It stands alone.
Rendered Fortress
Awash with flourcent light in the dead of night
Keeping the cold and wolves at bay
A ring of fire red brick dominates the shadows
Amidst the pavilion, pavers, and
cinder block pipe organs.
The faithful attend mass
Rested upon the throne as have a thousand souls before
And all worship in their own way,
To their own gods…
Upon their knees they gaze up at the billowing robes, they place hands on the baptise porclran basin
Or they who know the holy water should have a capital letter before every drop.
They see the scripture carved into the backs of the stall doors, in the flecks of cracked paint the fine rosewood grain peeks out, humble as any cathedral pew
Distrusting and faithful alike
use this space.
Which in context is a perfect mirror for both their internal self and the external world, civilities, civilian, mask, mass.
For all those who’ve been crucified for their stance, we stand for. They stand on.
On their necks.
Holding a.mop in one and and a fifty dollar bill in the other
First clear the blood off these floors
Then clean the mirror
In the backroom You can hear the sound of zippers like the warning of birds just before morning
The rumours are not true
a genuine believer will pray anytime, this night vidual bolloks is for kids who watch the movies and at 7 and still believe that candy is fun treat.
Only long hours of worship and prayer can open ones eyes to the way candy corrodes the teeth
Red frogs
Rust coloured like dried blood in the corners of the mouth of the bashed and brawled
Was foamy and now lonely,
raisedinkpress 