And when I’m sad I reveal,
To that inner sanctum;
My soul, If such I possess.
All sadness, indulgent, intro and inspection,
The numerous examinations of my many causes.
And how I wallow, my oddity fitting my stony shape,
Like mud always does.
I keep in levels both my self determination
And my disease.
Ready and useful for the next time,
The next time of dread.
I should not bequeath by seed
Save that they might
Reveal in my helix
A tendency to be too. . .
My fortress is my stream,
As conscious as I am.
More often than not,
I am off dreaming,
As usual, squandering,
And leaving early for tea.
I half languish in the agony
Of sated appetites.
Half fatal, half again wounded,
The quartets pay the dead ringers
With the folly of the Crown.
Whilst confiding in poetry
I re-tell of the damage I have slid on.
Right from my onset through to those yesteryear’s.
Onward to this trafficking hour,
And my final algebraic breaths.
I am calculus in fearsome knowledge.
Being serial through to my selfish centre
I am made equal, being appalling,
And saluting my demise with the confetti of monstrous lies.
#equal #poet #confetti #crown #monstrous
Mar 17th, 2014