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Houses of the Holy
9

I'm having fish tacos with extra guacamole
 1
at the Anchor Bar in Twin Falls, Idaho.
 2
Through the window storm clouds caress the crest of a hill
 3
and I'm thinking about the magnificent indifference of the universe.
 4
I sit and listen to Physical Graffiti in it's entirety
 5
and watch a kid wearing a green down jacket riding a skateboard
 6
doing kickflips, ollies and grinding the curb out front.
 7
I give him a thumb's up, order another beer
 8
and slide a five dollar tip under a red, glass candle.
 9
 
 
On the way back to my motel room
 10
I stop under a tree and light a cigarette.
 11
A middle-aged woman wearing a long, red coat
 12
gathers her Pomeranian's feces into a plastic bag,
 13
holds up three fingers and disappears behind a Walgreens.
 14
The crackling of thunder queues a heavy rain
 15
and I notice the red door of a church standing ajar.
 16
I head inside, through the foyer, past the holy water font
 17
and find a seat next to a stained glass window
 18
with a bullet hole in it.
 19
I remove the red hymnal from the back of a pew and read:
 20
 
 
O Lord come heal your church, with thy holy blood make us well
 21
Preserve us in thy mighty right hand, keep us from the fires of hell
 22
 
 
I begin to sweat and feel claustrophobic.
 23
Inexplicable stomach pains double me over
 24
and I race back outside and throw up on a statue of the Virgin Mary.
 25
"You okay son?" the woman in red asks, climbing the church steps.
 26
A pentagram on a chain dangles from her neck
 27
and her eyes shine with a penetrative and pansophic light.
 28
"Why don't you come with me. I'll fix you a nice cup of tea."
 29
I follow her to her home and she motions for me to sit by the fireplace,
 30
puts a warm cup of tea in my hands.
 31
I notice a giant cross on the wall, bookcases filled with religious tomes
 32
and begin to feel nauseous again.
 33
 
 
I get up and walk outside where the rain has stopped
 34
and clouds are beginning to part.
 35
The ryegrass on the hills is rich and green,
 36
the sky is deep and blue
 37
and unbearably beautiful.
 38

9 Feb 14

Rated 10 (10) by 4 users.
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Comments:

I threw up in a church pew once when I was a kid.I took that as a sign
Always dig your stuff man
 — unknown

"Queques," no apostrophe needed in L15.  I like the gathering of Pomshit.  Funny 4 some reason.  Don't know why.  I think it's because u write with such intense detail that it's comical (sometimes.)  Are u a Virgo by any chance, 9?  LOL!  

Otherwise, wondering if what is hanging from the woman in red's neck is a pentagram or a pentacle.  Does it have one or two points at the top facing up?  If the former, the she's probably a Wiccan.  If two points up, a Satanist.  

If somebody puked in church in front of or near me, I think I'd be right there pukin' NEXT to 'em!  NASTY!!!  

I'm also wondering if you need those three consecutive "and's" that begin L's 36-38.  Read it aloud w/o 'em and see if u find it more sonically pleasing 2 the ear.  As usual, you take me on a trip of sorts when u present your little poetic stories!

:-)
 — starr

starr thanks for catching my error.
I'm not a Virgo, are you?
The star had two points facing the top.
Yes a lot of 'and's' at the end. I'm into and's but maybe you're right.
I hope you are well starr. :)
 — 9

Hope you're well TOO, buddy!  I'm a Sagitarrian.  Dec. 12th, Scorpio Moon, Gemini Rising.  YOU KNOW...an astrological disaster!  LOL!  <3
 — starr

No "if's," "and's" or "buts" aBOUT it!  ;-)
 — starr

I just joined this site. I keep loving your words!
 — whyandnot

is it really queues and not cues?

hmmm.

It kinda makes me smile, the piece as a whole. I relate to the speaker's reaction to religiosity. However, the telling leaves me feeling blah. Like the emperor said to Mozart, there are too many notes! I just wish it were more potent and less sprawling. Maybe it's because I never liked Zeppelin.

But heck, you might be Mozart.
 — looniverse

I would change queques to cues.  Queques is a line, waiting.  In this poem, the thunder is cueing the rain, not lining it up.

I love your poems.  So raw, so real.  I, too, vomited in church right after communion when I was 10.  I fled to the basement where the toilets were and when I heard my mother yelling, "Don't flush!" I flushed quickly.  In the Catholic church, the communion wafer, once blessed, is believed to be the actual body of Christ and the priest would have had to eat it!  I helped out by flushing!  Superstition is alive and well but that wafer was only a symbol, not alive.  I believed it then and believe it now.
 — Isabelle5

L5 its, not it's.
I have to respectfully disagree with Isabelle about queues.
I took as the thunder preceding the rain.

I like your poem, has a good 'mood' to it.   Could use a wee bit of clean up in some places.  For example, L30 would flow better as, "I follow her home" rather than "I follow her to her home".  

Love "the magnificent indifference of the universe."
 — sybarite

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