Two weeks of home-cleaning in nitpicking drudgery
and we manage to present an artifice - shimmering
in pristine allure (- an unprecedented cleanliness if
you prefer); there’s never been the like of it before,
an orbiting sense of view-concurrence comments it
must be true, and proof it can’t be a human edifice,
to err doesn’t get a live-in, until the denizen of four
footed canine hairiness redacts and demurs -
Where he found red-ochre mud in such quantity is
not as amazing as how fast he ‘graffiti-layered’ an
effect saying ‘the dog lives here too’ - on carpets -
freshly scrubbed floor tiles, walls, in raptly gazing
at the audacity of his pure signature; suggestions
in effect we’d best get the hang of it, hadn’t we -
And he has a point there; living in the fashion of a
redecorator’s imagination is moreso wearing than
tearing, but gets you nowhere as easy as bearing
into parallel universe; do you want to be here isn’t
the question; whomever sees a dream-sphere as
reality most certainly needs a red-ochre reprieve
© 14 October 2014, I. D. Carswell
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