These bad hands start dropping things
The pills have scattered on the floor perhaps for the last time
People are yoked to disobedient appendages
That lack the capacity to concentrate

The violinist struggles against weak intonation
The watchmaker strains to apply the tiny jewels
All note but none think to mention
The difficulty of actions previously so convenient

I can no longer grasp the simplest fact
The tendons of my intellect degenerating
Porous curiosity declines to probe
And I signal defeat in gestures of tremulous ambiguity