You rave. You want a better
Class of constraint to constrain
You, or you’ll go on the loose.
Be still. Drink your scotch.
Move your cursor over prayers.
Hover. Not a lot.
Just a notch. Click. Ok. Click.
The face of God is a splotch
Of data aggregated.
It’s dark, in a sense,
But dotted with lights,
This universe, this nonsense.
I am happy when the snow
Drags its veils past a window.
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