Communicator, cooker, drinker, poet. Grew up in a mining town, wore a hard hat.

Monday, September 10, 2007

monday night riot

The hungry hands of my heart
Have tightened their grip and
Are rattling my ribs like prison
Bars, their voices echoing through
Veins and dark cavities like an alarm
That reminds on this clear day
you are only human.

Oh these human parts! This army
Of human parts which I govern like a tyrant
Rely on me, trusting that I will sleep,
To dream, to wake, to feed, to love again.

Oh these human parts! These eyes
Which have seen years fly by in a flurry
Of colour and space, these hands
Which have felt the sticky backs of lovers
And the smooth, sharp edges of razor
Blades. This heart which has thumped
Softly in the depths of an urban evening,
And pounded with anger in the torrid heat
Of adolescence. Oh these human parts!