i

usual is my name
i say what is expected
before hands

eyes glaze and i stay
a drone in monotone
little do they know

my origins-just as
small a need to explain
loveless children

nod like plod
in trills of pain
some how far


in a fear
in spiked tears
to carry aload

to shrug and grin
in broken glass
a shruken punch line..

ii

nostalgia is not
a box of matches
lily laughs

more stone and
a moon
the toxic vista..