Cleaning products clean our floors
but kill our land.
Our nature sparkles
between our smokestacks
and our stars.
We burn we rage and we burn again and we get burnt to live to rage
again ever glowing ever knowing even after the death of centuries
knowing souls of poetry rise to sing divinity
never to be never to be
the immortals sing in the face of death
while we mortals scream.
Still, it’s not all that bad
given what we’ve been given
the presence and presents of the immortals
who dare share their gifts
wrapped up in books and poems and paintings of livid, vivid landscapes
poetry in 3D
and we live knowing history is born to die
and so are we
but not yet, not today
so let us be buried by sky wrote the man in the basement apartment
sending his words up through the ceiling
to satellites that sent them back down like Mother Ganges Herself
scattering into raindrops
across a planet that can click with spiritual enlightenment
at the push of a button
or there’s porn at the site next store
the entire universe awaits to be Googled
we’ll get the answer right if we Google the right question
Does God exist?
according to the first site that came up on my Google search
the same site selling trips to Canyonlands
heaven can wait
I’m going to Canyonlands.