Time Capsule: Day 10,018

Devon says my views on
homosexuality are progressive.

Whereas, I’d call my opinions
woefully regressive,

because I think most sex
is equally gross.

Time Capsule: Day 10,017

Sunday morning, we
watch Sense & Sensibility

in bed, with the dogs.
‘Gentlemen are scum’, I say.

From her knitting, Jill says
‘& women are plankton.’

Time Capsule: Day 10,016

I owe a friend a favour,
so I help this friend to move.

I lift the end of his futon
& he begins to limbo.

I keep a cool, island beat
on his wicker armrest.

Time Capsule: Day 10,015

A local man opens his closet
& discovers a new necktie.

It is not a new necktie.
His wife has merely sprayed

an old boyfriend with
allergen reducer Febreze.

Time Capsule: Day 10,014

I sent a cheque to Bill Donahue
so that he can rail against

the Cadbury Creme Egg Rabbit.
It is controlled by secular Jews.

It also lays misleading tombs
with misleading ossuaries.

Time Capsule: Day 10,013

A mallet wallops my head
& a row of twittering birds appear.

I hit one of the twittering birds
on their twittering head,

& a chorus line of celebrities
dance for my votes.

Time Capsule: Day 10,012

While Passing the Peace,
I open up my mouth

& a rainbow trout falls out.
From the floor it confesses

that each time it forgives me,
it gets a little bigger.

Time Capsule: Day 10,011

April is the nicest month
because it’s trademark showers

finally erode the graves
of Tristan & Isolde.

Apparently, bones are
the new clothes.

Time Capsule: Day 10,010

In the Renaissance Café,
I misspell ‘renaissance’ twice.

A single lady eats a meal.
I envy her quiet reflection,

but I’m also troubled by

the omniscient wait staff.

Time Capsule: Day 10,009

I wrote the world another
William Carlos Williams poem.

They call me a hack-fraud,
as well as a fraud-hack.

The former is like the latter,
only with priorities.

Time Capsule: Day 10,008

Against her better judgement,
my sister places her laptop

upon a Starbuck’s table.
Somewhere outside of Toronto,

an entire township listens
& digs in their heels.

Time Capsule: Day 10,007

From the bedroom window,
my inner voyeur spots

Keith Richard’s doppelganger
rummaging on garbage day.

‘You drive a hard bargain,
garbage’ he croaks.

Time Capsule: Day 10,006

Ever since the letter
from teacher’s college

arrived this morning,
I’ve decided to Facebook

the Registrar’s sister
& really hit on her.

Time Capsule: Day 10,005

I rampaged my desk
in search of an errant T4.

I found a plastic bag
from Shopper’s Drug Mart;

it was full of pennies.
It feels heavy.

So It Goes

It is my sad duty to say that Kurt is in Heaven now,

because that is his favourite joke.

My Sweet Lord (John 6:49)

MANHATTAN, NY—Yesterday, yet another widely publicized appearance of Jesus Christ was competently suppressed by Bill Donahue, President of the Catholic League. Not only did Mr. Donahue successfully banish a life-size, anatomically-correct, chocolate sculpture of The Crucifixion, but he did so in record time.

Cosimo Cavallaro, the artist responsible for the controversial My Sweet Lord was reached for comment, stating ‘He told us to eat of Him. Therefore, I was merely trying to comment up—Oh, tabernac! Who’s been eating His eyes? Look buddy, I don’t care if they’re the best part!’

By the time our camera crew reached Mr. Donahue for comment, he was already in mid-sentence, ‘…one of the worst assaults on Christian sensibilities ever. It’s not just the ugliness of the portrayal, or how dark He looks, but it’s the timing. I mean, with Palm Sunday just around the—.’

Then Donahue suddenly glanced down at his Twitter, only to breathlessly proclaim to the throng that My Sweet Lord would be unveiled, as planned. ‘Turns out that foreign guy is sculpting us a new saviour. This time using white chocolate. He’s Himself again’ cried Bill Donahue, ‘Fed Ex will deliver Him by 2pm, & then He’ll be himself again.’

Extreme Makeover: Vatican Haiku Edition

They built Benedict
a maple thicket bathroom;
I cried clear through Sweeps.