i. two monitors the cop & neighbour in your head duplicity in systems the sprinkler is wetting everything
My grief wakes up and phones a small town in Turkey. My grief accepts bribes in fresh fruit. My grief beats its imaginary friend. My grief calls out for food from the concrete factory. My grief owns a Citroën but won’t tell anyone.
when i read at sappho’s last week my lower left jaw was packed with cotton wool to stop a broken tooth from tearing at my ulcerated tongue the poems were saved from humiliation
Here sits an edifice; a pulpit raised of shears rumbarrels chains ships bullets theft and bloodred death book-lined, velvet-curtained veneered in an unctuous justice samely coating all the lives adjoined.
Black child — born deviant from norms of western culture. Dispossessed like a refugee in a sea of white divisiveness where cognitive capabilities
are measured on a colour scale according to my phenotypic reality.