a whole sorrow ago
she held me
the talismans guide
bereft of speech, thieves in hand
offered to lend the body
and boy ran, vexed
crossed oft, learnt
wounds a whole sorrow
seven tales of prayer stilled
the mothers fix?
blackness of shelter
alcove of sickness
thieved inside the wars, young
learnig to speak with my tongue held,
dedication
what didn't we all notice, in the subways?
how eyes absolved, escape ironic
i am only as poems being discovered, in irish
behind a play writing unfamiliar and at war with itself
atone, ment in origin is parched is shame
to be just with my audience is to honest ones self
talled of accusation, only finding i am not knowing how to live
a world in turmoil, against dis-satisfaction attempts myself?
the improbable design of an ill conceived mind