Holy, or demonic,

there is something–

unnerving

about this era

where we scrawl with plastics

and come out of hospitals

either black or white.

We fumble with strands of time,

we press our noses to glass,

we walk and take nothing in,

or ride in stomachs of beasts of our own designs.

But where are we going?

Do we go to the great chapel,

see brown and gray stone marvels,

or do we put ourselves behind

unfeeling, glass, metal, and rubber?

Do we fly?

Are we imprisoned in boxes

before our eyes?

Do we ask why?

Are we all ill or in pain

and do not realize?

We take only one side.

Holy or demonic–

those must be our intentions

as we come,

black or white,

sanitized

or dead,

out of hospitals.

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