Saturday, April 24, 2010


taking off those corase cloaks

underneath the sun bare bodies flock

hanging from a string of words

the verse bleeds, the rythm chokes

no sky no earth no clouds to see

clinging to a piece of rock

no open sea no stream no lake

tantalising, my tears mock

bereft of blood how do i write

my pen "Mirage" is a dired up stock.

1 comment:

Adee said...


DIALECT. left to time, it withered, like a dead corpse hung from wall, after the sentence. no poems to defend, no stories to tell, n...