you anticipate the bureaucratic afterlife?
with its infinite forests of filing cabinets and wretched Harpy Secretaries
perpetual exhaustion on.. dusty faces, watching as their eyelids dissolve
ceiling fans pumping slowly, growling like Cerberus
over waiting rooms—stuffy with ancient air caked on papered walls
where dizzy souls, Paralyzed in Limbo-time, rust to a stump in their seats
then swirl off … opaque into each other’s shrunken skeleton lungs
fashion magazines from the 1970’s sit untouched glossy, etched into the wood of
eternal tables between folding chairs, heavenly!, squeaking/squealing
Then your name ! rings confused-wonderful through decaying ear canals
and it’s like the MESSIAH descending as you approach the glowing window
—Before they hand you with clawed fingers … everlasting paperwork laced with
faded ink and the technical ja.rg/o,n of middle-class spirits forever pregnant
with heavy-eyed hopes lank/ in their antique throats
assholes fossils in their wheeling chairs statued in time
these places! stretch unending like ant-pile hallways
blind to the elephant dimensions of Heaven
Infinity or bust, ha sobbing — fevered jokes.
Somewhere … in the Universe (or out)— above or sideways
—Robber-baron angels scaling hierarchical machines towering upwards
in their committees fluttering to board meetings! -golden-faced
with helium smiles and withered brain matter contented
Pursuing Elysian days cycling bent-backed like sheep (never-ending)
and “administrative assistants” stand at Saint Pete’s gate
weighing souls x 1030 weighing souls to the decimal point!
recording with ballpoint pens eternal injustices! Ah, perpetual unfairness.
and charts and lists and charts and lists “sign-here-please”
I imagine you can see your smoky soul leave your fingertips
the blessed color bleed out of your tepid cheeks, sighing—
Oh but at last—the Czar, (chief executive!)
do not think I have forgotten Him! Do not worry …
Teacher, shepherd, fire-breather, etc.?
He has many Names, certainly
No, I have not forgotten Him. He sits Up There …somewhere…—above or sideways
stamping celestial documents with timeless knuckles and brooding with constitutional authority
as reverent bowing groupies, privileged few, plant kisses on His Blessed Feet—wailing “Perfect Being,” weeping misty confessions cringing with insect pain, theatrically shielding their eyes, asking a little too excitedly “Where were you… before Time began?”
but He is Transparent now with Infinite Weariness, rubbing -like a grandfather- his Infant Eyes
-murmuring murmuring, “I don’t know, I don’t know” then tired –draws the curtain