If I Could Play God

If I could play God I'd get rid of all macabre
Things and bring everyone back to their infantile
Stage of life. Like each morsel of processed hot dog
Meat aimlessly thrown together, a dolphin
Will become many tiny pieces of everything, and fish
Might walk and have feathers that smell like cheddar.

With a giraffe's taste buds maybe Vermont's cheddar
Tastes sour, or sweet, and with a vulture's macabre
Sense of smell women might slobber over a buffet of dead fish.
Nursing homes would run amuck with alien infantile
Cries, And blessed with the swiftness of a dolphin
The tortoise would beat the hare like sausage beats hot dogs.

Give a hungry child the appetite of a sparrow and a hot dog
Lasts forever. There is finally a reason to smile for "cheese."
Lemmings would scare bears given the courage of dolphins
And a Venus fly trap would take a reputation hit, macabre
No longer; instead it resists the fly, harmless as an infant.
If our brains were traded, we’d be conned to the hook by fish.

Soon we'd be in a frenzy over an underwater band called Phish.
Hell would finally freeze over; little wings would sprout from hot dogs,
And we'd all owe absurd promises, and nervous with infantile
Determination we'd suck our thumbs dry like aged cheddar,
Wondering if icicles in Hell could usurp fire as a more macabre
Image in the next Stephen King novel about demon dolphins.

Jockeys with gorilla strength could play for the Dolphins,
And accountants might exchange personalities with fish,
And only after a few enlightening moments would find a macabre
Unity, and each Friday night they'd rendezvous over hot dogs
While sophisticated bald eagles drank wine and ate cheddar.
And when a lover wants to suck on a breast the desire is purely infantile.

We would attribute our flaws and mistakes to our infantile
Innocence, and glide through life regretless like the sleek dolphins,
The water repelling off our skin like tiny bits of grated cheddar,
And we'd all fall asleep weightless, as if we were fish.
And it would be enough to be our own unique selves, like hot dogs
Without buns or condiments; then nothing will be macabre.

We are every variety of cheddar, possessing the potential of infantile
Teeth to grow like plots in macabre tales. And smiling dolphins
Are the denouement that clear our fishy conscience of the world's hot dogs.