This sickness generates its own disguise –
a sheet of white expressed with holes
for eyes, a pointed hat. And though the
sheet implies a clean or virgin frame of
mind there is no honest poll for that.
Cries an uncouth name, although at least
it isn’t ‘Chainsaw Massacre’, Tid Willow,
or Wilde Beast. It matters not anyway –
names abide like handkerchiefs, are cruelly
fouled, abused and cast aside reflexively.
Emblem of this sickness is it’s soulless
cant of comic deprecation and despair –
an enmity where ersatz hatred uttered
wells from reservoirs abused by years of
saddened non-acceptance by its peers.
No mitigating plea alone – nor can its author
be exempt eccentric, granted free immunity;
where one might tolerate naivety in fact, or
youth, this is not that case. Whoever you are,
show your face, be judged in visible truth.
© 12 October 2007, I. D. Carswell