black spores on the mildewed walls
peeling over the wood
rot that even the vultures shun
it grows in cracks and in dark places.

the disease sticks its spiny fingers
down your throat, so you can’t
scream…
silence, silence, it wants
silence.
it wants
absence,
no self left to 𝘣𝘦.

outside, it has been night for years
babes born bawling, not knowing
what stars, moon, sky, sun used to
look like, nothing but the concrete
sea.

and yet, though Purity
has her headstone with the
rest, though there are no longer
prayers
to be blessed
there is good,
there is GOD in this
God-forsaken world,
there is GOOD
there is GOD—
you.

nothing but a scrap
of paper from a make-up catalog
saying,
“Real Flawless™”

but here i am,
unable to stop
thinking
about what it markets to me
what it asks of me
what it stipulates to be
true.

“Real Flawless”

modern day doublethink:
“my body is mine but
Yours
to look at and
Yours
to judge and so i shape it
to the eye that is
Yours—
i am proud though i make myself
small”

“Real Flawless”

mandatory affirmations, prayers more like,
repeat repeat repeat
how much i love myself even
as i consume comparisons
and then calculate the calories.

“Real Flawless”

the only reason
beauty is pain is
because it tears
us in two.

a slap on the wrist;
unguided hand rolls a fist –
knocks back the favour.

i press the button, nothing, shake
it, nothing still, press and hold, nothing,
nothing but black screen, try again,
plug it in—where’s my plug?
no plug, no plug, it’s gone and
all that’s left is the darkness…how will
they know? how will they know i’m alive
and i care? how will they survive if I
cannot reply 24/7, 400 days a year? how will
they know i exist and i matter if i cannot remind
them, remind in a buzz and a banner,
remind them that i am still here? just a
few hours but in those few hours i will cease
to exist because i do not exist unless you
see me.

it’s the sound of a city if everyone died,
as empty as pity in pitiless eyes.

could you imagine what it’s like to not imagine?
to feel a feeling, before it ever happened?
to tell a breeze from a beast, waiting in the cabin?
to conclusively deny the myth of the dragon?

could you ever really know the false from the true –
having lived so little in a world so new?
could you live with love, when all you have is you?
could you assure the blind that the sky is blue?

could you split the atom, and fill the void –
with a hate so violent you were meant to avoid?
could you find your peace, amidst a frenzy on steroids?
could you smother the fire with which you toyed?

could there ever be a time you’d know for sure –
if you should let go, or endure… a bit more?
could you think for yourself, with thoughts obscure?
would you dare to tell your child - ‘you’d better mature’?

i saw a half-dead man
at the butcher shop;
he ordered half a kilo chicken,
with half a voice;
his eyes, bloodshot,
sliced open like
the chicken’s clucking throat,  
and surveyed the butcher’s knife
for traces of humanity:
i don’t presume he found any.

the butcher verbalized an
unofficial bill of transaction:
the man paid with a 100,
and a 50 -
he was offered a 20 in return
by the butcher, who pressed
a ****** fingerprint on the note,
at the denomination.

the man reached for it…
but retracted halfway,
and said,
‘keep the change’.

i see flaws everywhere:

the skewed clock on the plastered wall;
the faces flashing past the curtain call;
the faithless creed of heathens, and sleazeballs;
the smiles that hide the symptoms of withdrawal;

i see laws bent out of shape:

the policemen advantaging off exposed women;
the two-faced lawyers in courts, who summon -
the men questioned of their dignity, and religion;
the reporters come drooling, for a big fat commission.  

i seek help, in vain:

the therapists diagnose me for a cerebral disorder;
they fail to put their words in the right order -
to put me at ease in the right frame of mind, so -
i accept my flaws under a contract, signed.

the phone - it calls:
my impulse crawls
back to the moment ‘twas
mighty, and strong;

the tv on the drywall -
knows how to stall -
my mind from its prime;
my body from a shawl --

i feel my palms
so cold - and remote:  
the channel shows
a woman in a fur coat;
she looks so sad -
with all she has;
she quits on love,
doesn’t leave a note.

i turn to music;
tune to the rhymes -
my sorrows of the day;
i buy some time:
debt looms over -
menacing, by the day;
volume seeks heed -
i cannot pay.

done for the day,
i put the phone down;  
the screens go dark -
make me look like a clown.
i cannot keep tabs on
on all my regrets, so -
i force the ******* laptop
to shut down.

the path lays trodden;
a milestone, leads to nowhere;
somewhere down, a leaf floats -
mid-air - to the whims of the cold breeze,
afraid to touch the bitter ground.
the soldiers are afoot;
marching to the sound
of static, broadcast by their
unreliable leaders.
the innocent seek asylum -
flee from states of unrest;
the power seems absolute -
hardly dynamic;
pistols aim for the heads;  
warheads aim for the heads -
of nations - all trying to outperform  
each others’ retribution;
panzers guard the rogue bases,
like hellhounds, starved of souls.
mothers kiss their babes, ‘--night’,
then wipe their hapless tears;  
fathers beg for their sons’ lives,
and their daughters’ honour;
God exists only in afterthoughts;
ceremonies shroud in silence;
children become too self-aware
for their undemanding ages;
schools shut their gates -
push them further into the nightmare;
tell them they don’t belong;

one of them’s had enough…
pushes back.