Listless

There is an unpleasant sensation Which comes about when one has Stayed in the same place for too long It is something like that revulsion we feel When a coalition of tiny red spiders Settles at the back of our throat All they want is a nice place to inhabit So we ignore them for a time Even though their presence is intolerable At some point, after many generations Have lived and died back there The stupidity of our inaction becomes apparent How idiotic it was to let them stay And for so long at that Then at the meridian of our disgust That fecund clot is ejected and The resulting emptiness begets a dull ache A listlessness which blooms in their absence