Sunday, 1 May 2011

Poem Number 17

ICON


I saw a priest
click an icon

in the Internet
cafe by the sea

with one of those
starving Greek cats

rubbing his
wine-swollen knee;

there are sacred
things on the Web

and many nude
ladies too;

old women still
lighting candles

and praying for
something true;

the tiny little
church was empty

our scientists
will always say

yet it felt more
than just a shop

open twenty-four
hours a day;

the image of
a golden saint

brought to life
in dusty rays;

the unshaded
computer screen

disappears in
a blinding haze




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