The Caffeine Cult
Esco 3000
Swept under a brume
of brew; percolated by
prayers of the faithful,
this city's a cup half empty.
i'm beginning to see the pitchfork
that stirs such a large red pitcher.
and yet you still extend your tongue
like a pink welcome mat to the
roof of your mouth.
nothing comes closer to home.
go on, ground your seeds into mud.
continue to close your eyes
and let your slumber feed you dreams
of your umber hunger.
it makes me sick; watching
so many skulls daring to
flash stained smiles without
flinching.
lifting cups to their mouths only
to have it trickle to the floor
bathing bones bronze, puddling
beneath the feet; making
messiahs of men.
it's then that your smugness
bubbles and bursts.
the mugger in front of me
is protected from persecution,
wearing a mask fashioned
with today's paper.
it's their bible.
and today's passages demand
your attention as always.
so as to escape the world
around you, masking your fear
with the world beyond you.
but i digress,
because it would seem that
i'm next. so sings
the machine whose foam
grinds the teeth
of the drone to my left.
it's then that the devil sashays
through the doors of the church,
sewn from heel to horns in Prada.
with pursed lips she parts her
purse in search of a card to
slip the child behind her.
I declare war!
the canvas before me
betrays my palette,
mind painting a vision
of the frothy sauce
grinding this seed into mud.
leaving a skeleton
in it's wake; taking
the innocence of this
poor pagan child.
and while the cardinal
behind the counter
sings the price of my tithes,
i watch the puddle form
under her small ugg boots.
prayers answered she walks to the door,
holding it for her mother who brings a
bottle to her jaw, and i see
her water, is wine!
it was at that time i took this
city in my dirty copper palms and
sat down to confess my sins
in a cup of joe.
I think i'll stay for the second service.
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