OF PROOF
As I lied / my way in / to the class / ca-ra-pace / flask with wa- / -ter drink-ed / black and / white hall-way / be gleam-ing / shoes that had / mea-ning af- / -ter the in-/ -ci-dent climb /-ed my way / out the dis-/ sid-ent ly- / -ing to my / tea-cher and / pre-tend that / I am not / what I am / naught act fun-/ -ily pose ques- / tions si-mi- / -les de-flect blame:
“It’s not my fault, I swear.
I didn’t touch a hair.
I didn’t mark his clothes.
I’m just a kid.
Stupid funny little kid.
Maybe it’s that guy over there?”
YOU LIE / WITH CON-/ -FI-DENCE / EX-PECT / DE-ERENCE? / YOU ARE / DIS-GUS / TING THING / I WILL / TELL YOUR / PA-RENTS / EX-PECT / PU-NISH / MENT BY / AL-LAH / HIS WRATH / WILL POUR / DOWN ON / YOU KID / TOR-TURE / IS GUA- / -RAN-TEED
“But where’s the proof?
What I said wasn’t the truth?”
OF FINGERSKIN
Two cocks are fighting
the hairy-feathery kind
they squawk at each other
ignoring any reasons why
they tell me I’m to forgo
any plans, forbode
my fingers and my eyes
that I still can’t see and I can’t feel
I’ve dreamt of escaping
yet as my eyes went dark
blurry like a creme chicken slurry
I let my finger go frail
Its skin starts to become decrepit
skin, peeling away like Arbeit
macht frei, my anxiety is tepid
nearly-lukewarm and vapid
is the way I’d like to think
of my habit
my talons are gone
my fingerskins and home
OF SLEEP
Why am I doing what I’m awake to be doing?
This is the question that immediately arise.
I do not know why I am awake.
I do not know why I care so much.
I do not pretend that I care.
I’d rather sleep, than have to play their games.
I’d rather be meek and quiet than exert my aggression.
What I am is a vain being, neither a pacifist
nor a fiend, in denial of being seen.
What a miserable pitch of black I have been,
to have self-pity, yet remain in dreams,
clouded with self-doubts, with parental scenes
of crying, dying, and repeatedly reviving
my time to be awake
is my time to be something
that it rejects to have been.