robotic on an early sunday morning coming down from the highs of a wasted weekend

laundromatic sugar buzz from la tapatia sitting dazed and glazed like the sweets gestating

been a rainy summer in the miserable heat but the overcast clouds whisper of humid aches

spinning like the clothes in the machine a machine of spinning disarray shedding dirt again

the laundromat has become a church scrubbing away the sins of a week fighting the good fight

forgive me father for i have bled and sweat to earn another dollar less than is needed to survive

forgive me father for i have written of the flesh while the flesh grew hot with perspiration

forgive me my love for my thoughts were not always pure blue skies and happy little birds

in the name of the detergent, the bleach and the softener we offer our soiled to be cleansed again

amen