Falling
- by Linn Barnes
Falling
-Linn Barnes
The smudge has become
more than toxic,
fouling the vaguely fall air,
wilting the fine colors on
the shinning leaves, here
in beaten Washington,
where walking the streets
has become not so much
dangerous as tiresome,
where the foul debris of
less than intimacy rings
sour, invading the pores,
grinding down the
will to endure the grim
future of yet more
putrescence to come,
as we seem to be entering
a time of beginning
to witness a needful
yet dreaded collapse,
where the willing
sewers will shout out and
stand open for the prey.