A vexing re-occurrence of intolerable spine twinging has at least served to provide me with the time to clack upon these patterned buttons in a vaguely rhythmic manner twice now in two days. Writing. It means I’m writing. And perhaps a mite touched.
As I’m quite eager to return to my debilitating boredom and maudlin rumination let’s move this along. 🙂 I’m having a very difficult time deciding which poem to go with today. Thinking… still thinking… ok, decision made.
My memory is too poor to specifically recall the catalyst for this piece but I’m sure it was any one of the many irksome trials of modern existence. Point of order; are we eating the rich because they’re the fattest or due to the intrepid anger of the new, new Untouchables? I would prefer to believe both play a role. Fat is flavor.
Mere Images, Sept 16, 2018.
I am you and you are me
Despite altered faces see
Beneath the skin lies just the same
Two legs and arms, a spine, one brain
Arteries, veins, same organs too
Believed or not facts are still true
Aforementioned brain’s the issue
Hate swamps virtue strangers wish you
Disregard most of failure’s wrath
Learn lessons from the aftermath
And then move on there’s zero worth
To dwell on darkness of this Earth
Set your baseline response to love
If World’s a cold hand, be its glove.
(Sorry to any limbless friends
I’m adhering to StatCan trends).
I felt the post script caveat necessary in case any of my dear readers happen to be lacking any arms or legs. Especially since the figures appearing within these articles are so often missing both spines and brains as well.
Dread Poets Sobriety 
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