Pray to the Good Lord

Dear Lord,

Would you please make me wildly successful

writer? I simply have a vice so deep, it creeps up

my skin under my sheets, and sits in my ear, like

a cricket peeps.

” Collect the beautiful to Keep.”

So innately I gravitate to classic timelessness of

artist’s jests, a pen scribble on a napkin’s more

expensive then Hendrix or Clapton if Picasso’s

meal pleasing, as a way of appeasing the

Restaurateur with art impromptu.

In this vein of battling the mundane

I appeal to your merciful nature.

Dear lord! if you are out there cop me a Chiho

Aoshima mural and prove that having

the most estedically pleasing pieces of

art will not make me spoiled or full of myself.

Its utter necessity to possess one of these in

the Hippie Hide Away.

Please! Just the Swirling Zombies,

I want their beauty in my death and infecting my

mind with intricacies. I’ll be forced Zen,

Speaking of the time when humans where

around. Make me a kokemomo, i’d sport it to

NYC fashion week, like a Technicolor dream coat,

don’t you worry God I’m no fashion :”no-no”.

So in summation as a portion of the morphine

nation give me at least an acommadation, for my

comtemplation over deeper vocations then gene

pool alturacations in the back woods discotech.

“LOOK” said the blind man to the Deaf bitch.

http://www.galerieperrotin.com/artiste-Chiho_Aoshima-17.html