I am the stream,
tripping down the trail...

Bird girl
huddles by the gates...

I admit defeat.
I admit this ragged shawl...

Eyes peel to the pang-
with its beats...

Even fettered as I am now,
the chains are not so bothersome...

There is no need to smooth out the terrain-
for who’s heart would bob and burst...

Mother says
‘You look so tired...

The women cry through day and night,
they bathe in sundry tears...

Freedom is a crushed cerebral cortex,
the silencing of human nature...

From stale mouth, I mutter, “How honeyed!”
and lumber shamefully away...

The day punched me like a thug.
In the blinding white canteen...

I a good borrower space.
just a body...