10 December 2013

Purgatory Awake


If as simple as recording those things 
occurring in words ringing clear - I’d be 
veracious, true, literal, verifiable, correct
and faithful according to reality, but what 
I believe happened actually is this case 
elaborately placed before you is a free- 
range misrepresentation claiming to be 
my poetry; 

I am an ascetic who feels what he sees 
when nails drive deep; there’s no sleep 
in purgatory, its an awake state breaking 
heads inelegantly - it isn’t for me. Those 
who are dead wear masks hiding rictus 
agonies too easily described 

Our cinnamon-stick waffle says lick me; 
its sugary-sweet salesman’s tongued & 
we are caught blind in one-way impasse 
nursery-rhymed expectation-flavours in
which we live happily ever-after, amen 
to all our friends - and so say all of us 

© 13 November 2013, I. D. Carswell