the day when came the rush.
too hard the ground that stumbled with a push.
for not the sake of dirt
too loud to dance it\'s poison through a stream.
to swim from high
from glacier to the ripples of a crowd
searching through a tunnel for a lung
that breathes unaided
free of apathy;
the stalking wounds of innocence that grieve,
that peek and pry all seconds of a day
spitting rain two colours of a tear
pearl white in shade of something somewhere else;
the night when came the vein
the slip of tongue.
a quiet drunk of polythene on blood
flooding heart and mind
from evenings hill
to the mournful laughter
plagiarized and stiff.
no drift of wind.
neither sight nor sound from all who cannot see
this silent rage of anguish
pushing through the corners of my skull
pitted with the olives on an intravenous drip
spitting rain two colours of a tear;