Our Walking Habits

Our Walking Habits
With Apologies to Stephin Merritt

When I’m out walking my gargoyle
during overcast Autumn afternoons,
we amuse ourselves by lisping
gothic nursery rhymes.

When I’m out walking my gargoyle,
we’ll often stop to loiter
at Hazel Motes’ rickety porch
just to lure him into debate
over self-immolation and papal malfeasance.

When I’m out walking my gargoyle,
we’ll often pass by the yellow taxi cab
in which Tom Waits was born.
He’ll undoubtedly raise hell, bullhorn in hand
if he catches us pissing on his taxi
again.

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