What’s left of religion

J. claimed we should call it the First Church of Soul,
and to obtain enlightenment take daily
one Snapple, one hour of Jazz, homemade pastry.

I lie on my back, strain to listen.
It’s all rubber bands and panes of glass,
campaigns to win votes, know odds, get chips.
Coltrane’s still chill in the fridge.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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