12-13 These people are eyesores at your love feasts as you worship and eat together. They’re giving you a black eye—carousing shamelessly, grabbing anything that isn’t nailed down. They’re—

Puffs of smoke pushed by gusts of wind;
    late autumn trees stripped clean of leaf and fruit,
Doubly dead, pulled up by the roots;
    wild ocean waves leaving nothing on the beach
    but the foam of their shame;
Lost stars in outer space
    on their way to the black hole.

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