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Saturday Night Masses.

Updated on January 5, 2010

Saturday Night Masses.


They come to worship

In a communion of

wine and song.



The Saturday night

masses gather weekly

to celebrate the breaking

of the bread in thier pockets

that they've earned,

from the sweat

of their brows.



They line up for a

bit of liquid salvation

from the taxations of life,

hoping to escape the hell

of drudgery by taking some shots

at achieving a higher

level called limbo.



None are barred here

except the very young

innocence and debauchery

are not a mix for drinking.



The faithful flock here

to forget their sins in the

wail of a choir of voices

shrill with excitement

freshly brewed.


Their prayers are

toasts accompanied by

the clink of glasses and

wishes that seldom come true.



On the marble and

chrome lined shelves,
stand the elixirs of the gods.
Sealed and corked,
their heady offerings
are reflected in
a vast mirror

behind them.


Folks genuflect

to their power,

baptized one splash at a time
as they squat on red vinyl stools
that are their pew,

before the altar

of their nirvana.



They tithe thier

meager wealth,
to ingest small amounts
of pleasure doled out
as the tender pours
precisely measured doses
of heavenly bliss.






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