heaven isnt in the clouds.
its on a roof.
sweating
sweeping puddles of water
and little rocks
for hours.
swimming
in my own
pure fluids.
patching the cracks
in the cocoons
of the priveledged.
patching the cracks
in the cocoon
for the watch maker.
the cocoons for
the toddlers who pupate
and molt into parents
leaving their kids
in stranger places.
in the apartment building
so the rain doesnt move in
and ruin all the poverty.
patching the cracks
in the meat factory
so the meat can stay dead
in a safe environment.
and be shipped in fat trucks
to the poverty stricken obese
who party on pure meat
while the babies are away
and make love to each other's
rotting colons.
and im melting black tar chemicals
with fire on the roof
losing 8 pounds of my pure fluids
filling in the cracks
that let the good air in.

but maybe it's not a building.
or an abattoir or babies
or the watch maker and the
pinched nerve in his wrist.

maybe its the people in cocoons
dreaming up their suffering
inventing cracks
to let the suffering out
and the good air in.

maybe it's just raining
in their lives.

and im patching the cracks
in a cloud.

and my pure fluids are the puddles
where you slip and break your neck
as soon as you think youve got it.