orgasms sponsored by jesus

reunited in heathrow after a thousand or so years apart no baby we aren't confessional poets we're journalists adding our matter of fact fire and sweat and blood and cum to the cosmic fuck ass archives jesus is dead but still gets all the goddamn press we are alive and howling laughing thrusting cumming in delicious oblivion no expectations no invitations to star spangled weddings marked by the tundra and the veldt if it isn't deeply felt why bother asks winnie the pooh hello kitty does not reply just decorates the lull with pop art girl power we share showers and candy and walk into the april blaze aries king of wands with his aquarius queen of swords healthy as hell spewing the lukewarm from our frothing mouths jesus is gone fishing so we have no choice but to celebrate the worms and writhe in the mud as empires crumble around us and ocelots dream of that ever elusive perfect day crystallized memorialized in pisces hell