This concatenation

God doesn’t know
who you are. Here we are, working
so hard, assuming He’ll notice and show us
some sweetness, but He can’t tell,
in this concatenation, one from the next. All He senses
is everything’s running, everything’s replicating
smooth as can be. We’re down here crossing
every t: grading the hillsides, milling
the wheat, inflating the basketballs, riding sideseat
in the circulator bus called Hollywood Clockwise.
Sunset and Western. Sunset and St. Andrews.
We’re pumping into the air His preciousholl
six principal pollutants; we’re informing each other,
per His request, that who goes to Heaven
and who goes to Hell is more of a numbers game
than anything else. Sunset and Wilson. Sunset
and Gower. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Source: Hollywood Clockwise by Natalie Shapero