17 June 2015

Their Penance


That frustration is easier explained - like scent 
of custom-made doom invading, the girdling of 
pure powerlessness; its Hell on wheels without 
chrome trimmings or an indolent exhaust-note, 
that singular protest-vote we’ve seen as a joke; 
when things ran our way there was no need to 
be different, yet here we’re isolated, fettered in 
unmatched shoes so far into the coral penury 

& why’s it me in ‘crossed hair’ quirks of what’s 
nonsensical probability, and what are the odds 
it is framed by all those insanely ‘random’ acts 
of vengeance perchance revisited because the 
plague of my invulnerability’s dissipated; or am 
I facing the vagaries of doing their penance 
© 15 January 2015, I. D. Carswell