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Cured of Prayers
I know this sphere,
its denizens, such;
its multitudes, measures,
its plights made at leisure.
It's gotten so small -
emboldened by broadcast -
and nobody's frightened
enough for good manners.
But I'd like to think,
or try to believe,
that things for the best
or constant; apparent.
And yet, they never were.
Pleading is redundant,
as the air yields no tears;
but now that the prayers are cured,
I can return to nowhere.
