Infidelby Mary Lambert(An elegy for the Office of the Presidency)As the fan unfolds its gaudy face,a flaming moralism picks at sores which fester as the crusts fall from our leaders' eyes. Pickers and drummers shadow our Capitol, seeking to destroy an infidel highlighted by the blind machine of righteousness. A burning truth lies smoking in dark alleys, flanked by specious facades which do not know themselves. Magdalen was not double-bound and then broken by her flaws. Neither was she used to highlight her Lord. Footprints of blood drape shame across history. Weighted by the fanatical rabidity of spirit bloated and distended with its own poison, we gnaw at our own carcass. McCarthy used Reds for his shadowy wraith to vent and turn the spit of destruction, duping the populace within the veil of its own confusion. The fiery glow of the conquest is far worse than that of its foe when the essence of its spirit goes unchecked. Half judgments create hunts and kills made worse not by light or darkness, but by the distance between. Thus, our leaders' struggle. Now, in the name of human weakness and transgression, the Office is burning, speciously scapegoated by a wrong that is not the true vein. The sacred task of our forefathers has become muddled, scummed with that of which it isn't. Hidden behind a lesser wrong, it cannot speak for itself. We confuse the sacred office with the weak human foible, and due process is lost in partisan fanaticism, heckling and tranced as it ever was in times gone by. The Basilica Burns. And we know it not. |
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