Tawdries

When the gone tawdries collect woebegone dust
And resettle on colonies of ants and moles
Bit by a fever of callous callings and dry
Recollections of a past that never was and a
Future that will never be, the here and now
Will of course be host to tawdries, of necessity
Collect woebegone dust, all the while resettling
On colonies of ants and moles.

When the fever of callous callings and dry
Recollections bit by the recollection of a past that
Never was, reach out for a future that will
Never be, the gone tawdries have naught to do
But collect woebegone dust and resettle
On colonies of ants and moles as the here and
Now is host to tawdries, stricken by a fever
Bent on biting, the fever of callous callings and
Dry recollections recalling, reaching out.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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