Some­thing that shook loose, today. A little verse, a sort of lyric about aging, fini­tude, holding things together as they inevitably fall apart, the ulti­mate futility of it all, the entropic down­drift of exis­tence, what have you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Attached is a not espe­cially well sung recita­tion. It’s as close to how I imag­ined it as we’re likely to get without someone step­ping up to offer supe­rior vocals and instru­mental sup­port.

There’s a kettle on the shelf that’s lost its spout,
And a crack runs through the plaster on the stair,
The lawn’s in need of seeding,
And the cellar wants swept out —
There’s so much that’s fallen into dis­re­pair.

And the axis of the planet’s shaking loose,
And every strand’s deter­mined to unwind.
Even as I lift the mallet,
Some­thing else goes out of use;
No sooner bind it up, the bonds untwine.

There’s some flaking of the paint up in the hall,
And the barrow in the yard has lost its wheel,
The polish on the table top
Has clouded and gone dull.
I’m made of flesh not ever­lasting zeal.

There’s dust on every lintel here­about,
And my mind’s become a little dusty too,
There’s cobweb in its cor­ners
And the bottom’s falling out,
And I’ve really not the faintest what to do.

I’ve for­gotten where I put the cotter key
And without this jot, the scaffold’s inse­cure;
Still, I need to glaze the window,
Lest the pane falls free,
So, roll the die and all my sins abjure.

For the axis of the planet’s shaking loose,
And every strand’s deter­mined to unwind.
Even as I lift the rip saw,
Some­thing else goes out of use;
No sooner bind it up, the bonds untwine.

The assembly in the lock is seizing up,
And the fen­ce­post is split­ting in the heat,
A drip’s formed on the water­pipe,
Here’s a chipped old china cup,
And my heart, I feel, is ticking just off-beat.

There’s mot­tling in the silver of the mirror,
Still it reveals the crazing on my face.
The nick­eled latch is pocked,
My for­get­ful­ness gets queerer —
Losing hours hunting phan­toms I mis­place.

There’s a tear in my trousers needs a stitch
And a gasket in the spigot’s rotted dry.
The floor is due for waxing.
This lamp’s got a faulty switch.
It drooped a bit, so I propped up the sky.

Yes, the axis of the planet’s working loose,
And every cord is hell-bent to unwind.
Even as I lift the pliers,
Some­thing else goes out of use;
No sooner bind it up, the bonds untwine.

From deca­dence to deca­dence we go,
The bal­ance-pin has popped, the watch has stopped,
The crystal’s cracked
And all of time’s gone slow —
Winding down, the second-hand has dropped.

The clockwork’s stopped and we’ve all gone out of use,
It’s all gone out of use, we’ve all gone out of use.
No sooner bind it up, then the bonds untwine,
We lose the thread of rhyme, and we all run out of time.

We all run out of time.

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