Another day where plagiarists
play mind games & disaffected
poets grind blunted vegetarian
teeth; a smile of blank pages I’ll
try to fill churchless and blind on
an uninspired Sunday.
Flying with the not-so-new news
young readers find delight reading
poems lost to antiquity – but still
bearing my name. They say kind
things truncated, at least it seems
nice, no suggestions otherwise.
Back to the grindstone where grit
and grist combines in sour-dough
expressions of disbelief – surely a
rogue ingredient effected this! To
the recipe in amazement, too late
now to change the basic mix.
Need more meat in the diet – the
pungency of razor insight died
with spiritless conversation and
greens doused in spicy balsamic
blight, fresh picked herbs and all
those nice ecliptic things.
© 13 November 2007, I. D. Carswell
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