but it feels that way sometimes.
the men
wearing gowns
and pointed hats.
the candles
and incense,
the shake rattle and roll
of it
all.
latin,
and gold chalices.
stained glass.
the basket that comes
around
for money.
the rote prayers.
the dark box for confession.
the pounding
of the chest.
the so called abstention
from sex.
the kneeling, the standing,
the up
and down of it all.
like puppets on a string.
mysterious rites.
guilt is a big part of it.
hard to shake
even at this age, as i ride
by the enormous temple,
which is open
all day, some nights.
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