The Journey Home

Aisle-on-aisle in them, church pews, going home they hold their iPhone 7s like a prayer book bent in devotion switched to some—Om! Haloed busses, baited on a fishhook each waiting for that vital uplink call is it the voice of God or just subtext? I feel I'm not connected, less enthral I don't-like-iPhones at all—I'm perplexed I haven't God at my fingertips—my ear and this isn't my church or Sunday school. As a rule, I read a book, some seer, a clear-eyed poet-prophet. so I'm uncool, I'm inclined to sit alone, quite detached in a vestibule, where God and I are patched.