MANDRAKE IN OXFORD

I dropped the cup

of your silence

The spoon of unspoken snapped

Any gift wind-dark in its token

snatched because the incongruence

Oh the incongruence of this us

We are diffused as algorithms

I don't know you

and you can never know me

sweet verses too brutal to resolve

do the numbers

weary oh so sad

You don't have to touch me

Utter a tale

poisons are working

Hold my hand like I am falling

I am desperately ill you see

Yellow is my colour

 My name is even stranger

I have no parents

A nobody begetter of three

no comrade

a foreigner. 

2011 Lucien Senna All Rights Reserved Copyright