Dear God, what are you going to do
with all these gate-crashers,
misplaced souls who show up unannounced
and uninvited, without passport,
drivers license, mortal body, proof
of birth? They've left all that,
with their death certificates, on earth.
A trace of vodka on the breath, but
they're not your common drunks,
not passed out in some dark alley, hoping
to wake up in the same old
stinking place. No, these souls
were looking for another party,
some address higher on the hill.
A comet, UFO, a shooting star
called Truth or Everlasting Life.
Are you going to admit them, anyhow?