My church…

Is a bold, cold front

that descends like The Mothership when seasons change,

blasting a remix of Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence”.

Inside there’s an opening—an unpainted steeple.

Long wood fibers stretch rigid against the moisture filled sky with its bands of clouds

it’s purple and pink sunrise evocations…

(backdrop to rockets red glare flag raising declarations)

Down below a dying man peels the skin off the orange in one continuous rind

his fingertips sticky, his mind at ease

he breathes in and out in love with everything and nothing

The Universal implied in all that escapes brokenness,

in all that returns upon itself, carrying its own remainder

back to the gilded anime altar of The Central Generator.

The great body of the earth pulses and pushes and crumbles along with him

(and u and me and us)

his roots and tendons loosen their grip…

My church is the exhalation against the reed that turns air into sound

My church is the last note still buzzing

where the flesh of the piano meets the stone of the ground.

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