church on Sunday is the ark of return
for hippies past the dawn of awakening

everyone is welcome
ushered to sit anywhere
bread & wine shared for free
donations, optional
incense drifts to the dome

the congregation looks into each other’s eyes
no longer kiss or shake hands to offer peace

shafts of light radiate through stained glass
everyone loves … no fear of death

it was so intoxicating I returned on Monday,
walking in on a trip gone bad

a casket on wheels, center aisle
six criers … six carriers … at six a.m.

and off in the distance a black-hearted angel
hovers with clear view of the illuminant cross
thirsty for apostasy