So the fan merely recycles heat as a blast of air,
the energy neatly replayed relieving some of an
apathetic stultification you’ve simmered in, your
melt-down torso baring’s seen better days - and
isn’t pretty; a rhetorical ‘when is it gonna cease’
quizzing suggests there’s despair inventing the
air-conditioner again for no reason other than a
subject guaranteed entrenched controversy
arguing there’s more to it than giving in easily -
he who learns to run away lives with less angst
than ‘heroes’ copping it sweet; yep seems heat
really brings out the best in my ability to shrink
comfortably through vague eco-reasoning
© 11 October 2013, I. D. Carswell
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