If I Could Smell Heaven (Deep Donut Hole)
it would be like this soft
rock shape held between fingers
like a caught butterfly which I
bring to my nose before
I decide when to act upon
a sugar landscape that activates
my pleasure receptors, I find
my tongue watering, I feel
an urge to open my mouth
to give in to temptation
take in this small urban
asteroid, a gift from another
human in our daily hell of
earthly desires, that is
the great design, where
destruction is meant to be
actually feeds construction
to further the natural machine
we call existence, until
one glaciered orb is consumed
This Must Be
Heaven
Everyone
who doesn’t live
in
LA says we’re the city
of
lost angels. But for those
of
us who drive we believe
our
pathways are populated
by
individuals in heavy armor
zagging
about directing with
pulsing
hands and shoes
changing
speed inside
carpeted
compartments that move
from
home to driving interest.
That
is what trunks are for,
to
collect booty for placement
back
in our shrines to ourselves.
Open
any door and discover
placed
portraits of souls on
display
waiting for judgment
or
earthquake. Either way
tangible
detritus left behind
seem
to wait for our return.
That
is our faith, that we will
live
to breathe another day
full
of possessions which we
know
will ultimately break
like
bodies. This must be
true
for any place wealthy
enough
to have wings for sale.
How Did Heaven
Begin
When we made Love
Our bones exploded
Into particles
orbiting
Eons as we
Saw cultures form
In petri space
The Earth bubbling
For centuries we
were
Happy in the
brilliant void
Floated as ether
Over darkness and
light
Then we rained
down
Sizzled in the
water
Mutated into gods
Multiplied our
selves
Blood rushing
heads
Feathery eyes
opened and we
Found dizzy beings in bed
Smiled, that it was good
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