Waking in an age a millennia after th’ one where we
went to sleep plays runes tunes for all the so-called
cognoscenti; with new beliefs to contend there’s, in
a sense, an unexplained gap in th’ reasoning: we’re
dramatically much older than when we dozed off, if
it’s as much a phenomenon created by th’ amazed,
bewildered expressions of reflections as to whom it
incautiously mirrors in the pane we just viewed - or,
Is this ‘reality’ we’ve avoided when not growing old
back in th’ days when we were indestructibly warp
and weft o’ structures in our imagination; bereft, as
it were, a calumny now croons without harmony, &
t’ obscure rhythms beating the slow-roll dreadfully;
praying it will end soon won’t ever put it to rest
© 11 September 2017, I. D. Carswell
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