In this pie-bald world,

There is no room for discourse,

All words are sharpened like a pencil…

Pen-knife sharp…

So that no compromise

No nodding grudging assent

Is possible.

All are talking but no one listens

All positions are cant

We disclaim into the air

Like monks mouthing litany

Only heard by higher powers.

Black and white

Sit with sweet and sour certainty

Never to mix into a less atonal choas

Stop and think

My monochrome set…

And try to think in more colourful tones.


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