Matter

The fix we’re in is not a fixer-upper: there’s something
that lessens the essence of something-
thereness.
In March, it’s distressed. By April you’re talking
depreciation. Is the act of making
weathering
make sense all we can ask of our senses?
(It is not the end of the rain. Nor
whence.)
That that stuff of which you’re constituent
is synonymous with problem is the
problem.
‘Twas the stuff of legend once; now stuff
is what you make the movers
move.
(Words at least the sense to shift; you haven’t
the sense to come in from
it.)
Degrading. Every day. Padding, puff, fluff, and filler:
that’s you all over, paper wad left out in the
drizzle,
(the real to make it really suspicious) drenched with
what all senses are slowly sucked
from.

Elementary, an aspiring sleuth might say—
original once though now it’s
material.

Kevin McFadden