holy cobweb fanatic! there’s religion in my attic
rusty suitcase diplomatic in locked methods socratic
to old radio static from pulpit pastimes erratic
left ageless, these relics and sour sainted faceless
in redeemable disgrace otherwise chewed tasteless
upstairs suffocating in vintage lace, in convictions baseless
sheepish songbook lines under the staff of blood bible story wines
that combined failed in soul-saving ways to convey godly signs
unrefined in mothball maturity, in musty missionary minds
forgiven by a sinner’s touch, not a sinner by all that much
for sifting in treasures balanced lonely on a shepherd’s crutch
angel battered and faith shattered and forgiven as such

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