This seems less a sinecure than I’d have
taken for granted, given that its taint ain’t
as bad as it should have been maybe we
missed the boat back a ways - played on
scent of rotting flesh lasting much longer,
but plain truth is, it never raised lick-leaf
interest in a forest of doubt where every
event stirs masses of hazy motion
stroll gauging where the weather’s taking
us - maybe the air’s malcontent isn’t bad
omen stuff and we’re over-reacting when
we should be relieved; its odour says, ah
you’re the new residents, gidday
or raise boundaries where the old ways
were sutured and tied - no-one has died
with no remains of imagined cadavers -
you can come out of the woodwork you
say joking - hoping it is true
sincerely want to believe
© 28 September 2013, I. D. Carswell
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