There's A Church In Town Poem by Bukowski's Ghost

There’s a church in town, St Michaels
it’s called
And it’s black.
The stone itself is black
like obsidian midnight.
Wasn't always that way but when
the silk industry came,
the town was inked by the jut and strut
Of myriad chimneys.
The rag trade is long gone.
The chimneys all but gone,
but the church is still black.
An indelible mark.
And it gets me to thinking
about humanity,
and how it is that
Once something is done
it stains the landscape of your mind;
Always.
You either tear it down or look at its evidence forever.
Perhaps that’s why people pray.