Thirty-three.


Misfortune favoured

by a coward

gets emboldened by

imagined

acts of bravery,

paralleling,

when freedom is

attributed, scoured

then soldered, wry,

universally enshackled,

to the liberty of slavery.


A leaden head

of melancholy

wearing

suffering’s shawl

of crusty grime

became

a body of water’s

shopping trolley,

disappearing,

in that shoal

of rusting time.


Castigating memories

lie deeply

and contorted,

misshapen

inside that meshy box.

Untrustworthy,

this hill of discontent,

rising steeply;

geography unreported,

as the corpse’s lips;

kissed the fleshy rocks.


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