Karen cries upon her garments
once satin at its finest
now a sop of ailing air
arrows light the night with flint's reflection
too much for retrospect
enough for any sect
when that donation cup reaches her hand she'll look in and pass it on
secrets of a sacred sisterhood
hooded and labeled
carefully ladled
dropped into amoration
Karen still crawls these crypts away
one more yesterday than she will today
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