5.26.2004

Buildings and Bodies

Let us say “church”
And see if any dust balls
Spring out of the floor boards.
If we say “grace,”
Aren’t we really just saving faces
For a rainy day?
Who broke the bottle of champagne
Over the hull of our fellowship?
Did it drip and leak
Into the storage closets
And our once-a-week rations?
Inasmuch as we are uncrowned kings,
Are we unragged vagabonds as well
(shuffling tremulously through life’s
drab and dungeon corriders)?
Was there ever a time
When we understood the meanings of words,
The ones we heave about carelessly,
Cannon balls into a field of infantry.

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