He died for our sins.He was a handsome man.He looked like Gregg Allman.There is someone in the room for you too.Stop searching the corners and come sit at the table.We are not old men but life has left us weary and wrinkled.Cellophane wrap my coffin at Christmas time and give away my television to the Salvation Army.Toadstool for my little bottom to rest easy on.Fie on those carolers who yowl at my doorstep like burning cats.They scare the skeletons from my closet one by one and I am left bereft and confused.Knowledge does not equal experience and even the oldest whores still need tips on how to take one in the mouth.But why bore you with all that?We people from Mars are generally kind and giving.Songs written by our elders have no distinct choruses and you stop when your tired or too drunk.At the bar, my old Susanna was drying her eyes in the bathroom after vomiting up crushed pills, blood and tequila.The mirror drinks your smile like water.The mirror is my only friend.


Christ Was Russian and I Don't Care

My wall is white
I use a coat hanger to scratch my name into my white wall
My name is my own
No one will touch me
I touch nothing but my white wall
The fools flit in and out of my room like the tinkling of little bells
The fools sit outside my room like wispy sentinels and scribble on their little grey pads
They communicate only amongst each other
They communicate with little gestures
A nod
A smile
They snap their fingers sometimes and when they do I get scared
But I know they won’t touch me
I’m alone with my name in a white room where nothing happens most of the time.


Ono Mongolia

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