29 November 2013

Scaffolding






















It is insignificance intent on shrieking into pieces, 
dissociating, dispensing rogue notions of integrity 
too ablated to sustain real frames of reference, a 
perspective faking puff-pastry views, a flaking & 
stewed recipe of disastrous invective you’d’ve 
had to grow into; you’re spread a-floor with the 
debris that crashed and burned, all shattered 
slivers of glass reflect brighter beams 

Bleeding and bruises remain sheer in a memory 
of fractured moments disintegrating into terror’s 
penitence, and where is reason and conscience, 
what consequence has laughter and what is this 
abyss we’ve fallen into flinging hard objects like 
a strangled cry for help unheeded 

Too far gone to breathe you speculate - dead or 
buried in a vogue of rectitude already approved. 
How did I earn such vengeful disapprobation, a 
moment’s misadventure bloodily rent in tatters; 
bet at this journey’s end I won’t be more than a 
bit companion to shards strewn on the floor 

And a grey scaffolding unveils in the drear light 
of mourning; but I’m deceased you contend - it 
isn’t right to hang a corpse, not by the rules you 
tried and sentenced me. ‘At ease’ came like an 
imaginary command where Court ends and the 
petitioners disappear into vague nothingness 

You’re free to suffer your conscience, to do the 
right thing, this scaffolding is where you’ll build 
again. Be upstanding - walk in the way we do - 
head lowered in penance, hand in hand of your 
companion; she’s the one who agreed to have 
you rise from the dead 
© 9 November 2013, I. D. Carswell