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