Subsequential Lament

Patch the threshold.
Force feed pretense through a ballerina dance floor facade.
Addressed with elegance,
condemn those unfit to walk.
I grace the floor with my nose.
Altruism on all fours.
Antediluvian postcards with no connotation,
adrift in a quandary of repugnancy.
Dead letters.
The irrevocable mirage tastes of qualm ambition,
drifting from the basilica to this scarecrow acropolis,
only to coalesce with adulation,
converge with sycophancy,
and asphyxiate,
with desire.
Caulk the escape route.