3I'm drunk and laughing at infomercials
In my IKEA basement.
The walls are plastered with hourglasses,
Their sizzle accentuated by
Victoria's unspoken secret.
The doorbell rings, and I know
Uncle Bob is coming to visit me.
There are mountains of chemical orbs
In the kingdom of his bathtub.
He directed Fourth of July sparkler plays
On a stage of charred sky.
He was a loving man,
And we all miss him, but
Uncle Bob is coming to visit me.
He clipped the wings of angels
Before he deflowered them,
And he chain-smoked blunt sentences.
Divorce broke this funny man,
What with the alimony and book deals,
So he put a punchline in his skull, and now
Uncle Bob is coming to visit me.
His eyes are golf balls, whacked,
And his nose went the sphinx way.
Dirt is clumped in his bullet hole,
And in death, he's laughing
At the cost of the mask.
I open the door, and yes,
Uncle Bob is coming to visit me.