CREASES

The sensitive are dying, starved on statistics.

Do not look for evidence amidst the shuffling cringing
….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….poverty

The sensitive are sinking into the word-pool.

This IS darkness. Do not check, but listen

To your comrade’s frenzied fingers grappling

To hook the earth’s heart. Listen to his panting

As he pierces another skull, spreading the desert.

Cactus grows on his reptile tongue.

The sensitive without masks I speak of

Without strategy, who see the opulent dawn

Walk on stilts over neglected children

Scattered from the rape. Who are battered

Incessantly by the mocking machinery.

I take no pride in predicting the ultimate

Anguish of this aimless race. Your barren birds

Of hope flutter downwards, ravaging their gentle wings

In their brittle beaks. A black cloud of inaudible screeching.

A black flapping membrane, pierced by the arrows of poisoned
….….….….…w ………………………………………………………………………………..wheat.

I do not know how to slake these sleeping angry streets.

Respectable atrocities are refashioned in the shadows

Of the splintered skull. The oasis is drained and sold.

The spitting snake is dressed up for hire. I wait. I wait.

The sensitive are hiding in the creases of your memory.

Neil Oram
Pic: Claire Palmer