Don’t seem to be making headway with this malaise,
if that’s what it is - despondency comes easy despite
being prepared for it; in past days I’d a way, & not as
much a remedy for melancholy as just getting going -
you know, cranking the engine and revving it - these
days I try and write a poem, keep it simplistic, focus,
dig gently into the mess - uncover what it is stressed
out & apparently irrevocably incommunicado about
That it usually fails clinical tests of relevance doesn’t
best the patience necessary to properly investigate -
but then the penny drops, & gates swing open again,
and there’s th’ culprit making smarmy faces sitting in
a deck chair the old way, beefing about things which
might have been - were it facing in another direction
© 2 August 2016, I. D. Carswell
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