in my day, it was called Carson’s Cue Cards.
sometimes, the greatest story ever told
is marred by the shadow of the boom mike.

I know worry. my paranoia can move
mountains or, at least, re-locate them
for a while in the Witness Protection Program,
moderately concealed as a lumpy plateau
in the South African Highveld.
I’ll wave my magic wand as the levee breaks.

we grew apart, Steve Miller.
what can I say? all the answers
you require are tanning softly in
my Chevy Chase hairstyle. it was
my understanding there would be no math.
genetics kicks the field goal.
now that Superfly’s dead and gone,
I still have those letters from
Sigma Phi Epsilon.

poor toilet. poor, poor toilet.
you’re an open sore.
you’re a Lysoled whore. I’ll bet
you’ve got some stories to tell.
I’ll send mental lightning to Pixar.
they’ll stick the pin in Galifianakis
and harpoon John Legend for the score.

now, what can we do about the smell?

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