Waves of Pestilence

Engulfed in waves of pestilence
That’s raining down upon me
Contagion and concupiscence
In lust that’s all around me

If everything I knew was ever
Turned into a play;
I’d leave the throttle open wide
And move to Santa Fe

And there, I’ll build a picket fence
Of biological defense
Whatever there might be expense
To live in my wan


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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

5 thoughts on “Waves of Pestilence”

  1. I’ll have to Google “Pallescense” but isn’t Santa Fe land-locked? Wouldn’t that be even more awful?

      1. Plagal. LOL, that works. Or in today’s parlance, plague-assed. Nah,

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