Untitled - Steve Stockman

kids sit on street corners
sipping bottles of cheapest wine,
the taste of their transcendence
is not the sacramental kind.
there is no time for religion
when you long for bread alone
and their only picture of jesus mercy
are faces in ancient stone.
lord i don’t want to be a symphony
or a choral in a marble hall,
don’t hang me in some gallery
spray me graffiti on the subway wall.