lead the minister in
you betray your pew and
push back the choir milling
in their robes, they nod, piously,
laying their blessings on you.
Outside a sea of shepherds,
penitents in rags, drunkards
and google-eyed idiots
with their praying hands,
god's messengers reaching
to baptise you in the
divine cosmos. You dash
through mustard fields,
Judas stumbling in ditches
and fall under the grace
of cedars in the potters
field and waken in the deep
dew weeds, the firmament
staring down from god's eye,
an eclipse, the heavens
bathing you in the sweat
of the Lord's kiss and last
benediction, the radiance
of disorder. "This
is what Lewis Carroll
meant!" you stammer
to the night and all its
holiness. "This is the
rare light, the revelation!,
the illuminata!" And now
it's your burden to pass.
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