My God, is this the last sanctuary
of the shanking sanctimonious, of
the dribbling lead-pencil benders
devil-may-care intent on writing
self-aggrandising gratuitous crap
shaping anxiously solicitous lines
in clapboard, claptrap, structure-
less verse barely sufficient to stand
erect of its own incontinence?
It floods there delugent in spates
of tritely bowdlerised offertory,
confidently expecting gobbets
of phlegm-like respect from eye-
lidless elapids curled mockingly in
a defunct edifice, wilfully inciting
less-than-aloof commentary from
sycophants vomiting unctuous
praises in pseudo-mutual while
equally deluded self-admiration –
a fulsome unity incorporated in
a looniness of moon-struck
Pavlovian excess?
Well, if it isn’t that,
I’m damn glad blessed!
© 9 November 2006, I.D. Carswell
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