by phoenix | Jul 11, 1988 | Poetry
From the train, the only distinguishable life is manifested through the unending clotheslines, and the cars left lying carelessly and haphazardly around the deep scars humanity calls roads. Through their clean washing, I pry into their backyards, and on into their...
by phoenix | Jun 30, 1988 | Poetry
I am weird despite a lack of definition for normality. My mother says I am organising a revolution. My friends say: enough of the existentialist crap. I take pleasure in the fact that the integral of d(cabin) over cabin is a houseboat and that there exist in this...
by phoenix | May 27, 1988 | Poetry
I am sure they missed my word of thanks, Or misinterpreted it, which comes, at the end, To the same thing. Both their faces were Pictures framed in grey, and every memory Had etched itself a line on the leather-smooth Canvas. One looked out the window the whole Way...
by phoenix | May 25, 1988 | Poetry
Out of the darkness, a tunnel has been chiselled. Painstaking and heart-rending, over the years, from the inside out. Slowly gently, the water begins to trickle from the dam Aiding in its turn the excavation; carrying twigs and mud and general debris into the light,...
by phoenix | May 19, 1988 | Poetry
for Seamus Heaney As in war, we are comrades and enemies all at once. We intercept another’s plea for help, and understand instinctively the pain and the struggle to escape. Sometimes, seeing between the coded lines we comprehend a deeper meaning within the...
