Where I come from, the air
Is red: all oxygen leeched by greedy gasps
Angry words skitter; drops of
Colloquialism kick up their heels; and shiny
Soles are turned skywards.
Who is it, the one that polishes fury into a
Bitter; busy – hopping from one insult to another.
And manic tongues sink into
The neat slots of cardboard graves. This is the proxy, the
Battle, between loud life, and seething silence:
And not stepping on the cracks.
Fresh Ink: Volume One. A Literary Journal from the University of Hull (2011).