Heaven is like this church but the ceiling’s higher.
My name’s inscribed somewhere along that wall.
I haven’t been up there yet to visit the Sire –
my case is still pending in eternity’s hall.
I’m waiting like a stevedore for hire.
In death you must forget what since birth you’ve been told
and put aside whatever in life was your quest.
Here no one cares how many books you’ve sold.
In life it’s fame, in death it’s the realm of the blessed.
I’ve heard it’s a matter of finding the right priest
and making the proper apologies.
But if I can’t get into Heaven, then at least
I’ll bully my way into the anthologies,
and there I’ll prove myself with certain ease
without having to bow or get down on my knees.
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[Next: The Name]