We were told of streets paved with gold
twenty virgins in diaphanous gowns
lying languidly on velvet couches
piles of haloes & harps & alabaster robes
seraphim serving goblets of sweet amnesia
we were told our miserable souls would rise up (always up)
be cleansed of muck & mirk & meet our Maker
(always a man) who picks us up in a crimson Lamborghini

We were not told that there was no longer room
that people were stacked on top of each other
toes in ears, fingers in the belly buttons below
we were not told that if you want to find your mother,
she may be miles away, row 706, number 17, 4 bodies down
that the virgins & angels took the escalator long ago
& are dancing around a flaming effigy of the Creator
who looks a lot like a bright blue Smurf

We were not told
because only the dead could bear it