by on February 24, 2014 :: 1 comment

My days begin with short sighs
and end with a long one.

Reluctantly, I look back
at the miles completed each day.
They resemble the scribbling
of a young child. Meaningless—
like a dream lost in the waking. My desires
are red coals in a furnace. My soles—
on sharp edges— moving to re-realize
that change is like a slow, painful death.

What zigzags and circles
this life has become!
Like strands of straw entangled
on the spike of a moving bicycle,
I’m just making much noise of myself.
In the extremes of angry thoughts,
I curse and confess. I explain
to my people why I’ve been so negative.
And all they do is sigh with me!

Thwarted, my life is— a creature in a cage,
restless; a fish on a hook, gasping and giving itself
to the hookers. I see them enjoy
the dish that they turn me into. My sweat
is their salt; my weakness, their strength.
They’re black cobras that don’t stop following
even in my dreams. I don’t feel sorry but mad,
mad at these sinful souls.

They stink from afar. I see my flesh
stuck between their teeth. Their yellow teeth
that I want to yank. Their treacherous tongues
that I want to sever. Their whole system
that I want to put on fire. Shameless!
They dance a naked dance in their vanity
and lose sense of who their mother is. What,
what can be expected in these crowds of bogus people?

editors note:

Make more noise! Allow less of bogus people (except their transformation into fellow noise-makers). – mh

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