An Afterthought

Like living in a state of moments
moving randomly – except it was
once fixed as yesterday – never
had a clue what would befall until
the bell rang clear again and even
then its echoes seemed too brash

You’d say it didn’t matter much or
rashly try to cobble commonsense
where randomness disdained a lucid
view as continuity escaped and flew
the coup and scene and act, changed
the very nature of the play

Looking back you’d claim to see a
pattern as an afterthought which
lacked contextual integrity, surreal
perhaps but there if clues were all
upon a manic move serenely making
waves – mayhap haphazardly

So you’re sitting in the lamplight at
a corner of the street while blankly
gazing back along the way; hoped to
see familiarity at least but even that
eludes in moods too deep for use in
making sense of yesterday
© 7 February 2013, I. D. Carswell