Oligarchical onlookers

Judge a long-abandoned hooker

Once purebred to breed

But with no seed

For past imperfect days.

As provisional affection

And a vision of rejection

Hold the labrador

From wanting more

Of what? She can not say.

The enigmatic engram

Of the circumstantial feeling

Has long since gone,

The paragon

Of past imperfect days.

Material replacements

Linger endlessly adjacent

To the burning core

Of wanting more

Of what? She can not say.

The ignorant distractions

Built a lifetime of inaction

That was thrust upon

A marathon

Of past imperfect days.

Futile hopes for future exits

From the longing in her chest have

Built a levee

For a bevy

But of what? She can not say.

Tales of tepid, tranquil waters

Told to truly desperate daughters

Not allowed to be

The she they’d see

In past imperfect days

Are now desiccated bodies

With no elements for poppies,

Long bereft of life

And haunted by,

By what she can not say.