Doing Our Best

That's why they call me Mr. Bitterness


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Making silk purses out of sows’ ears is exhausting,
But that’s the deal as the stink of the farce worsens.
Still we pretend to smell flowers as we wake, shower,
Eat, work, drink, love, doing our best to repeat sanely.

Astronomers found an outhouse at the end of heaven.
If God’s taking a shit I’d like to ask It what It ate.
Did It sprinkle our prayers on Its pizza like parmesan?
Does It consider Its creation a failed draft to wipe with?