Blinded Worship (day 3132)

Worship at the state of alter
For each breath reconciles
Lost wages at the gates of infirm.
And at dawn,
Ghosts shall bowl their syrup
Onto lawns of placid velvet
That feel unusually comfortable
In the absence of relativity.
Here it shall be
That gates no longer shine
For eyes used to the dark;
The gates have blinded

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