Preparation of Kitty

 At the tower
One day before
The condemned asked for the block to delivered
The jailer brought it to her cell

Put her head down on it
The forbidden humm of it
Salty lines of old small pools
from older offenders

Unseen consequences
or ignored
As she slid her fingertips 
Along the dull cold surface

Imagining the next morning
The homage to the king
The beveled edge dropping
Divine separation

Sleeping there over the block
sweetly side on toward the door
In case of sudden visitors
The only fright would be the axe

You have been gone

 Where have you been

Where is your wife she said

It's been such a long time 

Her eyes crossed over

A wonderful flash of interest

A sudden pretending

A fluke awkwardness

Then back to business

Selling life to the hopeful

What did you see in one

and not another?

Not a breakfast kid

 Spoiled grandchild looks down at porridge
Looks up at busy grandmother 
and exerts discontent
Items go from pantry to table top

Finding their rightful places
Eyes watch grandchild
Patiently waiting for him to eat
The hiss of a fry pan continues

The chimes of cutlery
But the child won't eat
He just stares at the table
The table fills his interest empties

He gets up takes his school bag from the hook
And runs out the door his plate still full
on the breakfast counter

For the time lost

 Taxi waiting downstairs.
The women were late.
One said hurry.
The other "let him wait".
And slowly in their own time.
Dawdled even after warning sign.
Burning through the minutes.
The driver becoming impatient.
And off he drove in angry heat.
The two women searched for him on the street.
Then gave up and walked back upstairs.
The taxi driver only hit the steering wheel once.
He accelerated as if on the run.
Cursed in three languages rage wash grin.
And swerved on purpose to hit a pigeon.
Just to hear it squash under tyre.

Smash and smoulder.
The taxi crashed bonnet folding.
Several blocks down from the women's apartment
A sliding door opened on teh escarpment.
For teh women heard it the bash and went out to see.
But it was out of sight, but not out of curiosity.
They leaned on the railing to be able to get a better look.
The screws were loose and the metal slipped off it's hooks.
Both women fell five stories onto pavement below.
Their dying breaths heavy laboured and slow.
Yet they could see the smoking mess of the taxi in distance
And said to one another "Look karma really exists"
Then they bled out on the sidewalk.

The mystic the thinker the seer

 When Alexander came with all of his minions and armies.
I simply went out to meet him.
Jerusalem would be burnt to the ground.
So I cast the dream way and showed him.
This land was not to be conquered.

But take your fire and arrows and blades.
And smash Persia.
And apart from the disease of ambition.
I'll let you sleep in peace.

Dirty grains of sand

 Within the lounge

A sandbank in place of a sofa
The flicker of the t.v the only light
A shovel to mound the sand

To find comfort
In the thick of selfishness
To find oneself
Those tiny grains scratching skin

Weeks and months droop
The sand is filthy
The t.v flickers
Laughter overpowering the chest

The sound of it absorbed into the sand
The volume the t.v turned down
To focus on each burst of laughter
Legs and stomach submerged in the dirty sand

It seems we sink into the ghastliest of our habits
The t.v vibrates light giving long speeches in flashes
But eyes cannot see for the body is below sand
Starving for air

kiss sun farewell

 Varanda
See the last of the day
As if it were the very last of light
That existance would be swallowed

Never to be given up
Never to be renewed again
That morning would never swing again

That knives would find places at belts
The world betrayed
A blade away

A soft sky
Dressed in thicker cloud
The last beams paint 
the nature of a farewell sun

In light I was born and subjugated
In darkness I rise
The eyes of my soul restless up there
screaming at the evening birds retirement

Warning them
It would be the last time
Blick blink
Varanda