isn’t evidence
but nagging doubt
tenders plagiarised
corroboration
you’re dead
very buried in fact
though you breathe
with fair reparation
from a past you’d
rather forget
a bright light
on the horizon
reflects flame from
a pyre to no-one
in particular
it’s where you’re
at, nowhere, but
you’ll be leaving
soon – it’s already
too crowded...
© 27 February 2011, I. D. Carswell
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