Isn’t always this way, and th’ doldrum’s dust must
settle gently from moments of intense clarity - it’s
only then you realise unsettled air drifts are misty
moments after the singularity booms; standing in
the shade becomes mandatory, if you’d survived,
but the next’s enshrined in its own unique vessel
looking nothing like your imagination has already
failed to suggest it would - hardly a relief in that -
Yet we dream of how it will be - & that moment’s
wound plasticised bright around the core of your
being in legacies of failed introspection - if you’d
unwound yourself to see; & we’re blown away in
an auspicious nanosecond every time that show
comes to town - without an implied warning
© 10 June 2015, I. D. Carswell
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