16 blocks south of downtown
The church stands,
Paint peeling off of the outer walls and
Wooden boards wedged in the
Windows of yesterday,
As if to keep the rats and mice warm,
Or maybe to keep our hearts a little warmer.
.
I suppose the rodents can still pray in there
But for us, the house of God has perished,
As we scornfully shirk its visage
In animalistic transactions of alien ore.