thick as butter
on a cold
discarded morning
envelopes all reason
as the mind stops dead

oozing with fear
and flailing about
in quiet desperation
more than enough hands
make plain
the ascended balderdash

feet submerged
in rank
muddy time
prepare for the slog
without comment

the heart flutters
perhaps this is the day
of our redemption
the final triumph
as this pernicious fog
patiently awaits
our befuddled gut

the muck thickens
as entire bodies
lay down
populating the landscape
with inert meat and bone

a sad
insincere conclusion
offers nothing
and greets the day