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
I am so happy that you speak.
Comment by Luke on 16 May, 2015 at 12:49 pm