An Idle Friday Listening to Birds Sing

Ideas running through my fractured brain;
The green patchwork quilt of Ireland has become an ethnic mosaic
Bruno and Brian talked of pluralism not to create panic
But to make our minds think, once again.
Rory spoke about Charlotte
I remember the time of his tears
I imagine Bruno in flame and fears
My eyes turn flaming scarlet
Avril questioned my motives
The inquisition questioned Giordano
Rory after speech, sipped his Americano
The world turned regardless of creatives
Bruno died without poetry in his mouth
Silenced with an iron mask
Losing pick ‘n’ mix religion is no easy task
Are we all ending up going south?
Are we bent to syncreatic tendencies
The casual, comfy route
Could Bruno stay mute
It’s way hard to live the seven times seventies
Running through my head
Running through my head
The loneliness of the longer distance
Digging deep in persistence
No longer a child of subsistence
But a grown Susan with no resistance
Well maybe to the name
But who can blame
Suki Mac in print
Suzie in the imprint
No longer a subject of the path of least resistance
No longer a gel of relative inconsistence
No longer almost
Forever ALL-IN-ALL
And maybe now