chérie
the very,picturesque,last Day
(when all the clocks have lost their jobs and god
sits up quickly to judge the Big Sinners)
he will have something large and fluffy to say
tome. All the pale grumbling wings
of his greater angels will cease:as that Curse
bounds neat-ly from the angry wad
of his forehead(then fiends with pitchforkthings
will catch and toss me lovingly to
and fro.) Last,should you look,you
ll find me prone upon a greatest flame,
which seethes in a beautiful way
upward;with someone by the name
of Paolo passing the time of day.