In Heaven

In Heaven there will be tall cool
glasses of holy water – from
this or that of which you will occasionally
be inclined to sip – which instantly
refill themselves through just the sorts

of sleight-of-hand at which you
would expect a Heaven to excel.
The thing to know in Heaven is
conformity is hell: everything’s
autonomous: and every beauty comes

as much from noticing it’s there,
and doing fine, as from availing yourself
of its fresh eternal singularity.
In Heaven you will not find wine,
but may decide from time to time

politely to recline with a supine provider
of a kind of spirit: not unlike lysergic
acid – but with keener introspective
means of tripping into memories
you had back here of how your

arm felt on his shoulder. In Heaven
you’ll be bolder, though we cannot give
details. Let’s just say in Heaven
it will end and start, continue and go on
with whimpers, and with wails.


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