Poem #2,836 | At this age there is a haunting

At this age there is a haunting
of decay around all our things
gathered –
a rot sets in among
thoughts & dulled ambition –
a
cure for such corruption is our
demand
[when not on mute] –
I am yet to complete my tasks
[& putting off starting them my
main one] –
Musca domestica
swarm where death cools –
all
our remnants of life summon a
quick cluster to this final feast