20 February 2008

Nothing Will Be The Same Again

Leastways they made less sense taken as
they meant themselves to be taken – an
essence of the incongruous stirred with
clotted cream, served in a pole-less tent.

Nothing was ever plain – bizarre seemed
tame applied to excessive behaviour, a
shame when you think they carried the
weight of our homelessly late disposed.

Yet eccentricity quietly left when they
met face to face in an ordinary instance,
bullshit blurred with makeup paste,
plastic shrouds became good grace.

We’re shamed in shallow views of modern
phenomenology – amused at the way they
played with fame, sadly believe, too late it
seems, nothing will be the same again.
© 2 January 2008, I. D. Carswell