**strolling toward hell**

as the eyes
of Jesus
inside the pictureframe
over
the mantle
follow
my naked soul
across the room
again and
again and back
again without
moving and
as daddy
the now respected catholic
rollmodel
reassures me
that
I am actually
good, worthy -
allthat
and will oneday
linger near him up
there
in Heaven, I
can not see myself
dressed
as an angel
in some glorious white
flowy
gown
down
to my ankles
sweeping across
the universe
trailing a cloud
eternally shining
an upside-down halo - instead
I see me
strolling past
those pearly gates
breaking no
stride
pickin'
that musical harp like
Carlos Santana's
guitar
with the bunch
of you other
Cherubums.