PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I feel so cold

in this rain which patters like cleansing

in a plague.

In my succulence I failed to absorb with shockwaves

the aural stimulation from all

the oncoming traffic

as I perch in my

lair

with my

heartbeat.

So now to again die of the soul

as a passage and the

vessels spin

as the Middle East flies into ashes

and cash into the pockets

and slaves into their graves with their numbers

bouncing in and out of the blackmarket,

all dead and gone as are we inside.

Before we reawaken from

dormancy.

My hybridity bears a fashion in which I am always the

other woman

as well as all the others manifesting through me.