Posted on

Pope Peter & the Moon Child

Once again upon this moontide frenzy, streams this last twilight, this Night, it gleams… Pope Peter, his head & legs a goat, breasts of a woman, this last of his Noble kind, his nimbus glows, rhythmicly fucks her curvy, burly, blue ass via this white-trash, plastic, armless statue, this Sacred Virgin, raw shit flows out, orvis glows, across scaly scarlet tissues, fluid red throws fleece. ‘Oh, what did you expect to find, … peanut butter & jelly???…,’ (Choosy Mothers Choose Jiff, No SKIPPY goddammit, not that, you lousy Mother fuckin’ whore child, aids & crack addiction! It is Peter Pan who is sublime, only this brand ascends from these dark primeval waters, encircles its own horizons, this Mother dries herself off, casts across libations to those thirsty ones…. she brisquely beckons, ‘Holy water, come & bring, cast in salt for seasonin’, give these zombies, here this plight, ring these bells, hell’s affright.’ As preeee- programmed, these unchoosy mothers stood limply aghast.

To read the rest of the novel, please visit Pope Peter & the Moon Child

About James Aire

I am a writer living in Brixton, South London who is seeking to subvert the 'order of things' through humor, chaos and absurdity.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s