All The Hues of Rust

A fallow wind breaks in
with its curses aimed at our Windsor’s
and all our other gallows knots
Our kind of gentry holds no nobility
for any period of time
when elegance depends upon the dollar
Cities no longer have walls
only the dirt holds up the foundation
in the parsimony of our masonry
None of the roads are lasting structures
these are our lowball achievements
Thanatos is the would-be victor
The outside world cannot understand
why we build our plaster empire
that withers in the gentle passage of time

Our roads have gone to dust
our factories have sent their workers home
and the bridges have begun to fall outside