At the top of the ladder of angels
lies the highest ceiling of clouds before God, six wings,
with eyes looking everywhere and nowhere at once. 

A seraph poses for a photo with God at a cocktail party.
Stilettos emerge from long legs and the weather of Islands. 

She who dines with God listens, she who
is not a seraph does not tweet, does not have a best friend.
#HolyHolyHoly #Hahaha #Prada

Meanwhile, floods, terrorism, and starvation
call for answers beneath the filmy goo of air.

At the bottom of the sky lie the archangels,
who didn’t get picked for sororities.
They trip on their wings, before praying
for forgiveness for having premarital sex.

She who only has two wings and no blue
checkmark does not touch God, does not know love. #Proskuneo
#ToBlowAKissTowards #AsInKissMyAss 

She who is a seraph can go fuck herself on
and off this microblog. God, look at her eyes.
She’s crazy. #Agape #Love 

A hypnotic resting bitch face hovers across the face of heaven. 

The archangel’s wings get clipped by God
and she becomes a garbage can shaking in the rain.

The seraph posts a photo, harmonizing with God.

Archangels can go 2 hell. How great thou God is like my savior.
#YasPlease #IForgive #BestiesForevs

400 million retweets at the speed of trains.

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Hanna Pachman is a poet whose work has been published by The MacGuffin, Wine Cellar Press, Anti-Heroin Chic, and others. Originally from Connecticut, she currently hosts and curates a monthly poetry event, Beatnik Cafe, in Los Angeles which has been running since 2018. Hanna was an assistant editor for the poetry magazine Gyroscope Review for two years. She has been a featured poet at the California Poppy Festival, the KGB Bar, Cobalt Poets, and the Poetry Circus.