For each heaven there must be a hell, it’s something each artist should recognize, lest they climb a hill and not realize they’re headed for a pit, jump in and submerge into the abyss, your father reaches for the heavens, and the fruit, someone else eats it, no matter the stench, someone is always willing to go digging for it, such is life and the lily of the valley, we’re all men, in so many, I see their fathers and their mothers lingering, the bee can’t wait to be drenched in nectar, he takes a shit, live, laugh, love, you can bet, someone’s going to eat it…


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.