Ghastly week, but Sylvia's cheery ditty did provide some food for thought. No title, yet, I'm afraid.
A week spent in the wake of disease,
and the efforts to repel its boarding
then ease its way when all was lost:
the comfort, that he lived a long time
and lived for others. Now I muse
on those who flirt prettily with life
and death, have kids and all the rest
while archiving full time in their heads
the past attempts to top themselves
and relishing with sexy glee the next
successful go. Self indulgence doesn’t
cover it, nor any art excuse it.
It's chaos and fire.
There’s nothing to admire.