Confetior   Submitting to the ritual: and so it begins with recitation of sins — amid the graven images and golden calves, the sordid history of principles for sale, the mummery of smells and bells, robes and raiments, the celebration of death in life and life in death, hell for the wicked and heaven for the chaste, morality as a gilt cudgel betraying the stifled desires of these avowed celibates. So life is merely a dress rehearsal for eternity? In vain — it’s all in vain.                        That whole litany flows like altar wine. Then we say: I confess.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont February 2022