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{in heaven even death smells like sex} john dorsey i recently told a friend that all kafka ever really wanted was a pony he said death was a silly word like tongue like rose like bone like dreams i told him that if you look for the worst in angels then miracles are all around you you just have to be willing to abduct the holy spirit if you’re going to hope for political change the prayers of the dead require an active imagination that’s why they keep jesus chained up in the basement of heaven with only some wafers a little holy water and a flask of cheap dago red where he and mike huckabee have been planning his escape since before the crucifixion so i ask what song do the dead sing to their children? i want to say like the devil i too dream of ponies eating sunflowers in the fields of hell that my song offers shade to the magic of ghost children in this land america home of the brave where death feels like a second language but i can’t find the words words like love have become a silly notion they have become the muffled currency of outlaws like tongue like rose like bone like dreams we pray every night in hopes of stealing their music this land is your land i find little need for a salvation army to march with the dead |
