TSM 190

No, no. 
No lap-dances with angels,
no pushing cash into the elastic bands of their wings
and copping a feel of heaven.

Is it my fear, yours? 
To be skeevy and homeless in the afterworld?
Me, haunting and flapping down the sidewalks of paradise,
the smell of urine parting a sea of cherubim.

And you, in Job's rags,
riffling through the trash,
collecting Diet Coke cans 
of redemption.

The Sunday Muse

15 thoughts on “TSM 190

  1. JR — May the joy of the season fill your heart here at the closing if the year 2021, and may peace abide in 2022. This is a most difficult time for our planet earth, and a time of turmoil for its peoples. May 2022 begin the way back! ✌🏼❤️🌎

    Liked by 1 person

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