In heaven a body chooses to be whatever age they feel they wanna be – fastforwards past ten or rewinds to twenty-three. Chooses shadows and velvet,  mysterious palaces – or sunshine in buckets full and barefoot in meadows. Have your hair bobbed one day, play Rapunsul the next…that is if it’s half what it’s cracked up to be, this heaven that gets all the good pr.

In heaven your pets all get to meet each other – they’re there all at once, not like beads strung in strands.They say poets in heaven all get to greet each other: smiling, embracing or at least shaking hands.

In heaven you get to ride in an oxcart, drive a truck, dine on a train, sit by the fire, sing in the choir, beat the drum loudly or dance in the rain. And you can change your mind constantly with no strain on the brain.

Angels sleep in a heap like puppies after choir rehearsal.
and sometimes get up to somewhat unangellic shennanigans.

If heaven is heavenly no one is seventy.


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