SINISTER SUMMERY SPRINGTIME SMELLS IN CLITTERHOUSE

Rows of redbrick houses
In the early evening sun
Beauty in multiplicity
The many in the one.

A scented cloud of bitterness,
Envenomed at the edges,
Poisoning the decency
Of the life behind the hedges.

So much of what was beautiful
Perverted by this fog,
A rancorous miasma
From a foul putrescent bog,

Of ultimate frustration,
Near hopelessness as well.
Could we say that this is absolute?
Could we say that this is hell?

None of this need matter
If you cultivate
The virtue of detachment;
Desire - and contemplate.