A desert of disguised angles

desert

 

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

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