Church bells through the hard rain
remind me of all the hours I failed to notice
three or perhaps even four days of nothing
Vacant social life, denying access even
A stale and unalterable negative income eating its way
like a termite.
No productivity with no light at the end of the cliché'd tunnel
Waiting just as always
A body and mind in decay, disrepair, dilapidation
Nearing the enivitable fall
And the ruin that awaits.