07 September 2015

Three Strikes


























The old ‘three strikes and you’re out’ adage seemed to 
apply with a vengeance this past week & I wasn’t keen 
to keep count; but in the event it didn’t amount to if you 
err again you lose the keys, similar in a sense - but yet 
freed of the hammer that invariably meant; so we’re no 
angels yet the virtual halo’s aura stays intact and we’re 
still on speaking terms with ‘authorities’ penchant, they 
redact simplicity and casually implement chaos in lieu 

The Ute survived its ignition conniptions bravely, worry 
is it won’t play that game kindly again, and the satellite 
broadband connection forgave hazy protocols I’d lazily 
assumed were within vapid span of its attention - I beg 
pardon - see the error of my ways; but amazingly, if its 
implied isolation that drove us crazy by these, then we 

Survived a Rorschach test; we’re still bravely seeing a 
future of being free to commute - as well as able to be 
party to any mooted ethernet event; and I can play my 
poetical anomie no-less contentedly, miss the stressful 
heart-ache of plagiarised outrage not being singled out 
for a taste of amazing notoriety in becoming my age 

© 19 May 2015, I. D. Carswell