All of this shows signs of crumbling.
These lines we tend to ignore or
label as born from laughter,
marking we, the loiterers.
A stamp of disapproval
Reverse of the newborn glow
There will be no overlooked ones;
even the invisible bow.
This too, crumbles, sing while it does.
Abandon Immortal notions.
Bequeath them to the ancients,
to molder in gray corners.
Look! Our shoddy Welcome Mat.
Letters, well-trod and well gone.
The free-swinging door offered up
to both the rabble and Select.
There is no lucky camouflage.
The truly fortunate are seen.
Hiding repaints the target;
the dead-hand has a dead eye
Best laugh now, for all this crumbles;
embrace your Strangling finale
We’re bound to these brief reruns.
And your last word? A gurgle.