The Ongoing Horrible

Migration to a town where

Tree swallows houses

Migration to a town where

Tree, swallows, houses

Like a mime troupe (stowin' (?)),

We're all aging doubles.

We sing,

We danced,

Shoes on shoes

To the sound of the spinning

Machine.

And we slept arm-in-arm,

So soundly ignoring the outside

Sounds of the ongoing horrible scene.