The representation of heaven on earth is a hole which blind people tug with a stick and they touched some thick mucus green it weened it was someone's past dreams spitted out and wrinkled in wine that spilled about a pickle-dipped flesh-house and someone picked it under the sun since you are wearing sunglasses you can watch it burn and flash how trivial everything is in the furnace that surrounded us that made so fury accompany a flower that stood still would shiver and wither away and so would a flame a fragile kindle of virtue that fell asleep with its fragrance delivered to every part of the world and there was no trace of ashes inside your sunglasses.
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