What Altar?

What altar never alters
The real to seem,
Or, seemingly, too real,
So wafer-thin
That one may for the first time see through sin,
A seam (or wrinkle if you will
Within the fabric of causality)
Which reels by arkfuls fishers of mere men
Back from their self-imposed reality
And sends them reeling in the tapestry
Of some unseemly dream?

Thus, our winter’s abstinence
Blossomed to a spring of self-indulgence.

We stumbled in a stupor of sobriety
And, tripping over God’s own piety,
We fell
Headlong into a caricature of hell.

– Sitaram

(written 6/14/03, 3:00pm)

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