What was supposed to be the day this egregious
weight divested itself by leaving these tyrannised
shoulders just didn’t come to pass - and we’re no
further along th’ road where recovery asks insane
privileges to heighten its claim - but then scenery
steps back aways toward more persnickety - and
even further tests to establish what might explain
why, ever in the first place, suffering even began
So another week arranges itself into a blind alley
we just have to play tedious games with; & either
we’re sick as all get up and go or there’s proof it
isn’t th’ non sequitur it seemed to be - but woe’s
the willy-nilly that has me a rope-a-doped beast;
so we’ll roll with this play - & wait for the feast…
© 5 February 2018, I. D. Carswell
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