Wednesday, December 27, 2017

BRISTLES IN THE AIR



I draw a running time
Mirroring my face
Towards a broken space
Freezing my wrinkles -
An old age adage

I search the deepest treasure
Digging my grave again and again.
Stultified
I stitch my remains -
A cadaver for my own dissection

I war on my weakest spot
And win a loss 
Comprehending the incomprehensible.
Rooted underground 
I search my broken twigs

I paint the darkest colour
On a blank canvas
And hawk protruding night
to prey on my thoughts
with bristles in the air

No comments: