“A Wider Condescension”
A wider condescension finds us, friend; commotion
As in the wake of ships foments a steeper conversation to the norm
And for a time, a sharper memory appears, a line, a form
In waters merely parted for the moment. Self-conscious locomotion
Fosters optical illusion from the point of leaving to arrival at home.
Perverted vision flatters a bloated sense of interest, cowers,
Then, and as with metaphor to simile in actual view the conversation flowers
Freely but as weeds from gardens of neglect and superstition. Nouns roam,
As we know, and insofar as usage dictates, the oblique informs
The memory that renders obsolete its protest in social contracts
That nearly always beg the preposition. Back to back
The maudlin suppositions come to fan the risk of sudden storms
Of incremental incidents that neuter conversation to mere subjective rites:
These revelations are certified no more lasting than the moon at midnight.
For want of better words, then, a glottal stop,
The penultimate salvo to the cry, “But, silence,
My friend, you talk too much, your licence
Has expired,” and never mind the invitation cropped
From stocks of phatic phrases from the menagerie
I’ve accrued from years on the run from life,
The general sport derived for those for whom the wife,
The work, the friend, in short, the holy tragedy
That places form above substance; damn it,
Man! Of course I said, “Hello!” and added, “How’re
You doing?” to sweeten the discourse, but how far
Fetched, and how far-reaching does the gambit
Go, beyond a mere first and last move? Yes I want
For conversation, you fool, but mine! Capito? Ça va?
…painting by Inka Essenhigh…
