ForkWord
Poems by Inchiki
mind fog ballast
THAT luminal night of urchins'
insolent lollipops so sucked spikes
antigone going into the gobber,
and to interior languid movements
but only occasionally breaking
abart - the f-fog only hides -
a tempest still rages.
UN Relief comes quick
in time although out of phase
with ocular senses
so a jagged tear opens
an shatters glass
an careers into a vortex.
These rainbow hued hours
These .. bring relief
to the dull bend of
daily pipework,
the flush and plunge
of life lit crespuscularly,
the vintage hued agony of
middle ages. "Riches beyond
riches" over the horizon they say,
the great unknown
revealed today, in a grain
of sand on the shoulder,
or a wheeze..
Rosel what moves thee?
that voice seems alveolar
which churns in your heart
- what could it be?
Fresh from out the milk thistle
your visitor seems happy
to flirt with every bud
and fool with a love
too easily delivered,
but he would appear
runny on the long knife.
The angels
laughing beside the Rye.
Might he deliver to me a vision,
that bent-winged bat hung
upon the Quercus?
Three violets buzz
with a fat gadfly on the green
sniff sniffing for oxblood.
A pumpkin king ruling among them
the queens admiring
his nascent tendrils
detuned a leprechaun orchestra
in a tower to overlook
the ocean - what a pyre burns
all the night
above storm rinsed sand!
See! Gypsies play with word games -
reversing the cards
my reading becomes a
prediction of doom, the
long chord unwinding allows
a sack to spill open.
The jewels tumble into the grass
and I am powerless to
grasp the same things
created by another me -
the long lived hours lain down-
the cursed pen prick-
the blood-
the words slipped out-
These are all simply reabsorbed
into the cursor.
