Merciel

I gave it all to God:
my worries, questions, confusion. I heard
no shout or whisper. Nothing but the wind.
I never heard from Christ, but his Body–
specifically his ass, the largest part–
had many words to dump on me.
Pray more, read the Bible more, tithe again.
I did and did some more, but bended knees
began to atrophy and brittle bones
began to splinter as my brittle mind
began to wither without salvation
or somebody to listen and not preach
to me; I already joined the choir.
Why tell me to pray as if I had stopped?
Why feed me clichés I already bought?
They never heard a single word I said
between their sermons, pamphlets, catchphrases.
I took my queries, quandaries, and queerness
and left in search of answers from a source
I had once only used for porn.

I gave it all to Google;
a million answers given in return.
Most missed the mark, but several hit
the spots religion always missed.
My worries, questions, confusion exchanged
for answers, tips, crowdsourced information.
I no longer fear brown recluses;
I found my public speaking voice;
I learned how to bake my own manna;
I don’t have to wait. I found my choice.
It asks for nothing in return
for salvation. Google gives freely
while churches still send me junk mail
demanding money for deacons
and stages for Christian rock bands
whose sex tapes can be found through Google
along with other sins filtered by the Church.
I have nothing more to give to God.
I give my tithes to Amazon and prayers
to Google, but when overflown with words,
I’ll give the choicest to the church.