FEAR MONGERING CLOUDS

It's been a while since our last collaboration but we're back, wonderful words by Carlo Saio.

I can hear a child

​-

out of the anaemic silence
of the sun’s warp, daydreaming
in the dark Classroom’s depth

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a child,
begot and beaten into learning
how to live behind the blood’s
bottled confusion of skin,

-

The endless conflict
of a porous bruise,

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​leaking into morning’s ritual
of Mamas laying out makaa

-

out of the fire of yesterday,

-

Hens cluck songs from fear
and men hear the struck screams
of themselves, distantly-

-

in the choral playground of today’s
concealed imitation of tomorrow,

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-

​games are stone scratched
on the sands of the moon, blind
folded hopscotch frames
in which to resolve

-

But tell me when, when
does one ever grow up?

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to become perfectly chiral
to the prism jar, glassed
in the existence
of a hemorrhagic past?

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