Three-Hearted Poem

There’s a slight knock at the doorand when I open it, there’s a mailman-sized moth. That’s how I know I’ve shrunkeven more than the last time whena blue cloud told me I was drunk,I was always drunk so from now onthat door’s gonna have to answer to me.And you know what? Ain’t nothingI need to ask. Not if there’s any morecashews left. Not if there’s a god.A few years back when I was among humans,we all agreed it was a terrible ideato drop acid and go to chemistry class.So we did. Of course it got personal.Then later when my father was dyingand it was my turn to watch, I could seeeven that wasn’t going to be easy.Even then they wouldn’t let you smoke.Even then the staples holding on your face stung.Even then you could be entirely mistakenabout your place in the sky.