Ivestment/I Poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
Ivestment/I
A fête of decayed verse
engages these indigenes
of disgrace; there is no
sweet meat or bread fresh
on their plates but rubric
praise that ‘if you succour
me then I will grace you
measures of the same’
Though ego games and
make-believe at best it
still suggests the worst
is yet to come – embeds
their blinded heads
in disinvested bums
© 7 October 2009, I. D. Carswell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/19/2024 11:47:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
