Hell is just the clapper of the bell
that announces you
are no longer the beloved.
The world turns out to be one humid mediocre day.
I take a machete to a tulip.
Where death is something you can fuck up
the broken heart rolls three blank dice.
The psychic says it says a lot.
Everything blushes but my ego
now dumbed down for “sleep.”
A crowd of phenom-hermits
expects a planet to arrive.
I hear in heaven
the angel has a harelip
and she is willing to watch you shake.