Like crossing a border
to a country, half understood
customs that follow new habits
a bow to new gods
a nod to the old
long cemented rituals
burnt into the purple night
the air is moist, thicker
than you are used to
a different taste on your tongue
despite only a night from home
and the people, busy themselves
willingly Sisyphean, and
enjoy the drudge
hoping the change brings
minor accolades
and a little of Tantalus too
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