Envision yourself in a bath, in West
Philadelphia, high as a kite (pot, more),
& you may have a vision of her as pure,
like the America we dream of, like Doris
Day. She may only appear that way once.
Even in the course of the bath, where,
as you wouldn't guess, heaven and hell
loom right around the corner, not the
narrow but the wide way, & it seems like
eternal life, until she tightens her grasp,
you feel around for an exit, no dice,
& her eyes tell you You're gonna die... yes, you're gonna die, right now. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Two deities turn stone-white, hanged.