Likened to a monkey on my aching
back a sweet affliction present from
a distant past disturbed thru many
folds and bends and twirls in surging
forward, reversing track.
Addicted to a state of never being
free of voices, crying for the stasis
of a simple seeing one but wholly
one complete and stable point of
view; chary of too many choices.
Fed few but nourished fine by paltry
grains of truth awash in dross and
flotsam of this day’s invention, hold
the cravings dulled by intervention
of a lesser god than he who rules.
Aware before the moment enters
seeing consequence engendered in
a finger fate intended; caring not to
play a role – wearing guise of psychic
souls complete in their theosophy.
© 28 May 2007, I.D. Carswell
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