It’s said the center of the universe
is awash with ethyl formate
C to the 3 to the H to the 6 to the O to the 2
In
other
words
the heart of reality
smells of rum
and tastes of raspberries
Could
it
then
be
that the creator
is nothing but a grogged-up pirate
Captain Ethyl
and her not-so-scurvy mates
sailing the ‘verses
on the dread ship Big Bang
And
what
we
call
god
is nothing but the jolly roger
waving in the galactic winds
of booze ‘n’ fruit
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