One longs to get the answer right,
To understand things plain,
Twisting the bolts of thought down tight,
All bound round with a chain

That tergiversation cannot
Shrug off nor lie cut through,
A cornered truth that isn’t rot
Nor ever jumps the queue,

Yet longs to set a finger’s end
Upon the pulsing ache
Of ambition going round the bend
For something immensely big’s sake,

A hero’s reason to exist
Or not, because one mustn’t
Just up and hurry for the exit
To escape an unpleasant

Story, the story that one lives
In tidy rows with others.
One longs for flowers amid graves,
Because what breaks down gathers.

.______________________________

Current draft 17 August 2016