Religious Grounds

I crush my ego with the beans
And offer it in tablespoons.
Baptising in a steaming stream,
I count the drip as rosary.
I sense the scent of strong incense
And taste nirvana on my lips.
Enlightenment. Awakening.
The penance of the aftertaste.
No need for Soma of the Gods.
No need for blood of Holy Grails.
The Devil’s Drink’s my poison picked.