Sharing a single bed
with twelve other analogies.
Come five beds later, emerging slightly from a dim end,
an impromptu                                                                        
gages the reaction of my thin eyes. A final concerto                                            
of a harassment outside worried my fingernails.                                              
One grew thicker to succumb the anguish.                                                
Another withered into an elegant oppression of a sexual realm                                          
with images of wet/  cardboard where            
Langston Hughes’ Harlem was last witnessed from a dignified,                            
semi-articulate pigeon honouring a bread bin;                                                  
the metre, the verse… from its repeating eclogue;                                             its grandiose atrocity dactylic to that
of Homer, corroded any meaning                                                                            
shuffled in my own enveloped speech.         

4:05 am  •  3 January 2012  •  4 notes