The music sounded
like a chorus of anti Christmas tunes

Boggling the squashed fly
On the window sill
From an instant of thrill
To ironic rot

But one cannot be racist
Against flies
For the make food
An analysis
Which people
Would hate coming from a fly

Along with a synopsis
Of culture.


But there's no need to be racist to
A fly

They're actually very emotionally sensitive
As in, you can tell they have autism
In the way that they stim with their legs

Or arms rather
If you're not being racist to the fly

When you come
to the end
of the road

there's always a frustration
that whimpers stoically
about refreshment

blazing with it's *****
Of entirety
like a telephone off the hook

a shutdown system
where status doesn't matter

Abent in my mind
i have the eye shakes again.
where
everything seems to be
unequivacely  straight
along the streetless roads

or hidden in the back of my retina

a succour of colour there
to defend the maritime marathon
of eager sprinting to the sightless
bat

before the noise of what you don't even know what you will perceive
drives  me to madness


and the frontier platoon
guess at
well i'm just a blind girl
why would I tell them?

Amen african Gods
p.s **** Nigeria,
Zimbabwe

and just africa in general
AMEN.

They say you should reach out for help
but what if when you tell others
they become unreachable?

In the mysteries of supermarkets
where it's not clear
exactly where certain things are

one turns to the more
sophisticated
either asking for assistance

Or simply visiting a library instead.

The descent was nothing but a dent then
interrupted by the escalators that function
so wildly

as relatives that don't look like relatives
amble on by.

To be a dew drop
would be nothing like
being the ocean

it wasn't ever meant to be
personified that way

more like the sound of relief
and the unknown
because you never know what is coming
at the time of the morning
at which dew drops appear.

'vertisments force us to underwhelm
the diagnosis
that pertrevies la honourisms
of a steak
stuck in the cows belly

i've had aan idea
ad it doesn't involve people
paciing to and fro like pupateers
hogging the lmelight (or the funds)
no questioning of this idea
or any of my others

for they are applicable to the first paragraph
of this poem
which clearly states a level of genius AND cultural awareness if not spirituality that cannot be denied.

Per se.

Signals of disappearance
from her cruel stares
at God

But first
the enervation
of animals laid to waste
by their own instincts


you can chew on your food
even choke on it
but it'll never be a solar flare
for all the other
things
you associate with it.

The distortion makes for piece by piece
offence to the watercolour stained memories
that just couldn't quite make it through
to consciousness.
But not entirely wasted
as when silence finally descends
it is in the middle of the street
that only a select, weathered, utopian seekers
have in their possession

and upon rain slugged lips,
an  ambush of causation
tripling on the inside
whatever
he sees with his eyes
jests that the effect is
nothing but slavery.

Metered synopsis' call out
to the unguided
as the faithful
receive them
as entire books.


All is an iillusion
I partake in this poetry
only to confirm that.

as my lava lamp like persona
drifts on freely
stumbling up against
only further unrealities

Except some are enforced by
those who see things clearly

And if I am a minus in this
great equation of life
let there be a plus
that although technically is
unreachable
from my perspective


is handed to me eternally
just out of love.

Amen Lord and Jesus.