microcosms of the divine walk down the sidewalks of our minds,
as human souls like you or i.
their eyes are cast down,
avoiding the stares of beggars ringing hopeful bells.
the streets are lined with ash and debris,
cast off as the slums of mankind.
RJ tips his cap to the doorman,
throws a quarter in his jar and enters the funeral.
he’s late.
the speakers are playing a recording of Taps,
because the family couldn’t afford to hire drummers.
we broke the doors down
and stole the flowers from the casket.
we needed them to please the goddess.
she smiled.
the sun rose.