ForkWord
Poems by Inchiki
watt things gold
initials silencia
by worms
a painted argument–
time is a gun
gone off now
in variable directions
the exciting age
approaches
down the road
old bones clunk
like the gearbox
of my first car
madly careering
the ploughshare into
an ant's mound
the steering wheel
spins out of my hands
a body like
a door hanging loose on its
hinge
blowing open
with a cold breeze
- a fever of ghasts
