Outré Way

‘n so at 70 I become a critic posing the questions 

of damned ages I like ignoring anyway; hardly me 

plagiarising anecdotes, maybe adding to ‘em with 

poetic sang froid learned from literality; think that 

one thru without Google - y’ sham; & where’re we 

now the shit’s hit its fundamental origin - this isn’t 

a pretty picture is it - if you’re to leave a page that 

comes closest to where you believe you’re at, but 

rejects you, its because it doesn’t want you see a 

reality less iconic than an 80% eyesore; - safe to

say usually few’ve the age-level perspicacity, - or 

nous to work it out themselves before the rest do;

and that brings you back to me - I’m one who - at 

70, thinks you’re full of it all - while I’m less victim 

than apothecary - making the grade with soothing

words when agonies become apparent - y’all take 

a dram of th’ liquor I’ve brewed called poetry, and 

sip on it, along with th’ manifest internet bullshit it 

comes with degrading degrees of what we hope 

you see the least original outré way of saying it 

© 7 January 2016, I. D. Carswell