getting a hard-on for jesus

i was sitting in the passenger seat of the van in the parking lot of a mexican grocery. night. the sky was overcast and the conversation mundane. i looked though the window to the sky and a billowing cone of cloud was descending out of the cover. lit from the city lights it came ever forward at us, then taking on a chromium-plated appearance. closer and closer until it could not be denied that this finger of god was pointed directly at me.

as soon as i entertained the notion that it was in fact a finger of god, the energies of the thing barreled down and through the glass and into my chest. waves of energy flowed directly to my heart muscle then scattering as through a prism out into the bone and sinew of the rest of my body. i levitated out of my seat and into a relaxed rigor mortis. my arms outstretched into the symbol of the christ's cruxifixion. as reason fell into suspension of disbelief, the cells of my body became charged and excited, increasing in intensity as each iota of doubt crashed. my whole body vibrated into multiple orgasms, my penis rock hard for jesus.

i awoke, flabbergasted, tingling and exhausted.

i dressed, made coffee. went out on the stoop for a cigarette, where crow sat above and laughed, cackling at my dumbfoundedness.