Downstairs in the kitchen
Stars are great wheels in a machine sky.
Heaven is above in the metal dome.
You pour yourself a cup of Water.
The glass feels like it will crack when the faucet jet hits the bottom.
There’s a little porch outside the door in the kitchen.
It looks over your backyard
Before the view drops off, the machine’s domain takes over.
You are wired to feel like this.
At this hour, the signal always goes off.
Your water freezes in its cup
And the glass cracks.
When I was a little younger than I am now,
I went home after school and wrote until bedtime.
That was enough to take me into the stratosphere.
I'd play in the cloud for hours and hours.
I will tell you what I remember from high school, and I will tell you how you can follow in my sinful and lowly footsteps, that your blood might be as holy as mine.
I first began in the business of selling people when I sold a strange man in Jerusalem that I did not like for thirty silver pieces. Swaths of people flocked after him down into the precipice of the market.
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