Poetry

Why do you bind me

Why do you bind me
With your constant, constant
Babble of inanities
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The Human Condition

What do we do when we wake to the clichés
Of earning and eating and fucking and sleeping
And the impasse we reach is Hamlet’s dilemma:
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The Last Dance of the Sun

A humid haze brings gifts
Of rich loam scents and steaming bark.
Clouds weave transient tapestries
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Still incomplete...

I walk with the
unfinished people,
over this
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Show yourself

You stand at this looking glass gazing
Through thin slits,
Only to recognize a tired dream, again.
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The art of being serious

When schoolwork sucks and games get boring
And friends just bug you with their snoring;
When mothers criticize your habits,
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Morning, noon and night

I looked for you
Inside an ageing book …
Primal covers chew loose some feeble
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The Healer

I am savage and ravenous today. My
words jerk
their glottal leash; black spit
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