The New Cathedral Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Your premonition is a factory religion
Never sell the truth
Never deal God in a business
Trees worship by rivers
Flowers as meek as clouds

Outside the gates in prayer
Unique gifts make way for themselves
Promotion is another Roman acolyte
Immaculate baptism
Stop the voices

No accountants
Kinky organizations diminished
Stripped by the ultimate hour
Samson’s hair grows back
The New Cathedral has no wealth