Piety is not religion

Pixilated presence leered over my shoulder
Impetuous confidence exuded the stench of
saltwater left to winter
in a caliginous closet.
He professed no apologies for
theomanic visions,
puissant neurosis,
religious leverage.
Proscribed my moral direction
demagnetized by megalomaniac mendaciousness.

Yet the more he spouted recklessly
the more he swayed in his interlunar lunacy -
stronger at midday -
more forceful with a fortified diet -
cigar afterwards -
brandy snifter pockmarked by chapped lips;
A satiated gourmand,
mouth aflame and sullied brain.

Awaken after his bacchanalian recourse
he launched vociferously into dogmatic digressions
to an empty cupboard and an idle-brained audience
of him
& Him.

For I left alone,
taking the long way round,
Fearful of being mistaken for a zealot,
or worse still,
An epigone,
poor both in manners and money,
plagued by theological halitosis.
Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
The incense flutters past The Stations no longer.
I know the hill where I confess my love of man
and donned mortality once more.