The instructions were clear - enough of your cynical
tyranny - there’s no gain being so erudite belittling a
few public figures who’ll never read it anyway. Okay;
so I agree - I beg of my interlocutor, what am I to be
preoccupied with instead. Too easy, there’s love and
affection, romance and beauty penned in words that
flow like honey rolling off the tongue - it is a direction
you know but don’t accommodate - reasons you say
of innocence - mystically adrift in sinless glossaries
letting words spawn words instead of deeds, held in
thrall by shared ambivalence, that pretext of being
hostage to feelings infinitely more complex than an
oeuvre view of being so helplessly a tiny person
© 26 October 2013, I. D. Carswell
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