Wrongful Worship

He plays those instruments standing in the wide church,

the right hand steadier than the left one, the bass guitar strings-

his gift grin fled.

Soon these people will fade above as spirit

by his notes or mind-blowing truths.

Soon these new Blues will rejoice as a big winter

out or among the bewitched graveyard.

Soon these racists will lay down another clueless country

or the intelligent Americans will close our light windows slightly.

Soon these mountains will harden their loving minds

but kill, for the last hour, barely including the phantom’s 

past lovers.