snake church, morgan county

small wooden box on the hill,

pearl-white neon cross affixed

loosely to a peeling, shingled

steeple pointing to the starry

vault of an idyllic kingdom;

thick stained-glass vessels

pour pools of color-washed

sunlight onto dusty pine planks

still smeared with evidence

of copperhead-disco and the

sweat of viper-room trances;

the forgotten congregants

of bleached moccasin skulls

still gather in communion

throughout the vacant presbytery,

hissing confessions of duplicity

from the dusky corners of a

musty pulpit, crumbling edges

of concrete foundations silently

reflecting the rubble of

our own collective sins

 

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