whirl

tomorrow
money will rain
on the dispossessed…

after the rich
are awash with it
a trickle will come down
from the favoured
to the rest…

volatiles

this room
this office room
where droplets in the air condense
like vague ideas and run down walls
where obedience and protocol perspire
vaporous guilt complicit mist settling
on the hard-worked bent-headed
lower orders desk-bound slaves
breathing for want of anything
else to do

turtle

the turtle swims among debris
in a deep and poisonous murky sea
and it’s so unfortunate that the turtle
turns out like humans to be mortal

First the Sharpened Blade

First,
the sharpened blade
cuts fallow ground
to wounded smoothness.

this morning

this morning
I saw the sun filtered through trees
in the hour before its light touched
the white walls of my house