ALIENS/ANGELS AND THE ARTIST

the artist didnt know who they were but he called them.
everything was done.
he was due his payday.
he called them, the angels/aliens, whoever, and they came to see.
he'd met them, well it was weird.
enough to say he met them.
their taste in art was expansive and he had an idea.
he had technology too. 
physics was his slave and the angels/aliens had promised him Paradise Now.
the artist went to work.
he froze the earth.
or rather he froze all the things that make up time.
or rather he slowed them down.
a lot.
weather cycles, metabolisms, chemical interactions.
slowed done.
a lot.
so it looked like the earth was frozen.
he created a still three dimensional living diorama of everything on earth.
the couples in bed frozen at the moments of conception.
the criminals trapped guilty in a still orgy of evidence.
rockets firing with frozen flame.
in hospitals and retirement homes the instant of death captured.
all it.
all you can think of.
the fairytale moments with kids in the sun with drifting blossom.
the moments minds were lost and hearts broken.
car crashes and tumbling planes.
the miracles and the mundane.
he'd dome it.
he called it Earth.
and the artist called them and they came to see.
they were pleased.
Paradise Now he asked?
Paradise Now they said.
they put the artist on the moon in a glass room of money.
there was a plaque that said Artist and his name down by his shoes.
the angels/aliens renamed the work Losers.
they brought all their school children to see.
then they moved on.