Filth

Foul smelling filth is everywhere

Invulnerable to wiping and scrubbing

washing, mopping, and sweeping

It collects like sand in shoes,

Or lint in an old pocket

The record of living

I can’t get it off me

I can’t breathe the clean air

I was promised

Don’t start!

It’s on you too

Covering you head to foot

A fine film coats the world

And all is tarnished, uncleanable

Even the fresh born Babe

This is mortality I’m sure

It’s the only explanation

With only one cure.

Can the filth survive a great fall?

Or graceful, blissful drowning?

Or a stomach full of pills?

Well then it wins

Stakes victory in the corpse

And brings on the flies.

Until the final toll is taken

And the doctor signs the file

Filth is kept in check.

An ugly opponent true

And try not to sniff

The smell of decay, exterior, impersonal

It hasn’t got you yet.

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