05 September 2015


Like watching the grass grow - like being awake 
between acts as scenery changes; so you think 
you’re on the team - maybe the scriptwriter who 
dreams up dialogue, dramatically delivered bon 
mots - but its pedestrian in extreme, an ageless 
parody, pastiche you’d leave gratefully shelved 
where reveries are comfortable ‘isms’ - without 
a rapaciously edited time or place to date them 

This’s in-between; either you’ve changed or its 
a re-take of an act so far away from whom you 
believe you used to be you can’t see it so, and 
slower than death-throes of a kraken’s making 
the grade better than your ‘faux’ imagination’s 
graceless but gratuitously rave masquerade 

© 2 March 2015, I. D. Carswell