In My Heaven

In my Heaven we’re all
rock and skating gods
with four-octave spreads
who hit every note
and land every quad
and never chalk or crinkle.

If prayers were horses, we’re all riding!

And we’re mutual groupies
in gilded, frothy costumes,
instead of harps we use
guitars, drums, and strings
to stamp and shake out
the devils within as we glide
on skate blades and Louboutins.

If prayers were wings, we’re all soaring!

Maybe we’ll all get
the Heaven we each pray for.
Can those billions of prayers
the world over be wrong?
Let’s pray like clockwork
to the Gods we flock-lurk.

Wannabe angels in the sky in diamonds!

In Heaven we’ll all eat
Bellinis and Pavlova pies
served aboard yachts
under marmalade skies
dance-glide as supermodels
with kaleidiscope eyes in
near weightless trances.

This planet is Titanic…
a party on the top deck,
drudgy gray ghosts below!