Faux Paella

There’s something called a faux paella.
I make it when nobody’s looking.
I take my girlfriend down to the beach.
Yeah yeah yeah.
The faux paella . . . fuh fuh fuh,
faux paella!

It sits on a window seal in a dish.
The cops on the street look up at it.
The encyclopedia doesn’t dare speak of it.
The faux paella.

Now after it’s been cooked the process is finished.
You fake what’s been done in a pan – in a pot.
The priest is restrained and also well beaten.
O holy lake of fire.
The Holy Spirit jumps up out of it.
Toss it in an oven in between breathing.
Some people spill it on the beach.
Faux paella.
Yeah yeah yeah.
Faux paella!

The police are here to arrest all of you.
Faux paella!
Oh yes, faux paella!

I gnash my teeth and bash out windows.
Oh my Lord,
not again, not in my friend’s car,
the bombs are loud, the smoke is blue.
The faux paella!

News of a new war.
The faux paella!
The economy’s not doing good.
That’s the faux paella!
Arm the national police force
with the faux paella.

The faux paella . . . fuh fuh fuh,
faux paella!

Girl Raised On Olive Oil

I’m
hooking up
with a girl
raised on
olive oil.
She asked me
if the stones
at her feet
I had cast.

She
must
mistake me
for a
civil engineer
of the Roman Army,
but
I prefer
to remain
shy.
I was never proud
of my
conquering heritage.

Who cast
the obsidian
of her pupils?
I am
proud
of them.

Who poured
the water
that sweats
from her feet?

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
lovers of the century thumbnail image Lovers Of The Century (poetry book)