The Slums of Heaven
The Slums of Heaven
by JS
A false god usurped Heaven
And gave way to insanity
The Absolute doesn’t do a Heaven;
Would not stoop to that inanity
The Archon sank into a black hole
Where now he spins forever
And Heaven without a Tyrant Soul
Has no organizing center
Its architecture fell apart
–no tyrant holds its kitschy shape–
Residents put cracked blocks in a cart
to cobble a shabby cityscape
The real saints left centuries ago
Jesus shook the dust off his boots
He sighed and muttered oh dear oh no
Then ascended to the Absolute
I toured the place during a N.D.E.
(Passing through several planes)
The reconstruction was done crappily
And it’s marred with dubious stains
Former saints now mutter and cough
Begging for manna on streets of gold
The golden paint is chipping off
And the air is growing cold
They huddle at fires in rusting barrels
Which formerly held cheap grace
They try to remember Christmas carols
And there’s soot on everyone’s face
Communion wine’s gulped by the crowd
They drink it like no tomorrow
They stagger past the grimy clouds
what they don’t steal, they borrow
I don’t recommend that offramp
When you’re driving the afterworld
Heaven’s slums are sleazy and damp
And the gates are no longer pearled