Some Temples
Some temples are cluttered.
Everywhere there are
wrathful-playful-sexual-vengeful-
gesturing-carousing-beckoning-
ascending-descending-riding-
weeping-flying-singing,
or just sitting around
Gods.
The congregation ride luggage carts
in the dead of night,
sing drunkenly, slam doors,
or watch HBO with the volume way up,
That was a hotel in Muncie Indiana.
A temple I shared with a rumba dancing Shiva
and a bottle of Jim Beam
but the vibe was the same.
When I finally nod off, I dream of wearing
Day-Glo Speedos
in an elevator
while
reading
the Kama Sutra.
One level up,
the Tallahassee chapter of the honorable order of Shriners,
surrounds me with their juiced-up joie de vivre.
I rise with them to the seventh floor
where at last I find
my omnipresent self.
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