Wasn’t going to write tonight - wasn’t ready to dare
the good vibes surviving eclectic crises presents to
mundane forensic appraisals - but there was death
hey; maybe that was the bottle of shiraz, with a few
sub-categories of th’ best, damn-good vintner’s fey
reflections on taste-to-boot - & flavour’s you’ve won
the right to consider you survived by knowing them;
but today we bested depths of delusion vested with
any other loom o’ modernity you’d wrest easily from
stupidity you bloomed into; & we actually grew wise
enough to see the argument isn’t ours to begin; it is
the reflection of the reflection of whom we’d want to
be - if we had the choice, & could see consequence
as an expression of whatever we’d ingest first, & be
guiltless; but I digress - I wasn’t going to write f’ any
exception - other than - not being able to - tonight
© 12 June 2017, I. D. Carswell
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