TRYST, two lover’s last on outbreak’s eve, they soon entombed.
MOUND, for burial of the city’s dead arriving too fast for single graves.
SPREE of death eventually births antidote’s invention.
SERUM!—One generation would have danced at its arrival. This one scoffs.

CLOCK doles time, portioned out in ticks, serves as
BOSSY metronome overtakes all time’s tempo,
LIEGE lord of a time-bound race, counts each subtracted second.
BLOCK ticks! Breathe—seize back time’s unmeasured moments.

LOWER down, in Johnstown, all seems calm.
UNION is going on 113, war survived, injustice re-submerged;
PARTY, faction, a steady equilibrium of peace?
FLOOD bursts as a sign; submerged may see the light, bad structures can fall.

GAVEL in last judgment, Judge! You will not be partial;
MOGUL in the dock cannot inflate importance or
DEIGN self as exception to what is good.
WRECK those who, unchecked, did not turn and plead for grace.