This disdaining lethargy plagues with tenacious
mendacity; I complain, you do not own me, and
in fact when it comes to possession, thus I own
you, so back off & go away: then silence is ever
unyielding as surrogate wall-surrounds - blends
into a forever-expanding nothingness rendering
piquancy of original feelings legless and dead -
& therein, nothing has a constrained meaning
What can you subliminally hope to achieve - its
my final query - you have not managed to stifle
me yet; th’ question must be, if your own vanity
derails plans entrained in its surrogacy then let
me compensate by breaking free of the bonds
of your indolence - and then I’ll drive the train
© 9 December 2016, I. D. Carswell
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