The Tragic Disappearance of All Known Stuff

by grimbeau



Worsted, Tweed, Galician calicos, reamed

cotton screed, diaphanous silks, dour,

coarse linens, Chinese screen tableaux

of mislaid epochs, safe and unsafe tapestries,

sad stacked in the old mead hall, the conference centre,

the hubristic hub of soft arrogance now




The once sure folk have fled, melted and mutated,

The meek ones headed for the hills, they crouch

and mooch grumpy, sucking stale breadsticks

in their holes, the old caves and calcified barrows.

The diehards fought foolhardy rear-guard actions –

smouldering stockyard bone stooks  stand pyrrhic





With the Labyrinthines gone away, nature is displeased,

Ever abhorrent of void it convenes

Bison, heck, leopard, eel and titmouse,

Louse, curlew, ptarmigan, to settle

a modus of repair. They soon conclude the obvious:

You are only as good as your last, worst