plague doctors troll the streets
sniff the air like troubled beasts
where we walk our way toward work
dark creatures snarl and curse
work crippled hands tie delicate knots
words fall from such simplistic plots
we speak in clichés to people we meet
smile shake hands mean nothing then leave
through a dampening fog we creep
hand to hand then wait to feed
the constant urge to move somehow
to drag past the corpses at our feet
the butterfly dances just out of reach
the dust rises through the gathering dark
(November 3, 2013)
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