A Church Out of the noonday rush I ducked into an anti-church And entered the anti-hush. I anti-crossed myself And walked up the anti-aisle To the anti-altar Where you must be Expecting me to say that I found the anti-Christ. But He was Him. Through His hands and feet Anti-stakes had been driven. He hung upon an anti-cross. Just then an anti-priest Came out of the anti-sacristy And asked me if He could help me. I told him no, meaning He couldn’t help me. In that whole place, the only thing Holy were His eyes.