Confessional. The fetid prayers lie:
What sins were made we commit yet again,
And yet again do we decry our pain
Through Lent, Advent, the Easter, and July.
My fervent mother bleeds sweat in her cry
While forced Virginity watches inane
From such an altar. Needlessly reslain
Each year, the Saviour’s hope-despairing sigh:
O Lord, my God, why’st thou forsaken me?
A humble tree exalted—sacred freak?
The robèd clergy rile our guilt. What see
You when the incense clouds humanity?
Such breath as from the holy nostrils reek
Is grape and blood and sin, eternally.