As One Crying Out in the Wilderness

It was a voice I thought I heard.
I swore to make straight the way of the Lord
 
and the altar gave a little quiver.
I licked the cup of wine as if it were a lover’s
 
lip, while the angled face of an acolyte
bent into a genuflecting scowl.  That night,
 
the transept swayed and flailed
like the grown, pale
 
arms of a woman waving goodbye.
I was drunk and high,
 
though neither were enough to soothe
me into sleep.  My tooth
 
hurt like fair warning. 
My face was raped redly, burning
 
as a book might, were it a sign. 
All the eve long, I pried
 
at my shut soul with the lock pick of a prayer.
God, fretted I, if you are there,
 
then you must now answer,
one way or another.
 
But only the candle blinked.
So I took another drink.