You Can’t Buy Popcorn at Vaticanland

One man’s place of prayer

is another man’s Candyland

or Disneyland

and you can’t see between the Pope and Mickey Mouse

tonight stepping in to the Sistine Chapel

having never set foot nor forehead in to the Jordan river

and the cross I bear

is that I bear no cross at all

and with this loss of religion

I found the Vatican

rich, lush with marble

more gaudy than God

dead Popes entombed in brass

where no light can pass

I thought of my baby shoes

bronzed by my mother always to remember

how cute my baby feet used to be

spirituality ain’t no beauty contest

so why must this house of God

be so goddamned beautiful?

I felt so intimidated by its overwhelming artwork and pageantry

looking up at the ceiling spinning with angels in halos

God reaching out to man

looking up to the hands of God

painted by Michelangelo

I considered becoming Catholic

a thought I put in my back pocket

as I walked out of St. Peter’s Square

leaving the smallest country in the world

light from the Vatican at night

shaped my shadow

to dance down the streets of Rome

man made light

God made night

and what does this sight see?

The shine from the Vatican City

or the darkness between the stars

or any sign of any street lights in between

the hope of light

faith

like light gets lost in its own sight

blinded like a deer in the headlights

it’s like staring at the sun

its light so obvious

it’s blinding.