Gene Moutoux's Poetry

Iconoclasm in the Afterlife


Life after death will be some kind of blast,

Especially for me, an iconoclast.

I'm gonna shout out in heaven all day:

"Hallelujah’s inane; let’s all sing hooray."


I‘ll drink wine from bottles and fish with the corks,

Mendaciously labeling archangels dorks.

Once I’m in heaven, I‘ll act like a lout;

Not even injunctions can get me thrown out.


I‘ll swear all I want and espouse the lascivious;

To these things the heavenly cops are oblivious.

I‘ll say that the other place doesn’t exist,

And no one can tell me to cease and desist.


I’ll mulct all the children and stifle elation.

Such heinousness helps, it’s germane to salvation.

For bless’d are the poor folks and all those who weep--

A guarantee heaven will be theirs to keep.



How tainted the pleasures of heaven would be,

If heaven’s iconoclasts really were free

To say what they want and to do as they tell.

Who wouldn't ask for a transfer to hell?


And as for people like Gandhi and Twain

And other iconoclasts after life’s lane--

I’m talking ‘bout those not intrinsically evil--

Will they be in heaven creating upheaval?


Assuming they knock at the mansion of bliss,

I think they’ll hear words that go something like this:

"Off with your mantels of iconoclasm,

Or go to the neighboring hot place that has ‘em."

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