It’s about to rain in the backseat of my car.
The roof has become the sky and my eyelids
Keep trying to blink through all of the sunrises
Of my past while I look through the rearview mirror
At the drenching ladder against the cliff’s edge.
Now that everything can happen in my car,
The very heart of separation from God,
Greased by lies, compresses my throat
That’s in the back of my spare-tired trunk,
So that all of the human voices
That lack rhythm can open and keep
The evolution of all vehicles into
Solar Ships moving forward.
The organ donation helicopters
All carry the heart of the Angel
Aboard, finally, the One Solar Ship’s Pyramid.
The landing pads
On the tops of the hospitals, this diamond world,
Spin with threadbare wind,
Revealing the valleys and mountains,
That weaves your eyebrows,
Threaded to their center
Off the ladder’s top.
Babies’ lives are saved there
From the bottoms of lakes,
Spared through a sand grain’s Doorway
Seen by a passing fish.
Scales fused to the glowing
Centers of the light bulbs
That illuminate a raven trapped
In the basement of an exhale.
