A grim poem from the Charlie Malurkey cohort of capers & general peculiarities.
In short, Charlie reads prophecies in the pubic hair that arranges on his bathroom floor, taking it to be a message from Godly God. Sorry, so sorry.
Last night he bothering the audience
with messages him got from Godly God,
It told me to: “put the toilet seat back down
& wash your hands with lathered soap you filthy git!”
I always done I promise, smell my hand.
It Godly God who needing soap to clean his cakehole out;
& Oojoo ogling porn, calling it “research of humanity”,
them ignominiosum, & beings, creators of all stuffs.
Them One in wise and bountiful eternalness
(not like Iamblichus was postulate, they’m crude)
scribble encouraged messages with body hairs
that splay in strange & uniform
shape on El Charlie’s bathroom floor
—them Greeks had hieromancy telling them
the messages of Godly God
& Charlie, he got body-hairomancy as he’s guidance text
—the most utilitarian use of human waste.
I thinkt the hand were put the bog door down, right…
the squiggles maket the hands & lather, right I thinkt…
the smiley face that belt up for the laughs of plentysome, correct.
Laughs came but doubtful angled for
to cheer El Charlie as the letter C.