Derailed
Early, I stare at the screen
editing
the hobby of the damned
each keystroke this morning,
Praises.
In my basement temple
MP3s deliver worship
at my Apple altar.
In an atmosphere thus consecrated
abruptly I am jolted,
overwhelmed
by the worth of Jesus.
In veneration,
I weep
the ecstasy of wailing
guitars and Hammond organs
torturing me.
Early, I stare at the screen
editing
the hobby of the damned
each keystroke this morning,
Praises.
In my basement temple
MP3s deliver worship
at my Apple altar.
In an atmosphere thus consecrated
abruptly I am jolted,
overwhelmed
by the worth of Jesus.
In veneration,
I weep
the ecstasy of wailing
guitars and Hammond organs
torturing me.