Paradise is open to all of God’s creatures,

even the cats who got their horns out of hock.

Who’s sharing your cloud now?

Sick holotype? Value brag?

Earth is always remaking itself.

Most of our splendid participants,

sadly, are dead.

O tricky narrator of the official art culture,

the coiffure wars on Santa Monica Blvd

cost us plenty!

I remember liking those seven dwarves, too.

And the woodsy resonance

of Finnish folk metal.

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