ForkWord




Poems by Inchiki



 


Souls of the CCP



Finally going over the content of suburbia
I uncover a cricket
in the drain-pipe under the man-hole
largely unnoticed by the media
and this thing that lay under
brang breathing to a ling,
opened up the world
to me - as an unholy thing

We like breezes (winds of change)
and the train, window open,
brings us no pain
but the brotherhood
of pain that held me to its membership,
of that I felt uneasy; remembered
the debauchery before we came out
and how salt was rubbed into other's scaleless luck

Just as oil is oil
I am divided from you by
a green line.
Leaning on one the other flipped and struck me
and you were that emu needling for a rib-eye,
turning out the manhole what blunk.
Fever was just seen rising from behind its cover -
an' I am become today
a new born newspaper man all over







27 Watt  2005