24 December 2015


It is like everything but the real thing, whatever 
that is; breathing, TV dramas - dissenting what 
matters when boredom overcomes frappes you 
thought you made real sense with; so who’s a 
guilty party to th’ heat becoming a languor you 
have to contend with when what happens isn’t 
even rationally connected t’ th’ nub of it; that’s 
the distraction we’re dealing with here, maybe, 

So we ice the Baileys - liberally pour milk on a 
wound of conscience indictable in most cases; 
though it is the slush of ages there’s hints of a 
contemporaneity somewhere back of it; it’s for 
real you’d like to ask, but tastefully demur to a 
flavour invading even immune common sense 
© 12 March 2015, I. D. Carswell