Fortune holds
Like a fly on the pane,
Indecent translucence
Like lifeline, ingrained,
With a terrible filth
That seeps from the pores
To assault sensitivities
Imagined scores.

Perfidious thoughts
Scrape across the serene
Leaving bruised aberration
Where none's to be seen,
To leave an impression
Across cold glass
Where sunshine pale
Waits for morning to pass.


Marshalg
@thebach
30 July 2011