Abed the possibilities that disabuse
conspire to swindle me; should I arise
to find confusion reigns I’ll know
its yesterday – which
rings a mote of truth
And yet in notes of clarity
with random roots as deep ingrained
as incredulity there is a chance
it may, if I could open eyes preferring
saner company, become today
A safer bet would be a place
somewhere between; a sanctuary
with views both ways for me to borrow
somewhat chaste relief – and yet
abstain from claiming its tomorrow
© 18 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
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