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Charming Blather Dec 2017
I told my mom that I have a:
I have a corduroy hemorrhoid.
       She said that doesn't make any sense.
       What are you confused about?
       Corduroy? Hemorrhoid?
       You know, just because things rhyme doesn't necessarily mean
They Have To Jive.
I know. I said I HAVE A CORDUROY HEMORRHOID!
       I don't care about your Cor-Dur-Oy
                                                Hem-orr-hoid.
  ­     Only that bear called Corduroy could possibly have a
                               corduroy
                            hemorrhoid.
       Anyways, like I just said
       they barely even rhyme. So who really cares?  
CORDUROY
and
HEMORRHOID.
       Stop with the poetry nonsense.
Okay. But seriously, I have a corduroy hemorrhoid.
       Who made you like this?
corduroyhemorrhoidcorduroyhemorrhoidcorduroyhemorrhoidcorduroyhe­morrhoidcorduroyhemorrhoidcorduroyhemorrhoidcorduroyhemorrhoidcor­duroyhemorrhoidcorduroyhemorrhoidcorduroyhemorrh
       You better stop. I'm ignoring you.  
       Oh, ****. You're late to school.
I can't go to school because--
       You have a corduroy hemorrhoid.
Yes, that's right.
       Okay. Whatever. That's fine.
       How would you even fix a corduroy hemorrhoid?
I don't know. I'm the one who is sick.
       Oh, true.
Yeah, with a corduroy hemorrhoid.
       Please.
No, I really am sick.
       Well there isn't anything to fix!
Probably
I think I will just need a
nap.
       God, you always make Tuesday's such crap.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
Integration of spirit and body, is a reason for being mortal for a while
for some
secret reason

known only to the initiates,
the Melchisidekean

Priest hood, known by believers to be Jesus, Pre-existancy
Avatar thingy do.

Ah, but Lucifer and he were bros, y'know. The rub, that nagging urge,

get up and move the wagon, why lie
there comfy in your bubble
believing not all spirits are from God, but

some are. Try the spirits, if they can preach the good news
the angels brought:
God and the disconnected reconnected, Joy flows to the world.
Alleluia, right.
-- note: no list of do/don'ts save common sense.

Plugitin plugitin a bean in y'ear, a bean in y'ear
about as big as a yeast
beast.

Leaven, y'know, comes in flavors. Like proteins,

most leavening things leaven only one thing,
however,
word borne leaven leavens
everything,

and we ain't speakin' even-jello-ic jiggle of crystalizatio,

we talking boomin' gaseous gluten intro-learyant
beans, beans, beans po'folk beans
leavenistical
words witcha maya hoid yo grama say

breathe. Be leaving all your lies and tries to us as we
dare to cast our care

wind words, net let out, starboard,
un-error-o-matic
good new net. Wait.
Notes, for later, if I ever need to know how I know. I was hooked by the title, so I thought, I could add salt. I recall once using a shark for bait, that was a fine experiment with an elderly Jew I knew 'til he died. Beliefs are spirit hooks somebody dangles, he said.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2019
oh, now listen, to that blues man, singin' prayer
singin' words in ways we never
hoid woids sung thisaway, since Grandma on th Bayou,
introduced
me, to Mr. Jake,
Now mister jake, he was old country, old school

He settle a passle of flybit cows with a croon,
aimed right at the moon,
top o' his lungs, knowin'

I am the only voice I hear, my prayers
never bounce,
they soak down

may you arrive, said Mr. Jake
where you wisht you were, when we

learned of life in Louisiana from an old Siclilian
fisher man cook, who knew of
Tavasco Inlet, to Bayou Bleu,
the real
you can feel black mud from the top of
the river, carried all this way,
to squish between my toes,

so I never fo'got toejam spreader was a
occupying principle behind any
search for pearls
once fed to pigs.
Mr. Jake taught me to think these muddy
thoughts
with my toes, wigglin',
feel a nibblin'
set
hook, what do you know?
A thought while wondering if prayer is more the unwritten poetry blowing on breezes that sometimes feel like care-touch, figertip to cheek

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