Monday, June 11, 2012

Cross sections


Another doctor, this one inviting
me to take a quick peek inside, each slice
fine grained stew in a chipped porcelain bowl,

glaze an abandoned web of minute cracks,
walking us through the empty cathedral,
trajectory of vaulted arches hurled

high overhead into the airless gloom,
accreting cushion of dust shrouding rows
of barren pews, pausing for a moment

to listen for the shallow rise and fall
of the bellows, torrents of wind howling
through rifled pipes last time I was here, neatly

Plucked and pruned, unceremoniously
excommunicated - blithe agnostic
down on his knees after all these years, head

bowed at the alter, a congregation
of one fishing through empty pockets, sound
of the coin shattering the hushed silence. 

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