junkyard poetry

I built this altar
- it isn't very pretty
from scraps of wood
and the slaughtered coffee table.
With nails and screws and duct tape,
I put together the pieces of my beliefs

No candles will be lit here
- no inscent will be burnt.
Only the buds of cigarettes
and the rings of coffee cups.
Only the empty beer bottles
and the illegible scribbled notes.

Because this is my religion
- it is as unorganized as me -
and the gods come and go
through Monday morning coffee to go
and Friday nights drunken thoughts.

My altar holds no idols,
no hidden truths
No virgins, no heaven,
- no garden of Eden.
Because this is my religion
and I worship only inspiration.