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Accretion


Layered veneer at his age grown thick,
fired hard, the feel-good golden mean
had done its trick, one day at a time.
Remembering corners had been cut...
easing aches of amorphous self-esteem,
lies denying the voracious tart her a la carte,
evading the strident voice shrilling no...
confesses, not a choice, lofty theme
or revelation, Mehitophel, unheeded, swaying...
just sensory sameness stunned to saying
well-etched ruts, his clime not willing so,
a broken pinata's plethora of excesses
showering similitude et in genus ego.


--H. Arlequin   

   
 
  

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