the transubstantiation reverses itself: blood turns to
wine in my mouth.
i’ll be doomed to walk these streets
for forty minutes and forty… more minutes
until i find my car. there will be no manna from heaven
except that which i pour
from holy can to reverent lips.
and there will be no needle-eyes for this camel,
for I am rich only in beers drank,
and so my kingdom of heaven is less pearly-gated
than it is porcelain.
this goddamn sidewalk
is less comfortable even than a pew.
I remember one commandment, brought down
from on high, or maybe from the bathroom wall:
“Either hail a cab
or hail Satan.”
i dig in my pocket for more scripture.
I find crumbs, lint,
a receipt from Home Depot
documenting the purchase of
1 Snickers bar, that is it.
jesus christ, what
am i doing