Middle Ages

fate worse than plauge
when repetition goes sour
                             goes mold
                             goes poison

going ceases 
pause
sloven motion
dignity oracle dust
whole fate cord cut
hope less than a crisis away

middles
untuned fiddles
barred piddles
the slog murks
halfway possible clarity

flesh seeps beyond belt lines
to query early ends
as drastic measures inch ahead
of sand from dripping glass