There’s a great plague gone out among men

Gone out among male, among female, sleek and thin

The street trader of the heart wastes as a blast among us

The counsels of the breast resist, get sheared apart

A broken basket is our fill of amiable good cheer

A stolen smile removed and brittle cools our kindliest acts

In the circles of our thoughts there goes no flow of comfort

Only the hard crust leftovers of dry beginnings

The person who respects considers pride to be sufficient

The common highways trawl from all resorts and places

Appointments made with bad excuse and better left unkept

An iniquity of soul wills to deceive our lives

All days are spent in evil, spotted, varnished that they hide,

But show only the more our tarnish-blotched distempers

And spreads the spores down history’s hours; a distribution

As like a hidden hand sowing ergodic grains

This is the breadth, the girth, contours of bread and butter brains

There’s not a dolt nor highbrow is not surely soiled

A member of that number who the world has ransacked

Whose manner quickens at a squint of fingerprinted money

The people’s local illness inroads all occasion

Always athirst as primal first before the other

Once sated, away, nor give a thought more to the leavings

This theme is the human genome’s print, and mints to self deliver.

As persons for certain we home upon a lonely earth

Living severed the more severely by inward esteems

The elixirs the pasions, the contradictions closet dreams;

In crepuscular arbours a strife for departures Damascene