Labyrinth Poem by George Murdock

This strange juncture of flesh and soul.
An ironic union of the profane and the infinite.
This fire burning slowly in the hearth.
This cannibalistic fire of sense and guilt.
Feeding on itself in order that one
may experience the other.
This frail and diaphanous frock
worn with such shame.
Woven from earth and fowl
and bovine delicacy.
From industry of slaughter and tiller.
How can this be the temple?
This seamless conjunction so much an illusion
divisible by a universe of one.