I feel God in pink faux fur,
I hear God in a black cat's purr,
And in the Ramone's played real loud,
But I don't see God in Turin's shroud.
I taste God in chocolate mousse,
I know God through Dr. Seuss,
I see God in the prostitutes painted by Toulouse,
And I hear God when my purple corduroys go "whoosh"...
between my inner thighs.
Note to self: Lay off of chocolate mousse.
I feel God between flannel sheets,
I hear God in the words of Keats,
And Truman Capote and even David Sedaris,
But not in Dorothy Parker.
I see God in Lois Armstrong's smile,
God is woven into woolen argyle,
And God appears in "The Green Mile,"
But, not on the pages of InStyle.
I taste God in top shelf bourbon,
Sometimes God wears a turban,
or a burkha...or a boa,
or a sarong from Samoa.
God wears leather chaps when in the right mood,
but mostly God goes completely nude
Except for a tattoo of Winnie the Pooh.
I see God clearest in a barren tree against a winter sky.
I hear God loudest in my lover's sigh.
I smell God sweetest in Doc Grizzly's hot, happy breath.
I feel God deepest when I dream of my own death.
I taste God mostess in snacks by Hostess.
And like God, the Twinkie is immortal.
Yellow sponge cake and cream filling never dies.
With all this God, my joy multiplies...
like Gremlins who've been watered after midnight.
Note to self: Ask Santa for one of those gremlin-looking Pygmy Tarsiers.
My God has kept me safe and warm,
Even when the eye of the storm spun so close that it blew my skirt up over my head.
Note to self: Don't wear lace thongs in a hurricane.
The name God is too generic,
For the noisy, smelly, tasty Technicolor deity that's had my back all these years.
The cosmic disco ball that tosses twinkling truth across the universe and fills each atom, With a Rock Lobster rhythm...
I want to know his...her...its real name.
The name embroidered on God's bath towels.
The name that the angel's make fun of behind God's back.
The name eternity cries out when it and God make love.
I prayed to God and asked for the answer, and God told me to Google it.
"You're funny," I said.
God said, "I know."
"So, what is your name?" I said.
God said, "My name's Donna."
"That's my name," I said.
And God said, "Exactly."
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.