Cauldron or crucible?
Dirge away, the heart is on fire.
On the other hand the hearth is cold.
And we are barely still in love.
Not that this mattress has much use,
The sleep time is headed for the floor,
And I do a lot of odd sleeping.
Whilst you count kittens and your chickens,
I wonder if spell checker
Can write its own poems yet.
AI and the given lie, is still evolving,
Like the Web of promise,
Of empty promise,
Was always really a Web of deception.
Bye then to digression, hello walking feet.
My inside feels like a cake mixture,
All sweetness and light.
The reality is it so isn’t.
I am not the person, I think, I seem to be.
I am in fact see-through.
Delusional, occluded and flighty.
Like a Chiffon blouse,
I too try to contain,
But am just as obvious.
What is it with me?
Is it simply a case of;
What you see, it’s what you guess?
Revelled in self pity
Is manifest in me,
For what was once, flowing words,
Is now but notchy poetry.
Introspection is a fools errand.
C2019 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved
Started 10.45pm GMT
Ended 11.04pm GMT
01 February 2019