beggared on this taunted key
eyes, long emptied stark hollows of jaundice,
no longer reflect the encirclement of youthful steel
and, thus cowered beneath such plumb altiloquence,
she finds herself now wimpled in a creeping green
where her walls bleed a jealous neglect
fish flaked the façade of dandruff drips
her autumnal fall into sorry stupor where
grumbling brickworks effloresce, vainglorious
not in tribute
for who could love her now?
those weeds grow long around her feet
as doleful duenna to her tawny disgrace
yet still we look
through the fog
through the trees
through the dearth of honey
bees to where
the dewdrops sit like
sugared spit upon the old
maid’s bristled lip
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