It is a vague, recurrent theme,
may be an imperfectly recalled
chorus from a song; few words
remain - not enough to claim a
thesis of weight, yet it plays on
repetitively twixt engagements,
returns again & again ere quiet
invades. I see it as a salutary
companion - compensating my
uneven balance, competing for
equal space without demands.
I explain it a benign mate who
plays second-string to me with
But you're not with me, maybe
bewildered & shaking the head
unrequitedly. Why’s this?
Well I don't want to rain on your
parade but - it sounds more like
a case of tinnitus...
© 27 October 2007, I. D. Carswell