The following prayer is loosely based on recent cryptic, but rather copious messages I received from my former stockbroker.
Art, was last scene in heaven, driving alone in the HOV lane of the Katy Freeway, in June of 2002.

It overwhelms apocalyptic visionbeam
inspired, wired is your foothold
clear determined broadway and buttchubby arboretum
erotically miraculous
unwilling, as well as perilous.

My eyes are your food.
My death is your blessing.

Invite me to carve, into your hips, atrocities.
Let me selfignite - blue bodies discovering
empty streets and shooting stars.
Faith under your shade might become corrupt.

Disguise is an unequivocal and exact science.
It is the no-nonsense of the ever-popular, dizzy ones.
Continence of the masses. Seduction of the mediator
and the heartrendering scream of poor men,
whom I fear now may constrain the shout.

I am both witness and worshiper to your infallible, preconceived formulas
Fed by spitting maniacs, victims of the victimless who open their mouths to all
Goodness.

Your words necessary as the clinch in the go-ahead round
I will be present at the end and God will favor the sins
of an idyllic man, over those of the more showy faggot.

Let us pray
too, Art in heaven.

Apocalypsemoonbeam guide me threw and too nonconsensual
premarital whopperwithcheese nervous breakdown

Let us pray
to that marketer of snowwhite bitches and heated conversations,
to love.

Oh poverty of soul offshoot of me
you are vortex your genitals stab me.

We are psychopath group swallow (gulp)
Carpool padlocked-lambracked limbo,
uninterested in the crash outside our door.

Let us pray
to give to please is so necessary
to open wounds that know no bounds
to live on ones back

face to the sun is not an option only an allegory

amen