Threadbare

1
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
Withered

2
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
Edifice

3

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, worsted
Algorythm
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