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Faker
.
Everything
in
heaven
is
quiet
,
rubber-soled
shoes
.
I
can
sleep
in
heaven
.
People
write
to
me
in
heaven
and
tell
me
I
'm
remembered
.
That
I
'm
their
hero
.
I
'll
get
better
.
The
angels
here
are
the
Old
Testament
kind
,
legions
and
lieutenants
,
a
heavenly
host
who
works
in
shifts
,
days
,
swing
.
Graveyard
.
They
bring
you
your
meals
on
a
tray
with
a
paper
cup
of
meds
.
The
Valley
of
the
Dolls
playset
.
I
've
met
God
across
his
long
walnut
desk
with
his
diplomas
hanging
on
the
wall
behind
him
,
and
God
asks
me
,
"
Why
?
"
Why
did
I
cause
so
much
pain
?
Did
n't
I
realize
that
each
of
us
is
a
sacred
,
unique
snowflake
of
special
unique
specialness
?
Ca
n't
I
see
how
we
're
all
manifestations
of
love
?
I
look
at
God
behind
his
desk
,
taking
notes
on
a
pad
,
but
God
's
got
this
all
wrong
.
