oh, the old organics
is it these I’ve 
mismanaged
with only panic
inspired?

chewed raw by cosmic sways,
the dirt determined dermis
does
a bit
to dismiss
apprehension.
the tragedy in its 
temperance, so temporary,
and
the reverence in the
righteous march 
towards
the ever present
fading.

or just bilious about
days
forever former and
scholarly.

for even that which will outlast this I
are passing
by
on the way to
nothing,
as all of this everything,
always is.