Claiming it’ll be a long day even before you’re half
way into it suggests a random process to contend
with; you know those arbitrary impediments - what
matters most is your state of mind - no sentiments
allowed free too verbose for ibuprofen, to trammel
where they shouldn’t be; dizziness settles th’ best
when you’re flat on your back, where, lying prone,
esoteric subtlety arrests frivolous flights of fancy
So be it, you declare, as if you’ve a degree of the
blarney better suited this occasion; and so where
were we when the shit hit the fan - and, hey, why
is it me who wears the consequences; there’s no
broadcast justice in this iteration - with no claims
to either notoriety or fame; yet beware - the virus
Is still out there - & apparently flying fancy-free
© 1 April 2016, I. D. Carswell
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