Small Stone for June 30, 2011

stone You shuck off the secular heat at the first door. Past the second door, the inner sanctum is whisper quiet and men-in-suit-coats cold.  The tap and shuffle of your shoes on manufactured stone make you wish you were barefoot.  On the pale blue walls hang paintings, stained glass bright in frames of gold, bought with the price of absolution from the sin of  insufficient funds. You make your supplication at the marble altar and the bank god’s acolyte gives you his reply in tens and twenties.

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