8 (my church)

my church 

    grass-stained            incom
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
no-thing-to-do-but-smile

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
and
suddenly the rabbits all dig rabbit holes
and
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
and
the moon looks like its grinning wide.

My church has 20 sides and all sides point in
1 direction
->    <-
where
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.

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