Heaven
Despite appearances Heaven may not be the always present consciousness that watches over us during beach hours gray rain city days or any number of man follies like battlefields the electoral college and never being able to find a parking space at Cotsco on weekends. For me Heaven is our private inner movie studio where all that is lost and forever feared is stored in film cans on strips of memory celluloid that we can call up whenever the wars of love become too much to bear. Silent night pictures flutter by on the silver screens of daydreams and nightmares, that feature mostly tales of loss and temptation featuring a cast of a thousand ghosts who haunt the shadow valley of our hearts until the wee small hours when the lights come back on and the exit signs are clearly lit. In that still-life morning moment of want and limbo all that remains is a carousel of dissolving images on shredded sprockets which we w...