At Church

A couple of years back, a photographer friend of mine and myself checked out a small abandoned industrial zone in the periphery of Bloomington. We went there on a frosty Sunday morning and likened the experience very much to going to church.

Large storage buildings now serve as meeting halls for lost souls,

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piles of card board provide a scripture without words,

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stained glass windows tell stories of distant suffering,

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unused screws (not nails) draw like grass in the sand,

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and the mandatory relic doesn’t promise any hope.

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The place now has been demolished. Too bad.

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