Heaven

Please be my date
to this evening’s disaster.

A bit lip. The tip
of the tip off, you,

beginning
of my ever endless.

Apples fallen
on the launch pad.

Sun racing down
without a parachute again.

In event of horizon,
lie low and alone.

Underpass and overpass
crisscross the fault.

Raze the last
of the orchard.

Raise the blackened banner.
Lower your right hand.