hell doesn’t intrigue me
and heaven seems boring,
so I’d rather go exploring in
the room in between
where excellent artists
with mediocre faith
find themselves lingering
in their grandmothers’ old
attics filled with history,
nostalgia, and dusty old books,
fishing poles, old radios,
and tick-ticking clocks,
where sunlight leaks in
through a little cracked window,
and I can play a guitar
with one missing string,
while a puppy named Joy
sleeps content by my feet
and my sweetheart is dancing
in the room in between.
