Marking time in pencil strokes across a virgin page
and waiting for coincidence of heart-beat and second-hand,
keying to the electronic blips that phase
the passing time; visionary states of grace
do not deluge to stupefy a mounting conscience,
prescience would ease the wait and melt
the phlegm of apprehension clotted
in the membranes of my mind.
Flirting either side of double-edged consequence
is guileless, but pensive pleasures thrill
the senses, dull the pain of wounds unopened sure
as self-indulgence soothes the same away.
Sensations which dispose tumescence drown the psyche
in a viscous spate, arousing urges out of circumstance;
there is no relief from anguish,
but even pain anticipated heightens senses in disdain.
Tautologies are offered as responses
to the questions never asked
in tactful, secretive connivance after motives
equally evident and equally unmasked.
This is the razor of decision
slashing with discretion every way one turns
with precisely measured precedent;
covert wounds that sap conspired vitality
traumatise each act of mute consent,
Inaction is not ominous, paralysis invites
survival of the spirit without an end in sight.
With waiting time suspended in hiatus
ambient diffusion breaks the drought of quiet
and wordless animation,
and breathless calm with no temporal end
to blight its claim of muzzled grace
invades the logic of this state.
© I.D. Carswell
