Dr. Faustus in heaven
Invents a synthetic parachute material for
Fallen angel henchmen puffed up
With maniacal laughter.
His big gray beard, pocket protector over his heart,
Tinkering with impossible experiments,
A man’s soul in a jar,
A robot who doesn’t wonder who created him.
His laboratory steepled,
Hidden in the forest like monastery,
Dimly lit and built of stone,
Where he worships at his instruments.
All alone, no wife to mend his lab coat,
He threatens destruction of the dominion
With an angel and a devil on each shoulder,
His shaky hand playing with the on/off switch.
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