Take care on these rainy days
when the neon sign down
the oil-stained street –
stained with our sweat and the
blood of our brothers – is the
only light, flashing and
flickering into oblivion ….

its sputtering sparks as the
energy runs out, turning the
air a crackled kind of
hazy through the fog and the
smog as it dies in the dust of
the dreams of our children and
the acid rain runs through
the oil stains run through
our hearts and our souls
as it fades in the runoff
of the sins we’ve committed and

oh, our father who art in
heaven, we’re sorry that you
can’t watch over us
anymore, but we’ve grown so
small on this feted ground you once hallowed
and so, since you can’t hear any
screams over the pounding beat of
our marching feet and the howls of
loss and machinery alike, i was
texting a confession to someone
who was close enough to listen
but we’re too far apart for it
to mean anything, and so
this phone is just another neon
light in the pouring rain

and i might go read the paper, but
upon opening the door i found
that this graying, decaying structure
had not sheltered it and it had gone
the same way we all do, soft and
shredded to pieces, and only
the headline is left, calling,
announcing to an audience of
no one who cares that
“… all sinners, rejoice. The mission
has been aborted. (The angels
needed passports, and God
has been deported.)”