Saint Mutt, and: Saint Mylar Balloon

SAINT MUTT

Back off a little when I have a fresh missalette in my mouth I tend to get erratic hey that was in good fun! Most times I adore you I move to put my paw in yours we bow our heads together to ask the Lord for one more thing. It’s nice! This hymn is for sleeping. How about here? Or here yes better closer to the floor register see you in a little . . . did you hear that? There’s a bird in my mouth I mean my mind did you hear that too? This carpet so good so soft. God is love and beef liver together the scent of moist garbage on the wind through the open window the sound of many cars being chased away. Don’t trust the world or do—go ahead why not—to operate on its own accord. I guess food comes from somewhere water you have to search out daily. Pray hard don’t pull practice for praise do good works every day. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Follow me yes.

SAINT MYLAR BALLOON

A bubble-script apostasy—Congratulations!—mars my shine. Simple in shape I studied for a time under the tutelage of the great Percival Ledbetter of the bishopric Lanesbury so my powers of exegesis know no bounds or reason he told me but I beg to differ. My light-headed colleagues often give up but I intend to go for years. With the right level of maintenance I shall remain yet a little round of heaven yearning for its place on high. You must not let me outside unattended. For I have drifted to the top of an oak and lingered only because my string entangled itself in the uppermost branches. I was rescued by the sexton. Last year I sailed for three days bewildered when the window screens were being cleaned and someone left the shutters wide. Only grace and an attentive motorist in Chesswich saved me. Saint Simeon Stylites the Elder pray for us. Saint Arrgento du Plein Air. Saint Celebratoric. Santo Fumario. Saint Soapsuds Chasing Themselves. Saint Silver Brooch Shining Against the Blue.