a faux voice says, sure, blame the
midges, you’ve more excuses in hand
than a penitent sins on tap
and your short span of attention still
raps today’s tests of relevance, panders
trends in laissez procrastination
they are indeed inflamed lumps left
by crawling insects with a noxious
and unparalleled irritation
so you play loose goose apace, scratch
irremediably, falsely claim odds don’t
appease measly choices you possess
they’re too small to see you wail into
an ocean of good favour – a fatality
of this goddamned dated attraction
© 17 December 2010, I. D. Carswell
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