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The Good News about Hell
Suburbs are the perfect
habitat for deer. Jesus said
they make the dumb
tongues of men sing.
Their antlers branch
until the leaves fall off
and earth gives up
its privates. I’ve heard that
to reach enlightenment,
all you have to do is touch the earth.
God as lakes.
I’m waiting for the storm to end
in a Styrofoam grotto
at the catholic church on Tower Road.
For some reason, god
has imprinted us with a desire
that’s awakened within
cave-like structures. I once held
an injured bat: Intimacy
is sharing something private.
Saint Jeremiah complained,
but only after being ridiculed
for an entire day.
Dante and Virgil walked
through rain to touch the future.
My cats hide in the closet
to avoid the vacuum.
An exit does exist,
but the ocean is more knowable
than what comes next. I focus
on the sound of water. All my friends
are waiting for me
to slip, laments Saint Jeremiah. No wonder
he was so ashamed
of what he saw. Neon
loosening the night. Like every reason
is an un-reason. Like heaven is
whatever
death that lasts
forever. Do you know
the love that eats?
The love you eat from.
It burns through you
like the lord himself.
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Elaine Kahn is the author of Romance or The End (Soft Skull, 2020) and Women in Public (City Lights, 2015). She lives in Los Angeles and teaches at the Poetry Field School. [This poem originally appeared in Fence, Spring 2024.]
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Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824-1904), Dante and Virgil in Hell, oil on canvas.