Mad Cowboy Almost Meets Himself Poem by MARINA GIPPS

If a joke flows then don't stop it with a levee.
Don't fire Him for picking out his best boots
during an 'awesome, meticular' storm.

Instead, skewer the fool for His private barbeque,
a Crawford tea party with bullwinkle bonnets.

Bring His broken entrails to me, voodoo woman.
Leave His swaddling chaps
in some manger aftermath
(pick one) .

Perhaps...
He will summon the maimed undead to ask how
He finally got there, down below,
Praise Himself, The deadbeat Father,
His secret order fraternity conquests.

But He is never curious 'nor more curiouser'-
not even in His afterlife. He just
follows the infertile white rabbit He created.