THE EYE OF AN EXILE
The eye of an exile,
A kaleidoscope of piercy range,
Sees frontiers of distant lands
The blue rim of the horizon
Stretches beyond its beginning,
Haunting spectres of banishments.
The eye of an exile
Reads the blooded refrains of
Satanic hymns hummed from home
And tears drip from the corner
Of the lone eye – a monocle in search
Of venues for communal funerals.
No pince nez for the eye of an exile,
Which forms a globule with an aperture
Of grief, nurtured in the chambers of the sinciput
And the exile follows his own sleuth
From the scent of broken shadows to the
Distorted vistas of truths.
IN THE DIARY
Walk on stilts,
High above stercoraceous grounds.
Waterstones crumble on
In one stertorous plunge of
Raising the belly of waters
To the consternation of sleeping shores.
Earthdrums sound now and then
In line with hostile rhythms
Of censured bliss.
In the distance, sternutative chorus
From a vainglorious choir, dampens the deep.
A cataplasm for hewn boulders, steal tears.
Beckoning on the soft touch,
(Gaping eyelet of springing metaphors)
Madness yawns for the very first time.