To the kid,
Who saw halogen floors
With no generational flaws,
& the chemical lights
At delirious heights,
& the patented airspace
Felt olfactory engage,
& was a smear of light
Slicked on marmoreal smooth,
Flattened, 2D, under the rape of spectacle,
Solely receptacle but thrilled to be there.
The intention was: bedazzled kid.
Feel the air-conditioning under your skin, marrowchill,
See the world, butcher-like:
Time and mind,
Spirit pressed into
The hands of suppliers.
Of course, you asked Mom to go back next Sunday,
For the trembling rendition, the service provision.
Love to see the motion of thousands this way.
The multi-million power bill
Coursed arterially in the walls:
These counter-sylvanic human habits,
All for a certain power and awe.
Well, of course you thought
This was the house of God.