A hundred people… Everyone is waiting, Well, most are. Waiting for The geniuses: Those employees Deemed worthy To tell us why Our silicon idols no Longer respond to Our pokes, swipes, Presses, and prods. They are the high priests of Our digital worship. Bless my device, Father, for I Have sinned. We are all, Each of us, Trapped in digital purgatory. Our coins tinkle As they spill on The floor in our eagerness To buy Our indulgences. A few today Are new to our religion. They browse the Sacred art shop For an icon They can call their own. But it is not theirs. None of this is. We pay exorbitant costs just to be in the collective. Salvation One app At a time. The neophyte converts don’t know the secret We devout followers do: That it is already too late. Once you drink the wine, (even a sip) you are a lifelong drunkard, a rollicking adherent to the cult of Apple. We don’t even bother to argue our superiority any longer… We know critical mass was reached long ago. This is why most of us In church today are happy to be here, Loved by a digital god.
