They tell me
you have to worship something.
The priests raise their hands to the sky
and remind me that this life
is just a practice run
for the party that will come later.
They tell me to worship the man at the velvet rope.
tells me to worship the dollar and the Dream
that it will save my life, save me from this trap
this yawning void of empty sadness
They tell me to worship the filled house
that comfort equals value.
tell me to worship the mind
that it is the only freedom I will know.
Worship being smart, they tell me before it slips away
and you are left alone clinging to memories that may lie.
But I can’t.
I’ve measure my pain,
and weighed my small joy
and realized that the only thing that I can worship
this single moment,
the cat on my lap,
the drink in my hand,
the violin drifting out of the radio.
the tremor that is my very life
so vivid I can feel the flutter and pulse of it.
it’s almost funny.
It is all I have to fight off the void.
And it is small, and it is silly,
but I’ve never
so hard in all my life.