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
