Wednesday, December 4, 2019



The sound of laughter in a church
Interrupting the silence is the sign 
of a religion I can get behind.
I want to heckle the pastor
When he trips over his tongue,
Confuses his proverbs with parables.
I want the incense 
to smell like urinals,
The stained glass to shatter
So all the air can get in,
Flowers and weeds and trash:
I always have a pocket full of stones.

The sermon is now a stand-up routine
On how not to rattle the bones.
It’s all a busted-up, sinking ship
And you’re clinging to this last raft
Learning once again how to laugh.


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