Around us.

       Around you.

                    Around me.

                                  Everything is so

                                                          lou­d.

the birds sing songs of sweet agony
begging, crying
for the end of expectations
end of the madness
the intolerable weight
they bartered with hell for flight,
air the illusion of weightlessness,
wings in exchange for terrible visions
laments cursed to sound like shallow song
they too are mute here

Sagaciously gloaming melanite eyes
Resonating euphoniously ululated memories;
The shadow land of illusion
Rising out of the ash of an acorn
Wallowing in the blood of wars strident refuge,
Gnomic relics errant of an
Enigmatic almondine heart
Offering an olive branch upon an
Altar made of oak.
A ruminantly nostalgic requiem
Sedititiously traversing the firmament;
Ineluctable reprobation
Ineffably manifested,
The doves of meta-morphosis
Embracing the silk garments of love;
Sound minds cacophany
Devouring the delusional devout
Veridically inspiring ascendancy
Decieving serenities whisper throughout
The dominions audaciously
Rousing ambivalent fears.



ELEETE J MUIR.

Gentle silence unfolds into chaotic cacophany
My eyes once dry
open wide to watering
the rain outside
the tears inside
washing away debris
from the forest
of confusion
watering my seeds
of awakening
to this truth
now

Your sunlight wakes me with a gentle glow
Lifting me from the sleep below
Your omnipresent blue twinkles serenely
While your beauty overwhelms obscenely
Each street a new promise of adventures new
And distant islands known to few
Your water so powerful cleanses all
Sweeping under bridges so tall
The mystery of your Eastern delight
Keeps me with you every night
Smoky, silky, rich and heady
Always waiting, always ready
I rely on you to lift my frown
And you have never let me down
Cacophany of noise, your urban voice
Embodied by life and love and choice
Towers on which a thousand summers have shone
Here long  before me and long after I've gone
Five times a day you sing out your chorus
Reminder I share you with each grubby tourist
But underneath this ancient dome
I know you are mine; my City, my home

Among the blight-killed eucalypts, among
trees and bushes rusted by Christmas frosts,
the yards and hillsides exhausted by five years of drought,

certain airy white blossoms punctually
reappeared, and dense clusters of pale pink, dark pink--
a delicate abundance. They seemed

like guests arriving joyfully on the accustomed
festival day, unaware of the year's events, not perceiving
the sackcloth others were wearing.

To some of us, the dejected landscape consorted well
with our shame and bitterness. Skies ever-blue,
daily sunshine, disgusted us like smile-buttons.

Yet the blossoms, clinging to thin branches
more lightly than birds alert for flight,
lifted the sunken heart

even against its will.
But not
as symbols of hope: they were flimsy
as our resistance to the crimes committed

--again, again--in our name; and yes, they return,
year after year, and yes, they briefly shone with serene joy
over against the dark glare

of evil days. They are, and their presence
is quietness ineffable--and the bombings are, were,
no doubt will be; that quiet, that huge cacophany

simultaneous. No promise was being accorded, the blossoms
were not doves, there was no rainbow. And when it was claimed
the war had ended, it had not ended.

straight through my spine the desert winds blow flute,
before my burial under the sand,
my skull an empty can, whistle and hoot,
my ribs a xylophone, femur in hand,

the dissonant cacophany--my taps,
a song for funerals devoid of men,
the vultures took my flesh in neat-sized scraps,
efficiently disposed in nature's den,

oh, once a garden, lush with greenery,
our love, abandoned by my rib's dear Eve,
now with her heart removed, the scenery
decayed, and to the burning sand i cleave,

my covering completes with eve's new dusk,
out of her sight, this old forgotten husk

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

I cannot feel my legs and my mind is numb
I refuse to hear your breath and my mouth is dumb
I can feel your hands, but I am not here
For I have gone away now

Away, to where you cannot find me, the real me
To a place where i finally feel safe, where i can be alive.

I have switched off my soul to survive this place
My flesh is detached and floats away from my face
I can sense your thrusts, in a different world
You may touch my body, not me.

me, that was a long time ago, before
Before the monster that paid a visit at night.
Now look inside me, and see the curdled mother's milk
that courses through my veins.
Twisted molecules of white, distorting purity of thought.

Do you really know how you destroyed my life
With your fatherly tone and that emotional knife
Held up to the heart of a vulnerable girl
Oh, how I wish I were dead

and yet, part of me is, for some of my life is over
Bud plucked, never to bloom the flower of unbridled youth

The black hole of the past pulls me back to those arms
I struggled so hard against those paternal charms
Alas, what chance a girl, who loved daddy so much
Please make my pain go away.

But it won't, deep inside, under granite blocks of hate
Hate for you and hate for me, how did we let this happen?

Grown up now, and struggling to cope
Life seems so hard I often have no hope
it all looks so black, here within my soul
Oh, to wipe the slate clean.

A vehicle of love used as a weapon of betrayal
How sick we all must be!

Half  forgotten memories jump out of  my mind
Oh how they came, and when you were so kind
Couldn't you see how tormented I was
God help me, for no one else will.

Time does not heal my angst, nor will it ever
You and you, father and friend will you ever comprehend?

Chameleon colours play a role in my life
Artificial boundaries, coping with strife
keep out tomorrow and push away the past
but somehow today sneaks on in.

i have left my body now, detached, flying away to safety
All males left behind, good and bad, partitioned off

Even as I ignore it, the past comes right back
biding its time for a surprise attack
How can I cope with this onslaught of love
So get out of my life right now.

The past, the past, those nights, oh revulsion, oh confusion
Lust, love, like, remorse, pain, a wailing cacophany of lost childhood.

I attempt to embrace a man, maturity found
But I lose my nerve, looks like dangerous ground
An immense struggle for a girl so fragmented
Can I ever become whole?

I wear my clothes, loose around my body
Passion and pain walled off from prying eyes.

Alone, am I sentenced to spend my life alone
for who will throw this dog an intimate bone ?
I need the courage to embrace my shadows
oh please help me face the past.

The light of your affections just cannot reach my soul, deep inside
The escape velocity of my sanity is not enough

I so want to let go, have my feelings reign free
Yet I can't, for the hurt residing deep within me
Imagine, for a minute, the cross that I bear
No wonder, I stay out of sight.

You see, i only feel connected when i am alone and safe
Yet i so yearn to love and be loved, vulnerable.

Finally, today I held you tight and felt your manhood
and it did not remind me of my childhood
Agony past and pain retreated
Will this last forever I ask?

Those boundaries that were so cruelly invaded
by one who said "I love you",  left me exposed.

So brick by brick I built up my self esteem
Self confidence at last, but is it all a dream
Open my eyes, will this all fade away
swept off on the winds of self doubt.

One step at a time, out from the abyss, that cave of betrayal
I will hold this moment tightly and treasure it.
Dare I believe in this place called trust?
A handhold hacked in the rockface of my tortured mind
Will it bear the weight of tomorrow's reality?
I can only  hope the silver thread that pulls me up
shall guide me forever forward
away from that sickness of him who is left behind.
I am a survivor and I shall reach the summit
of life's possibilities, although I have to tell you
Base camp did not help my journey!

a silent scream in my bones
hollow harrowing thorns
acid rain cacophany
words whisp off hot sidewalks
vanishing into thin air
intentions crumbling
dried black roses

poison darts
my rice-paper heart
alert and acute
to the wrong signs
a child digging worms
for a sunny fishing day
freshly hatched baby vipers
deadly fangs felt like kisses
somehow betrayed
by youthful innocence

**** the things that make you run,
who needs 'em?
And let's be honest,
aren't we all a little more afraid of
staying, anyway?
I'm tired of all the toughness.
It is not pretty or popular or thoughtful or fond
to be a disconnected, dearly contented, apathetic
sack of **** body bag made of
music and stardust and a cacophany of epiphanies
being carried around in a lump of a brain that has
"no ***** to give".
I'm tired of the way that we're striving to live and it's *******.
Giving up is not poetic,
and heavy tears are not pathetic when they have been built by
resistance
to the every growing popularity of a
selfish way of living,
as in taking without giving
and being unconcerned with the result.
It's not adult to be so *******
foolish,
and childish,
and finicky
and spineless
and what is this "toughness" anyway but a
generation of *******
who's parents didn't want to have too listen to them cry.
And no silver spoons would ever ponder on why.

My heart bleeds colours
but not the way you'd think
it drips

R
       A
                I
                        N
                    ­             B
                                       O
                                              W
               ­                                        S

through my veins
a
CACOPHANY
a
SYMPHONY
a
disdainful loss of my dignity.






Yes, my heart bleeds colours
I can no longer wear it on my sleeve
for all to see
the dazzling display that leaks



For such a heart as mine,
that appears so vividly black
I find it quite amusing,
for there certainly is a lack of

FEELING
and
EMOTION
coursing through my veins

and yet when it bleeds
THE COLOURS FLOW AGAIN

I've blue and yellow, mix to make green
Pink and purple
make the circle,
a full rainbow it would seem

Oh my heart bleeds colours
I am now no longer clean
for all my colours have started
seeping out my seams.

A flexible sanity
A rigid madness
So seems divided
My weary soul
An intersecting of mirth
And misery
Why does it seem
So hard
To express my feelings
This lonely night
As I sit alone
In this small coffee house
A half eaten piece of cake
Before me
I take a drink
And think of my situation
The hiss of the cappuccino machine
Reminds me of the tiny voices
In my head
That constantly whisper
And tell me I am worthless
I try to ignore them
But they are too many
And speak too loudly and often
My mind is a jumble of theories
And facts
And deadlines
It's quite madd'ning
I can't escape
This cacophany in my brain
One voice tells me to go left
Another right
And yet another tells me
To stay put
For I'd only wind up back where
I am now
A failure
So I claw at my face
And stuff my ears in vain
With cotton
No matter what I do
I still hear them
And I worry that
I'm going crazy
Ha ha!
Maybe I'm already there.

Stifling steaming
sweaty suffocation
Vines envelop
inescapable intwining
Sun pierced canopy
light jagged glass

In shifting shadows
a crawling cacophany
Slithering serpents strangle
branches of
overhead dread
of filth
and bite
and sting

In eyes and smiles
the jungle breathes
heaving
coiling
waiting

Forced into action
False starts of recognition
Badly ascribed motives
And motivational speakers dying by the boat load
Trying to make a quick buck
From the wisdom of the cosmos
As if it wasn't freely available to anyone who will listen
Blistering lips and burnt fingers
**** bliss and listerine
Coughing up your anatomy
In a cacophany of coffee drops and cheap plonk
Like the company of even cheaper politicians
Civil servants serving their civil selves
While Santa's elves run the workshop
For pig slops and platitudes
It's so easy to short change people with no change
But big hearts and some semblance of social conscience
Who want to see their fellow man succeed
While greed drives more powerful men to darker ends
The soul corrupted green and crispy
Neatly pressed and folded in a money clip
While the trip of a lifetime waits in a little black bag
But who's keeping score
How can you when the game is so confusing
Quietly excusing themselves from the sidelines are the ones making the money on the whole **** thing
It's rigged, you should know this
Quit while you're ahead

free and wild he roamed the city
ears wide open he relished the din
eyes wide open he enjoyed the choice
home again he refined his appetites

yesterday he looked to tomorrow
not then considering consequence
today he looks to yesterday
not yet considering price

free and mild he settles now
ears plugged he misses the cacophany
eyes closed he dreams of dancing light
home in turmoil he builds his tomorrow.

full of hope he worries
full of energy he waits

When nights grow long and lights fall dim
The pale moonlight casts a fine shadow
‘Cross the pathways in front of the grand cathedral
And behind the tree in Helen’s Meadow
To set our scene anew once more

Mothers and fathers draw children close,
Gathered before the friendly fire
The Tale bubbles forth from long-worn thoughts,
Words strung and sung to the oft-plucked lyre
Wise words from rough tongues to desperate ears

Just one warm home sees silence then
Its riches a veil to hide bleak sorrow
For The Tale long told holds secrets dear
To the hearts of yesterday and tomorrow
And pierces today's with a vice-like grip

The daughter of Walter stares into the fire
Its crackling embers a restless reminder
Of Grandfather Friedrich, the gods-fearing Knight
And Grandmother Helen - his quest to find her
And doom-laden journey it turned out to be

The rumours of dragons had plagued Olde Vorlund
For decades before the armies marched in
Their crests aflame with glorious colours,
Their fanfare a growing, melodious din,
A cacophany borne of love and blood

Atop his throne, bedecked in red robes
The mighty King Halred announced loud and clear
“Behold! A call to all men of Vorlund
“Hear this, mighty warriors from far and from near
“This offer, unique in its time, is for you.”

The men of Olde Vorlund gathered around
Their listening ears silenced anxious hearts
King Halred drew breath, his standard raised high
Anticipation and fear in equal parts
As he opened his mouth to speak

“Our kingdom’s treasure,” his voice rang true
“Is stolen by bandits from the Northern Wastes
“I call on our bravest to arm themselves
“And travel abroad to that cursed place
“To retrieve what is rightfully ours.”

The eyes of the gathered remained fixed on Halred
Not daring to dart to the left or the right
The danger, now felt here, of bloodthirsty pagans
Made fully grown men crave for fear of the night
Or torture in dungeons at home

REWARD, read the image hung from the Great Hall
Finding the treasure not only for glory
The warrior who would restore Vorlund’s wealth
Would inherit a title, lands and a story
Sung by bards at home and abroad

Eight men approached Halred, on bended knee
Offering service to the gods’ chosen leader
Armed and armoured by the best in the land
And gifted a horse from Vorlund’s finest *******
To take them far north and away from home

The names of The Eight are remembered in legend:
Grimwold and Stafn, the brothers in white
Falki, the trickster, determined to conquer
Friedrich, as calm as a cool autumn night
And Bekan, the selfish and greedy hunchback

Olde Vorlund women grieved as Bolli left town
While Dyri and Kali told jokes to each other
The Eight dressed and ready set north all together
While sweet lilting songs caught the ears of the mother
Of each man, a dirge drifting into the night

The Eight crossed countryside fair and rough
Young Kali was first to meet his end;
A bear thought nothing of gripping his head
And ripping his life away from his friend
And Dyri lost hope on the road soon after

The next whose clock struck was beautiful Bolli
A one-handed brute beat his head with a club
After Bolli took single-armed’s wife to his bed
Then cared not to carefully tidy his mess up
Bolli’s bed now has been made in the ground

The Five now remaining approached the Wastes
Expectant to loot and return Halred’s treasure
Bekan crept onward to rob from the robbers
The length of his life met the end of its measure
And Four woke that day without knowledge of how

Grimwold and Stafn, the brave pair of brothers
Led Friedrich and Falki towards Bandit Town
Atop a near ridge they hollered their war cry
Fear entered the village as they bellowed down
One half of the bandits retreated that day

The battle that followed was swift, fierce and ******
Six hundred the number that met death that night
Among them was Falki, whose creeping and sneaking
Worked wonders until he tripped into a fight
And lost both of his hands before losing his life

The brothers in white and Friedrich the younger
Cared not to stop fighting while the sun did not shine
By morning the sight of the town was burnt crimson
The blood of the bandits caught up with spilt wine
And burned-out log cabins in every direction

The treasure was gone, like it never existed
An empty town holding now one lonely crone
Who said that the treasure had passed three days’ north
Ulred the barbarian’s treasure hoard grown
Stolen again by that fearful monster

The Three from Olde Vorlund resolved to continue
Tracking the man with his ill-gotten hoard
Across barren plains and through thick forests
They followed him, tugging his faintly-laid cord
Closing to grasp at the glory ahead

After one noon they discovered a strong trail
Signs of a scuffle there clear on the path
Excited, the Three embraced and moved onward
Ready to face the Barbarian’s wrath
And eager to grasp what was stolen at first

The opening glimpse of their quarry shook the Three
The lone-acting Ulred was less than alone
A lady in chains paced in time by his side
A beautiful maiden he’d made for his own
A desperate soul for the Three to redeem

The brothers in white found it hard to resist
They leapt out at Ulred, their swords in their hands
His legend stood firm as his axe found its mark
And both fell at once, their blood feeding the land
The Barbarian roared in a victory scream

And Friedrich, alone, hid behind a grey boulder
Showing no fear as he planned what to do
Gathering his wits, he took one final look
And paused as his eyes opened wide as a flue
For his sight was not filled with Ulred alone

The great dragon landed, the ground gave a shudder
Brave Ulred stood firm, caught with no chance to choose
As Friedrich looked on, the grand lizard attacked
In minutes the strong man lay bleeding and bruised
And a firm stamping foot ended one more great saga

The dragon, distracted by the screaming girl
Ignored the great treasure hoard piled on the cart
In one taloned claw he grabbed hold of his prey
And flapped his wings gracefully, using his art
And leaving young Friedrich to claim what was sought

But Friedrich cared not for the infinite bounty
For what can great wealth be when won at such cost?
He mounted his steed and stared straight at the dragon
They started at speed before the trail was lost
And Friedrich prepared himself to die that day

The dragon swooped low as they approached the sea
Protecting its prisoner by skirting the cliffs
Diving away, it took stock of the cliffside
And headed directly past massive sand drifts
Into a cave set below a large rock

Friedrich dismounted and leapt down the cliffside
Bare hand by bare hand he descended bravely
Arriving at the cave mouth within minutes
He paused for a moment, considering gravely
How he could save his dream lady at last

Grabbing dark moss from the base of the white cliffs
He covered himself, dressing up as a bush
He crept into the dark, every movement so dainty
Each step requiring his body to push
And holding his breath to protect his fair maiden

The cave was so deep and the tunnels so winding
Lost in the dark, blindly following the trail
At long last he saw her, ******* in the corner
The dragon had left her in his self-made gaol
And Friedrich strode up to her, one aim in mind

He released her so quickly, she collapsed in his arms
“My saviour!” she whispered in gratitude and love
In great need of rest, she pulled Friedrich close
And one night of passion settled from above
And Friedrich and Helen became one that night

As morning drew near, Friedrich woke with a start
The dragon was back and was roaring with rage
He woke up dear Helen, took her onto his back
And ran back to sunlight to take centre stage
To face down this great beast who threatened his wife

He pushed Helen upwards and onto his horse
Determined to fight off the awesome monster
From the top of the cliff he saw only one option
As the dragon looked upward
Friedrich looked down
And he brandished his axes
And leapt off the cliff
And struck true through the dragon
Saving his Helen
And plunging to death

Helen stared at the scene that unfolded below her
Distraught at the death of her only true love
Then she picked herself up and resolved to complete
The mission her Friedrich had finished part of
And she started her mount towards Ulred’s grave

She returned to the spot where the dragon had grabbed her
And looked at the treasure that Friedrich had sought
She picked up an apple and carefully planted
A tree to remember him of whom she thought
He who gave up his life so that she might live

The Tree of Friedrich still stands to this day
In Helen’s Meadow, not far from the sea
And their memory remains in tales and song
But words are not all of this couple we see
For that passionate night led to more than one seed

Helen took all the treasure and raised up an army
Who stormed Olde Vorlund for all it was worth
Then as Queen, nine months later, a new son was born
And the bloodline of Friedrich continues each birth
Ruling the people with justice and mercy

So here ends our tale of sorrow and hope
Of a brave young man who gave up his life
And as children today think of all that he did
They forget everything that they feel causes strife
And remember that love, faith and hope rule the day

I apologize in advance,
For none of my love songs will have melodies.

I will laugh in euphony and cry in cacophany, I will bleed with every typo and breathe with every verse. I will think in metaphors and speak in rhyme.

I will tell you I love you
Not by using those three words
But by writing my own; pages at a time.

I will compare your eyes to lighthouses in the mist
And your laughter to a lark's opera.
You won't just hear me say "you're beautiful" (though you are), but go on for chapters about every little freckle.

You won't understand why I think so dramatically. Or why I take so long to choose my words (because I always know I can find better ones). You will become angry when I sit down and write because I just can't say what I want to with my voice.

But, most of all, I apologize for the way your face will fall when you read my poems and discover who I am. You will awe at how I can hide so much in those little notebooks. You will hear stories about me that will never escape my lips. You will tremble at the exhausted self that remains after I pour all that I am into the pen strokes on the paper.

For these things, I am sorry.
So please excuse me for being a poet.
And please excuse yourself for loving one.

- p. winter

"angel, come clean,"
the river whispers
as if i were not
already in love with it,
as if it did not
harmonize with
the sound of my
beating heart,
thump-thump-thumping
in ethereal cacophany

scarlet drips between my thighs
and off my wrists,
and when i sink beneath
an ocean of blue,
it runs red,
and
relief sprouts out
of lungs, finally, finally--

and then
i dream of
water rising
and collapsing
lungs,
all that breath swallowed up
like a siren song

heaven is a ***** liar
pleading for forgiveness;
the truth is buried
at the bottom of
a freshwater river
in the decaying hands of
a skeleton
who yearned for
eternal solace

Dawn prevaricates-
reluctant to break

But mynah beaks open
their cacophany amongst
rustling bamboos

Dogs stretch and yawn
nuzzling to run in the
relative cool

I wait

Let light encourage
Snake to slither home
to burrows, fat from
night feed
in they squeeze

Full moon round as cheese
sinks stately behind
the promontory

On turning
sun drips honey
over greened mountains

Five islands sit-
their time will come

As mine, alas
has gone

The dissonant rebuttal of Republicans and the lengthy braying-
of a felled ******* strikes a dry , dangerous tune indeed ..

she overlooks me,
her hand like a pale sailor's greeting
shadows her eyes as
dappled light flutters along the rooftop spire above her head -
her forefinger curves to her browbone,
a buffer for the kind of morning
that greets those from high rise
windows
in places like this
for faces like hers
to stay just a little while
and leave smiling over one shoulder
in a stolen shot of a car window;

secrets swallowed and adventures washed down with beaujolais in the backs of black coupés
whisky, cherries and dual carriageways
thick cigars, rubber on tar
all the way to those dark places and bars
that leave most half-hearted,
but she is more sparkling and effervescent than champagne stars,
and more well received than a cacophany of applause.

she overlooks me,
craning up from under the morning mist
leans, eyes closed, on the iron railing and breathes
a familiar rise and fall
expanding of lungs that she and i share, but different air
mine fit to burst with coffee and car exhaust
hers with that crisp stratosphere coolness:
the penthouse breeze.
her arm like a swan's neck curls from elbow to chin,
shadowed straps and sunbeams
take turns dancing on her skin
as though they could flirt forever.

and she overlooks me:
a face in the crowd
searching hard for access
moving through a chaos of flickering flashes,
just a droplet of light in the bright white clouds
of camera strobes
and crushing against body after body
my crumpled black t-shirt dreams of her atmosphere

it is no fault of hers though
she remains as generous as she is radiant,
waving and beaming over the awning
so that others may enjoy a little warmth this morning.

still,
she overlooks me,
my eyes still set on the perfect curl of her hazel hair
as it drops and slips over her bare shoulder
and her forefinger
as it rests in the space between jaw and cherry painted lips
parted in laughter
where sit teeth like the first row of an audience enraptured.

finally, as the performance ends
and the sounds around me swell
with mona lisa eyes
she throws me her last, lasting look
before turning and disappearing beyond invisible thresholds
and the mass held spellbound
recedes and melts
but in that moment,
i feel seen like everybody else.

under blankets of shooting stars,
red velvet and chandeliers
she moves ceaselessly
through hazes of gaultier and hallways
humming nightingale songs at midnight
and falling back into bed linen
sore feet and tipsy eyes
fingers still dancing across pillows
mind still racing
chest still whirling,
but making a home here
for now.

and only then
does she roll to the side
and rummage to the back of her bags
past silk and sapphire
past black tie attire
sleeping, that night,
with its familiar longing
in her old black t-shirt
because nothing fits so well.

except in moments, she will always overlook me
and although i'll never meet her
she will set me free,
and in this one moment, true as salt in the sea
i know one day i will know her
and she'll remember me.

All these atonal shadows,

My cacophonic blood.

Only off the parapet,

Fleeing through atmosphere,

Home to pavement,

A doorway in the fog.

I wake still and far too often
with the all-too-slowly
but oh so evanescently
fading memory of her voice.

Ever since that odious event,
that heinous malevolent and
deafeningly persistent
drumming in my head

that disturbs my sleep
distracts my thoughts
and haunts the daymares
of my diminishing life.

The blaring, blasting bluster,
the eruption of molten viscous sound
that barks, yaps, yelps and yowls,
that sounds, resounds and reverberates.

How can I escape the cacophany
that threatens to enmesh me?
How can I return to the
tranquillity of a serene silence?

south of a skyward stretch of mounts
lies England, green and white land
her towers felled by ducklings

her geese have joined the wild
the frayed cacophany
of a godless post-empire

now we stare at coffee pots
and think ourselves profound
while Ur's voice grinds a whisper

despairing through weary pixels
each stitch of the telegraph cable
buried in fallen time

and down through the maps
terrifying mutations ravage earth
hurling us far from apotheosis

till the last sod of root
dangles from a broken tree
our rage grows with it, each day
exposed

too many people
in this hot,    crowded,     place.

my blood pressure is rising
rising in a cacophany
of screaming children
and adult conversation

the chattering,    chattering,    chattering
never ceases

i do not wish to be spoken to
i want nothing more than to hide,
away in my bedroom,
away from the sounds
and the people

please,
leave   me   alone