The pious people come to church
shining and clean from soap and water
to hear the clergy caw of god.
The pulpit crows presume to hedge
divinity with scarecrows conjured
from rags of their own dustbin natures.
Priests fear the unchained power of god.
Pagan and saint alike craft idols
plaster gods to front our fears
and cardboard saints to be our models.
Whatever god might be is other,
beyond our naming. We need our idols;
what use is a god we cannot know?
Do not smash our idols, lord.
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