*Funny thing about hell dimensions; they look so much like home. Lived my whole life thinking of the hereafter as fire and brimstone, torture and pain and death. Must say, this is not what I expected; curdled, clotted blood caked on my fangs, hair greasy with road dust, the former Scourge of Europe trapped in a no-tell motel that reeks of ten thousand paid-for orgasms, each with their own flavor of condom and unique cheap cologne.*

Suzanne takes you down
to her place near the river.
You can watch the boats go by,
you can spend the night beside her.
And you know that she's half crazy,
but that's why you want to be there.
And she feeds you tea and oranges
that come all the way from China.
And just when you mean to tell her
that you have no love to give her,
then she gets you on her wavelength
and she lets the river answer
that you've always been her lover.
And you want to travel with her,
and you want to travel blind;
and you know that she will trust you
for you've touched her perfect body with your mind.

*I don't want what we had before, the blood and fucking and hate and dark joy. How can I? The soul is repulsed and the demon is mature, older. It sees the waste, the frivolity in bathing in blood. The man? Well, the man just wants you, however you want. We, the three of us, we just want to kiss you one last time, tell you how much we belong to you. You made us and we worship you.*

And Jesus was a sailor
when he walked upon the water.
And he spent a long time watching
from his lonely wooden tower.
And when he knew for certain
only drowning men could see him,
he said 'All men will be sailors, then,
until the sea shall free them!'
But he himself was broken,
long before the skies would open.
Forsaken, almost human,
he sank beneath your wisdom
like a stone.
And you want to travel with him,
and you want to travel blind;
and you think maybe you'll trust him,
for he's touched your perfect body
with his mind.

*Would it hurt you so much to let me bow at your feet? What threat am I, huddled in the dust and debris, kissing the hem of your robe? I want only the crumbs unto me you give; I ask for little. Is it too much? I dare not inquire the tithe I owe for even bearing your order, though no matter what penalty you laid upon me I would gladly remit it, even if just to brush your hand as I relinquished everything I ever was.*

Suzanne takes your hand
and she leads you to the river.
She is wearing rags and feathers
from the Salvation Army counters.
And the sun pours down like honey
on our Lady of the Harbor.
And she shows you where to look
amidst the garbage and the flowers.
There are heroes in the seaweed,
there are children in the morning;
they are leaning out for love
and they will lean that way forever,
while Suzanne holds the mirror.
And you want to travel with her,
and you want to travel blind;
and you know that you will trust her,
for she's touched your perfect body
with her mind.

*So the sun sets again. Peel away the naugahyde, choke down rancid sustenance. The road awaits and so do you. On good days I wish you and the road were together, the road leading to you and you at the end of it. On bad days I know I'll never see you again.*

*Today is looking bad.*