As in a tasty mix of talk

Friday, November 13, 2009


There are no plastic bottles in heaven.
No big pharmacy moguls who smoke cigars
As they sell poison on prime time TV, only
A few snake oil salesman whom God
Has forgiven because they were kind to
The horses that pulled their wagons.

There are no artificial smiles in heaven,
No artificial hormones, no artificial anything.
No one needs artificial sweetener there,
Because it is sweet to remember even the
Hard times on earth, those contrasts that make
Joys more joyous, kisses more passionate, and the
Wins more descriptive of the losses.

God doesn’t sit on a throne in heaven, unless
Someone wants him to. He is just as likely
To hang with the blues musicians at
Club Habit, and plays a mean jazz sax all by
Himself, the harmonica, too, when He is
Bored with that big, golden harp.

And there is no money in heaven, not one dime,
Nothing to accumulate into a greedy mass
That drives needy men crazy and makes them
Sacrifice their earthly goods by polluting the
Air we all must breathe, the water we all must
Drink, and the food we all must eat. Greed is
Analogous to the cancer it creates, in that
It hates turning back, once it has done its damage
And has a taste for it.

And Heaven is not a floor on the department store
Of life, it is the larger sphere in the center of
Imagination, the light that guides us through the
Dark, pointing out the stars and the warm, deep
Softness of the night, it is the ying before the
Yang, and then the ying again, turning in a lovely
Pirouette of life and love and the treasures of