I get it now
why hypocrites
became men of letters
they recast the landscape
with counterfeit words
while you lean on your pen
and wear out pages
pressing into
holy cantos
a thousand years
of unbelieving
your soul wears
a hole from all the kneeling
no one will get it
this humble offering
only the dark
where no one can see
and in the Temple of Anything-Goes
a pharisee
looks at you funny