from the darkness
the devil owes me some onions
he was making a lasagna
one night and i gave him some
from my surplus supply
i wasn't aware that you put onions
in lasagna, but what do i know
i’m just a man who's intentions are good
a sinner who can’t stop crying
i also asked him for some things
that i’d rather not talk about in
this poem. it’s confidential.
sure i’m an artist, but not the kind
that tells you all kinds of secrets
about themselves
like i’m an excellent tambourinist
or that my urine tastes like electricity
or that my arms are doll like
and have fallen into the fire
and that i’m writing
this sitting in a chair
in a forest
inside a mall
in New Mexico
surrounded by monsters
Listening to a neverending
loop of christmas songs
while the whole world
slowly turns to shit
3 comments:
The devil puts onions on EVERYTHING, but he never touches them. He makes someone else cut them up. That's why he never cries.
King Kong:
Whoa! I’ve been listening to Bob Schneider music almost exclusively for almost a year now, straying occasionally just to keep the relationship fresh. How’d I miss “The Unknown?” I really like the rendition of “Ready Let’s Roll,” and the rest of the renditions sound pretty much like the songs I first heard and loved. So, this is my unsolicited, unwanted critique, and I quote, “Don’t read my shit, bitch, and then tell me you don’t like it…” Well, I did [listen] and I didn’t, but I would have.
Love
click your heels together, twice, quick like. i miss you here Bob.
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