THOMAS
Yellow lines lay down like the perforated promises.
St. Christopher hangs from my rearview as necessary as an appendix.
Dusk descends—a Pentecostal spirit—as my eyes begin to sag with Jesus-posture bearing their cross of exhaustion.
Terrain as barren as her eyes when she said, “It’s been fun.”
The sunburned dust finds comfort in the baptism of twilight.
I pull up to the solitary stone figure on the landscape,
a psychedelic light show of stained
glass illuminated like a multi-colored moon.
Smiling seraphim
Welcoming.
Oak doors, wide as possibilities at age five,
Thick as close-minded hate.
Take the hammered steel handle in my hands
And pull with an almost-prayer
To find the house of God is closed for renovations.
Chuckling Cherubim is laughing his angel ass off.
Excommunication,
Return to the roads flagellation…mea culpa.
SERVICE STATION 1 MILE
Steeple of double crosses, slightly slanted
calling me to repent the road.
I must confess my faith is restored
in commercial gas chains.
Gospel:
Willie Nelson wailing the commandment,
“Thou shalt not let thy babies grow up to be cowboys.”
Sacraments a chili and cheese dog with a Coke.
Jim, grease stained pastor, dons his vestment overalls and cherry Skoal breath
Another 158 miles to my next confession…
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2 comments:
While I know for a fact that you did NOT write this during the 30-day project............
it is still one of my favorites.
Yeah it is a little bit of a cop out. I decided that I think I will use this project to give some older stuff the feel of sunlight.
So I will post a blend of old stuff that not many have seen and new stuff.
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