A desert of disguised angles
Pollutes the early morning
sun.
The right hand stabs the left hand.
The sun is hammered to the
cross.
Sphinx Head bursts into flames
Above her sea of riddles.
I
wake covered in ash,
Which no one seems to notice.
I tack through the
squall
Of your bitter judgements.
Alert as you feint
With the bayonet
of your tongue.
Peel off your words
From the back of my mind
And shake
as the octopus
Gorges your mirror.
The Radiant Orient has left the
quay.
The army shatters the door of belief.
The tinkling bell of
light
Sails through the soft blue;
The real man has found his release.
Neil Oram
Pic: Claire Palmer