Back when he gave a shit there was room
to spare – the clatter of calumny a whole
lot less menacing with more occasions to
be aware of what truly significant meant;
these days he’s beset with sage illness –
ambivalence of wavering, the tragedy is
staged between opposed ideas debating
status quo – with no visible difference
Aha, he says, I think I see, you agree to
disagree as you disown you’re the same
yet you’re not proposing anything new;
that’s ok, but I won’t join the gang, or is
it cabal or faction, there’s room enough
for me alone just where I am
© 25 September 2012, I. D. Carswell
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