Death of the Golden Age

Death was a pollutant of everything but the soul

I was right here and I was certain of that;

but since I had no soul,

I often participated in some questionable conjecture---

wondering what the meaning of contamination was

Somewhere at the turn of the century,

the other turn of the century,

could have this conversation with me---

in a parlor,

where the Sun was going down on everything Golden,

even the idea of what was gilded,

which---

if we are going to be honest,

were items few and far between

And this is why we line our walls with bookshelves,

so that we have purpose and reason,

for bookends

But with our charcoaled tulle,

and our perishable hats,

and our fishiness,

we sit here and here

and we forget about sandwiches,

and how to eat them,

especially when you are sitting there with cucumber paste and crustless triangles