Two hands grasp the sky, reaching forward toward butterflies. These monsters poked from the earth, trying to grope mankind, hoping to feel the imaginations of men. Stinky fertilizers, violet heavens and a lush breeze caress the hands of God. Starry-eyed moons rage across their valley of Death. Dragon breathers are incinerating everyone left and right. Only pizza understood the evil motives of the Grinch. God’s hands, moist and clammy, unchain themselves unto the night. The night is forever a mermaid in time, never aging, cherubic, helping penetrate the good of the pearl. Helping hands swim in airy loneliness, wishing for another chance. They lost their way inside the lives of the peasants, and now, from start they’re eternally broken, captive inside a clam of sorrow. Stuck, inside-out, unable to escape from themselves, trapped outside their emotions, nothing can save them from themselves. Hands eclipse purple paradise, penetrating the power of the people. Blinded by sorrow only Hercules the mighty God would see the peril below the clam. A new moon takes over by force, liberating those wretched hands from below. The new moon rising from the sea bears resemblance to a mermaid, voluptuous in stature, intelligent in design followed only herself, except on Tuesdays, when she became a homo sapien in love with cookies and a man named Raphael. She followed the guidance of the hands to the ends of the universe, until the moon tore the velvet underground from the Gods. The Gates of the heavens shut forever only permitting the pure of heart. The hands of God showed mercy to mankind allowing the mermaid to enter the Golden Gates.