Joseph Martin III
I see you
In the eternal neon twilight
Of your artificial magnificence
And shimmering facades
Rising from the dark flat sea.
Our Lady of Opulence
The faithful come to you
Seeking their instant salvation
In the fanfare of clanging bells
And flashing lights.
But you are vain and indifferent.
How many of your followers’ prayers
Have gone unanswered!
From Fremont to Flamingo
The heretics push shopping carts,
Your defrocked priestesses sell
Themselves for needles and pipes.
The excommunicated are on hands and knees
Combing dingy carpets in cheap rooms.
At the Greyhound station scared-eyed
Teenage runaways await your judgment.
They are doomed to go unremembered
Like so many two-bit gangsters
Buried in your desert.
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