Manneristic Hell

More about Manneristic Hell

everybody had a beautiful neck
and nowhere to put it.

the women floated through blue clouds,
dragging enough silk
to clothe a city.
one wore a crown.
another had been reaching
for the same dove
for four hundred years.

I asked where the exit was.

a woman with a perfect face
looked past me.
she had learned that expression
from somebody
who never paid her.

there were no flames.
just gold,
curling hair,
and people arranged
so beautifully
they couldn’t sit down.

I found a small patch of brown
in the corner
and stood there.

finally
an angel noticed.

you’re spoiling the composition,
she said.

I told her
my feet hurt.

she went to find
the painter.