genus monokhromatosrule of the effete
There are more eyes there than you can shake a stick at,
peacock-feather-obvious, never blank,
always judgemental, watching, watching, watching,
even in the dark you feel them;
do not recoil from their unblinking stare,
for that way lies subservience and perhaps
you've had enough of that, your very soul stretched
espalier-like on flimsy lattices
thrown up by bloodless, self-indulgent pseuds.
And all the while the sound of boots on eggshells,
the said, the half-said and the unsaid crap,
the sad anaemia of the timorous old.
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