In this pie-bald world,
There is no room for discourse,
All words are sharpened like a pencil…
So that no compromise
No nodding grudging assent
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.