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Curtis Honeycutt |
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Pancakes and God By writing this poem I hope to convey to you my love for pancakes and God, not necessarily in that order, but maybe. I like to think that God eats pancakes every morning (chocolate chip ones with maple syrup) with a tall glass of pulp free orange juice while reading the early edition of The Pearly Times. He is still wearing his monogrammed bathrobe and slippers, hair still wet from his morning shower. He sits down and eats His pancakes, full of contentment and sovereignty. Sometimes the syrup gets in his beard and makes it all sticky. How I would love to be God's pancake flipper, carefully monitoring the big guy's breakfast to match the hue of the pancakes with the surrounding streets of gold. I should be so lucky to be able to sit in His presence and flip pancakes. Closet Rock Star I'm a closet guitar player. I own a guitar, play it when no one else is around. When I'm by myself I also like to sing at the top of my lungs, unashamed (as long as no one else is around). When no one else is around, I like to picture myself as a wildly popular person. Everyone around me (at the time) is a big fan of mine. Alone, I am a rock star. Around people I am just me. My cat knows. [Index] |
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Thunder Sandwich #26 - Summer/Fall 2005 |
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