12 April 2013




These so-called vacant moments too easily lament
islands of despair; though a boring cliché, agreeing
it thus doesn’t diminish the fact, they are detached
discontinuities surrounded with innuendo practicing
dynastic deceit much better than any winter of our
discontent, and it’s there you should find us as an
abject facsimile of sagacity retaining at least some
access to those preciously collected memories

Were it simply a precociousness invoked in defining
shared mementos especially – ‘we’ for meaningless
and emaciated dualities now functionally in arrears,
your conscience sides easily with a view of the boat
of refugees at sea; a journey from despair endured
tragically in the hope of a landfall
© 18 March 2013, I. D. Carswell