No Time For Place

No time for argument.
No time for hate.

All the things past
are written off as fate.

When poison seeps into
every pore in the skin,

there’s no denying
the placemat of sin

eaten off of for dying
and eaten away in regard

to the movers and shakers
and everyday noisemakers,

taking apart lives, stricken
with the soul of the Bard.

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