This is not a
Lullaby
I’ve kept your
communications
and erased the
error of mine,
a crow carries
them in his beak,
away, away,
like your soul flew.
Is the weather
to your liking?
I’ve heard
Purgatory is a bit like Miami,
hot, steamy,
late August and hurricanes,
do they ease
your mind like hiding in the bathroom?
Charon cannot
decide whether you’re East or West,
North, South,
or straight down in the pit,
God has left
the building and still, you have these burning desires,
He’ll see
you’ve gone up the road without Him.
And how is your
cooking? Is your oven on?
That’s the way,
fast asleep, a nice rump roast
and the singe
of hair, that smoky hue you’ve always wanted,
where there’s
no smoke, the fire in your eyes goes out
Forever.
Charon -- Alexander Adam
