Saturday Night Masses.
Updated on January 5, 2010
Saturday Night Masses.
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They come to worship
In a communion of
wine and song.
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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.
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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.
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None are barred here
except the very young
innocence and debauchery
are not a mix for drinking.
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The faithful flock here
to forget their sins in the
wail of a choir of voices
shrill with excitement
freshly brewed.
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Their prayers are
toasts accompanied by
the clink of glasses and
wishes that seldom come true.
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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.
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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.
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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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©-MFB III