POST-ATHEIST

perhaps it's the full moon.

i feel like going to a revival. i want to clap my hands and sing a third, or a fifth above or below the melody. i want a worn red hymnal in hand. i want to see old ladies stomp the packed ground in sunday shoes, men with hands in the air, cracked leather bibles on pews. small children in pastels and easter dresses, white shoes and hairbows and bluebonnets waiting on the side of a highway, flowers just sitting there waiting for you to sit your family down and take photographs that will eventually yellow. easter eggs and gold brick chocolate bars.

hats and corsages. the family pew. offering envelopes used for tic-tac-toe and doodles or notes on the sermon, or notes passed to the cute guy sitting at the end of the third pew from the front, the youth section, i think he's going to be a pastor or a leader or a musician and i wonder if he'll sit by me in the church van at this weekend's youth rally.

eight glories, hallellujahs.

nine songs and a sermon and an altar call. tithes and offerings
body and blood
song and dance
sing and clap
holy ghost power
slain in the song of it all

slain in the song of it all.