The day of the sausage is nigh.

Facebook is either a) a monumental waste of time or b) a wonderful tool to reconnect people to each other. And thusly my post on sausage skins generated enough responses to put me in category (a) for the day. Not that I don't take full advantage of category (b) to tell the world when our bands are playing out (200 friends does not = the world but I digress). But now I am waxing poetic, and well you can close the page any time now if you wish:


Scalding white hot juices flow from your very existence,
to which I fervently devour, in my every waking hour,
knowing not from whence you came, I devour all the same.

You're perfume is that of a bee to nectar,
be it pooh to honey, or man to money,
I am singularly drawn, like some ravenous pawn,
to be sacrificed for the greater good.

A poppy seed womb, a mummy like existence,
fleeting as a ray of light in the cave of the swallows,
but your sauerkraut crown, will undoubtedly drown my sorrows.

Going down is a joy, a remarkable bliss,
coming out, my crap is like piss.
But to me you are royalty,
be you Italian, be you Polish, be you Andouille, be you Szynkowa, or be you Kielbasa,
it's the day. The day of the sausage.

Your time has come.