Monday, April 04, 2005

This week, I keep thinking about this poem

by Robert Creeley

The church is a business, and the rich
are the business men.
                                      When they pull on the bells, the
poor come piling in and when a poor man dies, he has a wooden
cross, and they rush through the ceremony.

But when a rich man dies, they
drag out the Sacrament
and a golden Cross, and go doucementdoucement
to the cemetery.

And the poor love it
and think it's crazy.

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