a silent rage of anguish

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;