Converging at the well,
for the last rites, you set
the soul free, touching
the sacred water to―
your eyes.

The dead plaques break out on their own
from the walls, and were
flowing in the bloodstream.

Like a sloth you swing
upside down, unmoving.

Do not put up any petition.
You have reached the end of the road.

The dust and alpha particles
come in the way of lightstream.
A cup drinks the fetishes,
you will not.