Wilful Obfuscations

Lingering bashful at yet another conspicuously well-fed table

Your mother’s conscience shadowing your surreptitious trail

Mythological madness now known to be a passing fable

So little really said or done, so how else can you fail?

So happy putting sad thoughts on the not so secret page

Melancholy scanning sadness with a licence to unveil

Ignorance is blissful. Knowledge? That only leads to rage …

A sting in every concept, danger in every leader’s simple tale

Faking it till you break from it, keeps you this side of passing fictions,

Listless infatuations? They’re just vaping in those smoking zones

Stubbornly held opinions that camouflage oblique convictions

Get you somewhere for the moment, but nowhere near the bones

There it is, then, this Tuesday suburban morning a mere perception

Squaring up to solitude, at least some traction in the wicked doldrums of defeat

Unpacking those petty sorrows, brings darkness to a luminous reconnection

Or at least opens up a window to allow confounding dispositions dissipate

(Yes, thoughts of WB Yeats’ The Second Coming)