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

Kevork the First

“I have come from the River,” he said.

“The road you follow, you wayward, you vincible
Beasts of the market, creatures of principle
Your derivative ideas and stale-word play
Are fed with stark sentences staged on layaway
Your deluge is paragraph, drowning in monograph
The richest of soil seeded with chaff
Is desert; what is grown soon deserted
Not concerted but lonely reworded
Water is muddled for want of better letter
Undrinkable vinegar thirsting for weather
To wash clean obscene dreams
With waves are not of the hurt in me!
Let your lungs fill with the perfectly
Wrought liquid of harmony
From your throat, the words for your aching
Song of salvation written for waking
Anointed anon to bear new dawn…”

“Absalom, Kevork,” he whispered. “Absalom.”