Acolyte (2) (Poetry)

I worship at the altar
of the lord of melody
I wipe life’s sticky counter
pour the music constantly
I mop up endless anthems
and I squeeze the cloth of doubt
catch the dregs — consider scansion
let old wisdom froth and spout

Casual sermons black as coffee
golden grains of sugar spill
he’s a tyrant then a softie
none can stand against his will
I’m a novice in his army
slave to every blesséd note
you could feather and black-tar me
I believe in all he wrote

There are books considered holy
there are pamphlets by the ton
tossed away or rotting slowly
they’re forgotten one by one
yet the songs of faith’s composer
weave a soul-compelling charm
hence the rapture’s never over —
lyrics rolling wet and warm