Father Ouzo

I’ve met a pastor named Shandy
And vicar named Brandy
And a sister named Whiskey, it’s true

But for my tribulations
Across this creation
There’s but one thing that can get me through

For when I’m gone
And it’s rough
It’s that licorice stuff
That leads me to my life again

He’s a Greek
Never weak
He’s a cloudy-white freak…

Father Ouzo, forgive me my sins. Continue reading


I sing that song!
That old song!
The dirty shoulders, the styrofoam
The great murky black
Uncreamed unsugared
I could write with it
Write the world with it
Right the world with it!
And I will scribble a song sugar sweet and syrupy
I will eat them all
Jelly filled
Cream filled
Joy filled!
The freeway!
The freeways where asylum can be found!
Oh Kalamazoo!
Sins of dirty dishwater
Can be made clean by fried sugar
That is the American night, Jack Kerouac!
We will read our Carl Sandburg until we are sick
Then we will sleep
Unless we are at Fourth Coast
And a man named Vahan is there.

My head will never be right
Because there are too many words stuffed in.
That is alright.
That is all right.