plete covered in n o i s y gestures
( like hands shot into the air
in a fervour a fall to my knees )
and also the silly-grumbling of
unhappy men, on a sunny day with
they suddenly realise that it has been
t o o l o n g and smiles
don’t come naturally anymore
(and they try it anyway, and it looks
funny, outofplace. still beautiful still)
That is the foundation of my church.
It is a place where the angles look like Snoopy,
the Ninja Turtles, and the Tin Man, and Satan is
just a cowardly wizard behind a silk curtain
who turned out to be you all along
suddenly the rabbits all dig rabbit holes
when you close your eyes they become
C R A T E R S O N T H E F A C E O F T H E M O O N
the moon looks like its grinning wide.
My church has 20 sides and all sides point in
you hold all
your littlest hopes
that never caught the sun and all the sudden
they become treetops of hopes-real-ised
complete with golden sunsets and
crazy monkeys playing wild bongos
and an A L T A R in the centre.
!! What an altar is in my church !!
All golden and Shiva
and g e m e n c r u s t e d and Allah and
picked out in silver and Jesus and
the incense that smells of roses and
the tears of the saints and martyrs.
And I would never go to my church at all,
because it is pointless, and anyway, I
worship my own feet and hands and your hands and feet
and I’ve never really been one for architecture.