THERE IS NEWS FROM HEAVEN

There was nothing funny in the glass case that held the fruit pies, not one laugh.

Cigarettes in wartime do not taste better than they did when there was no cable television.

She felt the Pope should bless the candy bars as yet unsold and in storage in all those sealed boxes in the back of the store, next to the back of the cooler where all the soda pop that made you frantic as a goat roping competition sat silent, unpopped.

 In related news, Jesus tired of his miracles and had another beer, a can of Coors, thinking it would make less drunk because it tasted more like flavored baptism water than an honest grog.

Work men hunched over their jackhammers in the intersection, getting off.

The miracle of our time was how the city could just vanish at the drop of a sixteen ton hat and leave the city to the wild life which would wander in from the dead forests and find nothing to eat on the cement and asphalt roads and alleys and then begin to behave in ways that would be signs of eccentric manners as the sun sets and hunger pains inflame the nerve endings that command the brain to act rashly.

He wrote the most beautiful poem the would never read and populations suffered for the lack of it.

The midwestern states dream of themselves talking in their sleep.