A Fluid Glass of Lava Served

we all look down, the orange-hot
soup boiling pain, the earth’s urgings
to explode, our feet grasping for perches
promised by congregations absorbed
in liquid frenzy.

passing up pot-luck passions we fight
for understanding, for how can life
swelter over lava, and churn with emotions
if daring rescues interrupt meditations?

the line moves on past oblivion,
the parishioners eager
for coffee, they hate looking down
to turbulence, the reality of fire
beneath feet too much for piety.

promised eternal life seems crisp, the
documents and free passes singed by
soot, the commandments docile in their
anger, the comparison to eternal
fire a muted scream.