Patricia Walsh‘s poem: Deep time

This hardened rulebook strings the pearls

into semblance of unity, stringent as it is.

Work in progress a curse of the progressive

Looking forward to android relationships to boot,

eating out of turn a sudden diminution.

Sworn love over ice-cream, I kid you not.

Incessant sonnets betray no likely figures,

racing for perfection, at best under translation

plastic inevitable a failure in the short term

tiny eugenics explode in a criminal blink.

Avoiding socialising, at least where apposite,

timing drinks over illness, wherever scolded,

the beloved’s whine over claustrophobic gifts

the better to eat them with, as is said,

craft beer being punished for jollification, right?

Gambling on the recent past, soft case to answer,

tripping over food in the recent conversation,

caring for associates in the blink of a mouth

sugar-free Lucozade not just a delusion now

nor oxymoronic, as the current states call.

Still remaining happy, chronic illness aside,

bad case of man flu choking the airwaves,

supporting walls no mistake in this venture

sympathy granted where somewhat deserved

a happy family decried, taken from comrades.

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