Visions on a Sunday Morning

Surrounded entirely and circled

By a greedy wave of dancing pigeons

The white pudding sings frowning

revolting bulk of Golden fat

Proud food for his seagulls.

Facing the torches of God, he babbles 

While a moaning rumble like a choir of dwarves

Awakens the worms beneath the church

Rotten temple of another age.

Jailed in my suit and tie, I Sweat, choked

by the dusty ostentation, once 

sparkling in copper red skulls, and

(did I do the sign of the cross?)

everyone of us, without exception

we watch at the girl in the front-row sit.

Excuse me, sorry Madam - smile, run, escape:

it's sunny outside the Mass

and the floor is caving in.

Reviews

[Jack V.]

You know this a good poem, right? Like, yep. Good :)

[.]

~~ vivid... and powerful social commentary... with a very personal(ized) narration... ~~ it's not a good idea for me to say anything more... ~~ one has to be brave to be an atheist and braver still to actually talk about it... and i'm still a coward...