ForkWord




Poems by Inchiki



 


there is a plan



an open wardrobe.. pieces of time fly
fly past my eye,
she said
"fuck off" and sighed

a water canon goes off
into a glass half empty. no no no.
no no no

the best ideas
are attributed to gods
but even gods don't
think in verse

our ephemeral
nuisance lives
buzzin into her eyes
rancid with spoilt creation

the imagined perfection
is no perfection to her
until it is real

crushing us
like wasps
between leathery lips






Mind Spool  2015